The Picture She Took

It often takes me far too long to get round to reading books I've bought. Some languish in my to-read pile(s) almost forever. Back in November 2008 I mentioned having bought Fiona Shaw's second novel, The Picture She Took from the Summit Bookshops in Kirkbymoorside and it's something of a miracle that I actually got round to reading it this week. I said at the time that, although it was first published in 2005, I hadn't heard of it. Not at all. I've done a quick Google and found very little reference to it either on publication or later. There's only one review on Amazon UK, none of Amazon.com, a favourable, if lukewarm, review in The Independent and very sniffy and plot-spoiling review by novelist, Stevie Davies in the Guardian. To be fair to her, Stevie Davies does have a point about the 'modern' feel to it in places. I suppose it shows how far we've come when a gay man (not in show-business) is open about his sexuality. In reality he would keep very quiet indeed. But I think she must have had toothache when she wrote her review.

Any road up, as they don't say up here. Novels that are perfect in every way are rare and this one ticks enough boxes for me to recommend it. It's exactly the kind of historical novel I love to read. Accessible and literary with a strong plot, strong characters and a moral ambiguity. It also makes me itch to read more about the period. I wish I could write a novel that's half as good--dammit.

The novel is set in the early nineteen twenties and begins when Daniel, a young man with a damaged leg, visits an exhibition of photographs taken on the Western Front. One of them causes Daniel to stop and to return on another day. It is of two soldiers. One has been wounded and patched up. In the background is a nurse. The uninjured soldier is lighting a cigarette for the wounded man. They are clearly great friends. But it's nothing out of the ordinary. Two comrades in war frozen in the moment by a Kodak.

For reasons as yet unknown to anyone but Daniel, the photograph obsesses him. He begins to have nightmares. His sanity slips. He sets out on a quest which leads him first of all to Jude who took the photograph when she was a nurse in Belgium. They meet. Jude learns that Daniel hadn't fought in that war at all although his brother had and did not return. His war was in the west of Ireland, a bloody, shameful conflict the English barely think about, even today. He certainly can't speak about it to anyone, least of all his parents. Guilt perhaps?

Jude, too, has been changed by her war. She lost people she loved and feels guilty. But war liberated her too. She rides a motorbike, is a keen photographer but works as a copy-typist, inertia preventing her from taking that leap into full independence. Daniel's mental state continues to deteriorate. They meet again but then Daniel disappears and Jude has an idea where he might have gone. She sets out in pursuit, without knowing what awaits her. What happens when they find each other again will have a profound affect on both of them and change their lives for ever.

This is one of those novels that lingers in the memory and makes it difficult to pick up another. The ending is hugely satisfying even though it's not neatly tied up so you can play that 'I wonder what happened next?' game. The subject matter makes it an uncomfortable read at times because it makes one question whether there is such a thing as right versus wrong. Even the best of us need to examine our own culpability when life turns ugly.

I understand what Stevie Davies is saying but I think she throws the baby out with the bathwater. I'm so pleased I found a copy. Hurrah again for indie bookshops and serendipity.