Comfort reading

Working in an international school, as I have for most of my teaching career, means that conflict across the globe feels much closer to home than it used to. Students and colleagues alike have connections in almost every country; there will always be someone for whom war and terrorism is not a newspaper article or journalist’s photograph, but the loss of a loved one, the loss of a home, the loss of a right to go home. I am glad I am no longer as shielded as I once was; I used to be woefully ignorant of world affairs and adopt an ostrich-head-sand approach when things became frightening elsewhere. But now there is no elsewhere, the sadness and worry can feel overwhelming.

One of my colleagues lost both of his parents in Israel this weekend. I found it hard to concentrate on anything today, thinking of his pain, of his not knowing what his parents must have gone through in their final moments. How humans can inflict such things on others will never cease to be unfathomable to me.

What do we do when the world seems nothing but hatred and horror and chaos, and we are so small and helpless in the face of such suffering? I don’t know about you, but I need to go to a place where I can be reminded that alongside all of that, there is also goodness, and love, and laughter; a desire to connect rather than a desire to destroy. I have been curled up this evening with A Town Called Solace by Mary Lawson, recommend by Simon, and it’s been the most wonderful balm for the soul.

Set in the tiny Canadian town of Solace in the 1970s, it tells the story of three people whose lives intersect across the generations. Clara is eight and lives next door to Mrs Orchard, for whom she is a surrogate grandchild. She loves visiting Mrs Orchard, feeding Mrs Orchard’s cat Moses, and spending time with her beloved older sister, Rose. But as the novel opens, Rose, always the rebel, has run away from home, and Mrs Orchard has been in hospital for weeks. During one of Clara’s evening vigils at the living room window, watching for her sister, she sees a man going into Mrs Orchard’s house. Who is he, and what does he want with Mrs Orchard’s things? Clara determines to find out. Meanwhile, we are introduced to Liam; he’s been living an increasingly miserable life in Toronto, with a toxic marriage that has recently ended in divorce, a job that he hates, and a crippling inability to make any decisions for himself. When he receives a letter telling him that an old woman he used to live next door to as a child has left him her house, he quits his job and makes the journey north to see whether this could be his new start. Alongside these two narratives is that of Mrs Orchard, who, as her health fails, wanders back in time and shares her thoughts with her long-dead husband, reminiscing about their life together, and most importantly, the little boy who meant so much to her as she grieved her own inability to have children.

This is such a beautiful novel, about love and connection and community, as well as redemption and regret and hope. All three characters are beautifully drawn, and Lawson is particularly fantastic in writing from the perspective of a child. The interweaving of Clara, Liam and Mrs Orchard’s stories, which enrich and expand on each other, is an excellent structural device which left me unable to put the book down; I longed to get back to each story and find out what had happened in the meantime between narratives. I loved watching Liam grow increasingly connected to Solace, despite his determining to move away as quickly as possible, his slow thawing towards the community that collectively takes him in, and his gradual healing from the trauma he has been through. All I wanted was for him to be happy - and to definitely not take the easy option in going back to his ex-wife! I was heartbroken by Mrs Orchard’s telling of her struggles to have a child of her own, and her desperate, doomed love of the then-toddler Liam. Most of all though, I was haunted by poor Clara, confused, angry and literally sick with worry about her sister, lied to by her well-meaning parents, and rapidly losing her innocence as she realises that adults are not to be trusted, and wishing for something hard enough does not always make our dreams come true.

I already can’t wait to read more Mary Lawson; I fear such comfort reading will become necessary over the coming weeks and months. If you need to escape for a while, too, then I can’t recommend A Town Called Solace highly enough. And for any of my readers affected by conflict, anywhere across the globe, I send all my love and solidarity.