Award-winning rapper, award-winning poet, collaborator with the Royal Shakespeare Company, all before turning 30. Whatever Kate Tempest produced by way of a first novel, it was bound to attract attention.

Derived in part from songs on her album Everybody Down, The Bricks That Built The Houses is a rattling yarn centred on Harry, a petite gay drug-dealer, and Becky, an aspiring dancer. Harry encounters Becky at a rave and surprises herself by opening up to Becky on her secret life. Becky in turn shares a secret of hers. The two part with Harry wondering what just happened.

Tempest spins a plot that depends on a complicated set of relationships, and I'm reluctant to go into it too much. Similar to a song on an album, Tempest shifts the focus to a character, gives the backstory and then gradually starts to reveal unexpected connections. In doing so, Tempest pulls off a few terrific plot twists.

This book works as a taut crime novel, but Tempest's writing lifts it out of the ordinary genre novel. There is tenderness and empathy for her characters, and at times there is a rhythm and syncopation to the writing that remind one of her music and poetry. I'd happily give this book five stars, except that I did feel a bit let down by the ending.

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As hoped there were some great paragraphs that could have been one of her poems. I enjoyed the characters but the plot was a little flimsy at times and some if it just felt like it needed a little more work done on it. As a SE Londoner it was atmostpheric and believable for the most part. Quite heavy on the moral code and juat a little bit whiny about the changes in the area.
Entertained me and I look forward to reading her next novel.
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I had expected this novel to be a lot more poetic than it really was. I was thinking that this novel would jump from past to present and give me insight into every character. While the story was told in the perspective of every person, I felt like it was really lacking in terms of a story plot. It just kept going in this jarring way that had me confused. The end of the novel left me disappointed, and I didn't really feel as if all of the characters had that much of a unique feature to them. Overall, this was a decent novel, but nothing too exciting. ( )

I'm a little late to the party but I just finished reading The Bricks That Built the Houses by Kate Tempest and boy, does she have a way with words. The prologue (entitled Leaving) was a face-slapping first encounter with a contemporary poet and I immediately understood the hype surrounding this young English poet and rapper.

In The Bricks That Built the Houses, Tempest has chosen/created two characters from contemporary London and given us their gritty backstory, including their innermost thoughts, hopes and aspirations.

Rich in language and character, the novel is also bleak in its depiction of life in the lower classes of London. The novel contains themes of drugs, youth, loneliness and hope and often forces the reader into deep reflection alongside the characters on all manner of topics.

Tempest has a unique talent to capture a person/character in a few words with enough realism that I felt as though I'd seen them myself somewhere before. Then they just seem to fade into the background of the story once again. Here's a perfect example from page 95 and one of my favourites from the novel:
"Pete sits down and watches an older guy - a few teeth missing, dirty face, long hair, scars mess his skin up like piss lines in a sandpit. He's got a cap on, can in his pocket." Page 95

Having heaped so much praise on her language and prose, I do need to confess that the ending was a real disappointment for me. I'm not sure how I wanted it to end, but after investing so much in the characters and being so impressed by the writing, I just wanted 'more'.

I believe Kate Tempest is a writer of her generation and I'm certain she will continue to generate jaw dropping and influential material across all of her creative outlets (novels, plays, poetry and the spoken word) in the future. Definitely one to watch.

* Copy courtesy of Bloomsbury * ( )

I initially had such high hopes for this novel, only to see them dashed to matchwood as I persevered through it. The first hundred or so pages were enchanting, written in an engaging prose that sucked me into the story.

Something happened, however, about a third of the way through, with the immediacy of someone flicking a switch, and my interest in the characters and their parts in the convoluted relationships disappeared with the same instanteousness as Robert Burns's snowflake Landon on a river: 'a movement white, then melts forever'. Thereafter I felt mired in turgidity and relief came only when I felt the catharsis of deliberately leaving it on an empty seat on the Heathrow Express. ( )