Louisa Young

Excuse me, I need to wipe away tears so I can type. And some drool, because the writing in this book had me open-mouthed with awe/horror/amazement/delight. And then some.

This book has it all: pathos, romance, angst -- Kierkegaard-ian angst! -- anger, joy, beauty, and an articulation of war that is cinematic and breathtaking and disturbing.

Set in the years before World War I, and during, the story follows five people -- a couple in love, forbidden due to class differences; a married couple show more deeply in love, separated by the impacts of war; and a nurse with a medical facility revolutionizing facial reconstruction surgery.

Young's take on World War I reminded me very much of Saving Private Ryan's infamous opening -- impossible to ignore, mesmerising, unforgettable, and disturbing. The two relationships featured are predictable in some ways -- a couple facing class differences and parental disapproval find wartime changes society enough to allow them to attempt a courtship (long distance, of course) while another couple, formerly happily married, finds war changes them to the point of being unrecognizable. For me, the hook of the story wasn't so much the will they/won't they but the need to see if anyone would find a measure of happiness in the end.

I think this is what I wanted Atonement to be, or at least, this is how I wanted to feel when I finished Atonement. I'm awestruck, and gobsmacked, and I'm churning through the mental images painted by Young.

I've read some reviews that criticized Young's writing style but for me, it was one of the draws. I loved it, from the first page: some stream-of-consciousness (which harkened to the Modernist writers), some elegantly obtuse passages (imitating the layers of decorum and etiquette some of the characters are forced to embody), boldly graphic scenes that literally conveyed the violence of war ... This was the kind of book that makes me yearn to be a writer and despair I'll ever be one!

Should I keep gushing? show less

I mostly listen to audiobooks while doing household chores or getting ready, so usually I rather choose light and entertaining or uplifting novels and nothing I have to concentrate on too much. I gathered that "My Dear I Wanted To Tell You" would be different, but still wished to try it because the audiobook, read by Dan Stevens, has such raving reviews. Oh my, I didn't know what I was in for!
This novel gripped me from beginning to end and Dan Stevens does such an excellent job! I was amazed show more by his performance, even more considering that it is a demanding text. I sometimes had to pause what I was doing just to be able to listen properly because this audiobook was worth it.

The main character is Riley Purefoy, a boy with a working class background, who falls in love with Nadine, his childhood friend, who comes from a wealthy family. The story follows these two through their teenage years and into World War One, which is the main part of the novel. One of Riley's superiors, his wife and his sister also play important roles and the reader learns about their experiences and woes.
The war irrevocably changes these characters' lives, how they see themselves, each other and the world, and it is hard to describe how heartbreaking it is to see them as they try to grasp their new realities. The futility of war and the effect it has on those who are surrendered to its power are at the centre of this novel, but also the strong ties between the characters and the different forms of love and caring that people are still able to give.

I believe that this novel is not for everyone - there is explicit sexual content, swearing and the descriptions include some gruesome details. The style is also peculiar, with passages written in stream of consciousness and expressive thoughts. To me, though, it was the best audiobook I have listened to so far, and the character of Riley touched my heart as if I knew him personally. I know that this is one of those stories that will stay with me for a long time. show less

I love a good story about ghosts - not a ghost story of the horror genre but a study of love and loss shared between the living and the dead, which is just what this is. Film director Roisin - pardon my lack of accents - loses her partner Nico suddenly from an undiagnosed heart condition. Reclusive musician Rasmus watches his wife Jay waste away from a long illness. Roisin and Rasmus are naturally devastated but they are not alone - Nico and Jay are still with them, even though their love show more and devotion can only be felt in dreams. But what do the two ghosts really want - to haunt and hold on or to help Roisin and Rasmus find each other and move on together?

As I say, I'm a sucker for ghosts going through existential crises, and Nico and Jay - although mainly Nico, I never really got a sense of Jay's character, she was more of a sounding board - certainly qualify. They jump from 'Is that my body? I must be dead!' to trying out ghostly 'tricks' very quickly - Nico is stronger and can make himself 'heard' subconsciously, Jay can hang from chandeliers and float on clouds yet takes public transport and travels to her family's home in Ghana by plane, but they can't touch each other weirdly - only to spend the rest of the book stalking the people they left behind and asking each other why they've returned as ghosts.

Roisin and Rasmus are a far more convincing pairing, but the rambling e-mail correspondence and Rasmus' career revival (he reminded me of Ross Geller creating his 'sound' in the basement and I stopped caring) was a bit too drawn out. I cared about the characters, not the minutiae of their lives, and just wanted a Hallmark/chick lit resolution. Also, I'm glad that the 'grief' stage for both Roisin and Rasmus was thankfully brief and the story as a whole was positive, and not another Forever, Interrupted. The author has written about her own grieving process and her personal experience makes the first few chapters all the more believable. She's also recorded the songs that Rasmus writes but that angle worked better for me in Daisy Jones than here.

I loved the romance, found the characters endearing and was happy for everyone when the ghosts finally moved on, but the pacing could have been tighter and maybe one ghost (Nico) would have worked better than two. show less

The Great War has ended only five months before, and Riley Purefoy bears its scars in the most obvious spot: at the Somme, part of his jaw was blown away. Reconstructive surgery has worked marvels, yet children flee from him, he can’t speak clearly, and must drink his tea from a brass tube.

Nevertheless, his prewar sweetheart, Nadine Waveney, marries him, trusting to their mutual honesty and understanding to carry them through. No physical wound can obscure from Nadine the kind, show more courageous, caring man beneath, and she served as a nurse, after all–though she worries, to herself, whether he’ll ever be able to kiss her or make love.

The newlyweds’ parents don’t know what shocks them most: Riley’s appearance, that the young couple married without telling them, or that they married at all. Isn’t it obvious Riley’s in no condition to be anyone’s husband or provider? And what of their class differences, since she comes from money, and he, from nothing?

Meanwhile, his close friend and commanding officer, Peter Locke, has returned from war outwardly whole but a psychological wreck, victim of what today would be called post-traumatic stress. He drinks constantly, has recurrent nightmares about the men he commanded who died in battle, and shuts himself away from his wife, Julia, and their toddler son, Tom.

He’s a hard case, Peter, but Julia’s too shallow and self-absorbed to help him. Having sensed their growing estrangement during the war, she decided that she, and not the stress of war, must be the cause, and applied carbolic acid to her face as a beauty treatment. Naturally, she doesn’t get the results she wanted.

The juxtaposition of the two disfigured characters, one of whom can see inside himself and others, while the other sees only surfaces, is a brilliant stroke. It’s one of many in this excruciatingly painful, tender, lyrical, and, by turns, uplifting novel. All four main characters, plus Peter’s cousin Rose, a maternal woman who thinks her role is to pick up the pieces that others let drop, have well-drawn inner lives.

Nadine and Riley come across most clearly, and their wakening to one another and the world where beauty and love for life still exist makes for a satisfyingly real romance. For those interested in such things, Nadine means “hope,” and Riley, “courageous,” while Purefoy suggests the French for “pure faith.” (Contrast with the Malfoys of Harry Potter fame.)

Nadine and Riley live up to their names, but only with struggle. Riley hates even the suggestion of pity and is so determined to accept nothing that could even remotely imply charity that he tries the patience of everyone who cares for him. As for Peter and Julia, they’re not finished with each other, despite what it looks like, though it take a while for even a glimmer of hope to show itself.

The Heroes’ Welcome makes difficult reading, at times. The grimness of Riley’s appearance and prospects hit hard, early, putting the reader in the parents’ and in-laws’ places, seeing him for the first time since his wound. Peter’s nightmares are duly horrific, and his behavior hard to take. But I sensed a wave of warmth, compassion, and zest for life gently lapping at the characters’ pain, so that their suffering is by no means all you see. And the lyrical prose helps make this novel exceptional. show less