Ruth woke at four in the morning and her blurry brain said, 'Tiger.'
That was natural; she was dreaming. But there were noises in the house,
and as she woke she heard them. They came across the hallway from the
lounge room. Something large was rubbing against Ruth's couch and
television and, she suspected, the wheat-coloured recliner disguised as a
wingback chair. Other sounds followed: the panting of a large animal; a
vibrancy of breath that suggested enormity and intent; definite
mammalian noises, definitely feline, as if her cats had grown in size
and were sniffing for food with huge noses. But the sleeping cats were
weighing down the sheets at the end of Ruth's bed, and this was
something else.
Now that's an opening paragraph to catch my attention; since reading it in a bookstore, this one's been on my radar - particularly since the blurb text intimated a family resemblance to Persona.
And so I've now read it - foisting it on book club in the process - and it's a strange, sweet, sad novel haunted by loss (the more devastating for being so unspectacular and so quotidian), the Other and empire. I don't think it quite retains its grasp all the way through, but overall, both in terms of overall design (and effect) and in many of its scenarios, it's high quality fiction weaving together psychological thriller, character piece and post-colonial meditation.
Now that's an opening paragraph to catch my attention; since reading it in a bookstore, this one's been on my radar - particularly since the blurb text intimated a family resemblance to Persona.
And so I've now read it - foisting it on book club in the process - and it's a strange, sweet, sad novel haunted by loss (the more devastating for being so unspectacular and so quotidian), the Other and empire. I don't think it quite retains its grasp all the way through, but overall, both in terms of overall design (and effect) and in many of its scenarios, it's high quality fiction weaving together psychological thriller, character piece and post-colonial meditation.
