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Fenella never explained anything properly. She had once told Sally she didn’t know how. She peeled a slice of corned beef off a cold fried egg and did her best. “She thought Sally was a ghost and threw custard all over the floor.”
It seems bizarrely fitting that one of Jones’ weirdest novels is also, from what I gather, one of her most autobiographical.
Let’s see how far I can get into a review without book-destroying spoilers. This will be difficult. If you haven’t read this book yet but would like to, I suggest that you not click on the cut, and not read the back or, in some cases, front cover of the edition you obtain.
The book begins as if mid-way through a nightmare. There’s been an accident, the narrator thinks, and that thought sends her tumbling into mindless panic. She can’t remember who or where she is. She’s invisible and can walk through walls. Her mind has been affected by her weird bodiless state, leaving her unable to concentrate or perform complex tasks, and if she thinks too hard about what might be going on, she metaphorically and literally falls apart.
The obvious answer is that she’s a ghost who doesn’t remember the accident that killed her. I don’t think it’s spoilery to say that it’s much more complicated and interesting than that.
She explores, hoping to figure out where and who she is, and meets three brilliant, funny, and extremely neglected sisters. Their parents work at a school, and keep the girls in a freezing room, the better to ignore their existence. Though the parents earn a reasonably good living, they don’t bother to feed, clothe, provide for, or even notice their daughters, letting them beg the cafeteria ladies for food. Nor do they notice when one sister ties knots into her hair, or another disappears for days. This is the part that’s apparently largely autobiographical.
I love the sisters to bits: enormous Cart, who storms through the house every morning in a state of either low blood sugar or sheer animal rage, dramatic Imogen, who nearly gets herself accidentally hanged to demonstrate the glories of flying on stage, weird Fenella, a small spooky child who ties knots in her hair, and the mysterious Sally, aka Semolina.
The book isn’t a depressing read – it’s very funny, and is also primarily a mystery and a thriller – but it’s also a very good illustration of how child neglect is a form of child abuse. The parents never, ever learn better, either. And that’s about all I can say without getting into deeply spoilery matters. This ranks with Hexwood as not only one of Jones’ strangest books, but one of her hardest-to-discuss-outside-a-cut books.
The Time of the Ghost
I had remembered the confusion over which sister the ghost was, but not which one she actually was. I can’t think of any other book in which the narrator’s own identity is so thoroughly obscured for so long.
One thing which struck me while reading is the parallels between the villains. The ostensible villain, the Monigan, is a greedy goddess who will take and take and take, giving back nothing, and who breaks the rules so basic that they don’t even need to be stated: a bargain requires reciprocality. A promise must be adhered to by the letter. Everyone is completely outraged and alarmed when the Monigan fails to give anything in return for the valuables she’s given, when she seems to take a life early, and when she lets everyone madly jump through hoops trying to save Sally when, perhaps, she’d set her sights on Julian all along.
And then there’s the awful, awful parents. Who also break a contract so basic that no one ever states it directly: you’re supposed to feed and clothe and care for and notice your children! Whatever they get from being parents, they’re giving very, very little back, and never even realize that there’s anything wrong with that.
Julian, the most comprehensible of the villains, seems to be a simple sociopath. But though he’s the one who’s overtly violent, he’s no worse than the others. They all share a total failure of empathy, fairness, and obligation. But it’s more forgivable coming from an ancient, inhuman goddess.
It seems bizarrely fitting that one of Jones’ weirdest novels is also, from what I gather, one of her most autobiographical.
Let’s see how far I can get into a review without book-destroying spoilers. This will be difficult. If you haven’t read this book yet but would like to, I suggest that you not click on the cut, and not read the back or, in some cases, front cover of the edition you obtain.
The book begins as if mid-way through a nightmare. There’s been an accident, the narrator thinks, and that thought sends her tumbling into mindless panic. She can’t remember who or where she is. She’s invisible and can walk through walls. Her mind has been affected by her weird bodiless state, leaving her unable to concentrate or perform complex tasks, and if she thinks too hard about what might be going on, she metaphorically and literally falls apart.
The obvious answer is that she’s a ghost who doesn’t remember the accident that killed her. I don’t think it’s spoilery to say that it’s much more complicated and interesting than that.
She explores, hoping to figure out where and who she is, and meets three brilliant, funny, and extremely neglected sisters. Their parents work at a school, and keep the girls in a freezing room, the better to ignore their existence. Though the parents earn a reasonably good living, they don’t bother to feed, clothe, provide for, or even notice their daughters, letting them beg the cafeteria ladies for food. Nor do they notice when one sister ties knots into her hair, or another disappears for days. This is the part that’s apparently largely autobiographical.
I love the sisters to bits: enormous Cart, who storms through the house every morning in a state of either low blood sugar or sheer animal rage, dramatic Imogen, who nearly gets herself accidentally hanged to demonstrate the glories of flying on stage, weird Fenella, a small spooky child who ties knots in her hair, and the mysterious Sally, aka Semolina.
The book isn’t a depressing read – it’s very funny, and is also primarily a mystery and a thriller – but it’s also a very good illustration of how child neglect is a form of child abuse. The parents never, ever learn better, either. And that’s about all I can say without getting into deeply spoilery matters. This ranks with Hexwood as not only one of Jones’ strangest books, but one of her hardest-to-discuss-outside-a-cut books.
The Time of the Ghost
I had remembered the confusion over which sister the ghost was, but not which one she actually was. I can’t think of any other book in which the narrator’s own identity is so thoroughly obscured for so long.
One thing which struck me while reading is the parallels between the villains. The ostensible villain, the Monigan, is a greedy goddess who will take and take and take, giving back nothing, and who breaks the rules so basic that they don’t even need to be stated: a bargain requires reciprocality. A promise must be adhered to by the letter. Everyone is completely outraged and alarmed when the Monigan fails to give anything in return for the valuables she’s given, when she seems to take a life early, and when she lets everyone madly jump through hoops trying to save Sally when, perhaps, she’d set her sights on Julian all along.
And then there’s the awful, awful parents. Who also break a contract so basic that no one ever states it directly: you’re supposed to feed and clothe and care for and notice your children! Whatever they get from being parents, they’re giving very, very little back, and never even realize that there’s anything wrong with that.
Julian, the most comprehensible of the villains, seems to be a simple sociopath. But though he’s the one who’s overtly violent, he’s no worse than the others. They all share a total failure of empathy, fairness, and obligation. But it’s more forgivable coming from an ancient, inhuman goddess.
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