I am beginning to suspect that there are too many books published each year/ month/ week. If I had been browsing in a shop, Chris Cleave’s tender tale would barely have caught my eye, despite the bright orange cover and the fact that it was shortlisted for the 2008 Costa Novel Award. (In fact, if anything, the accolade would have put me off: call a literary award after a coffee chain and expect me to take it seriously? I know that freshly brewed coffee and a good book is a pleasant combination, but it cheapens the book somewhat for me. What next? The Argos Playwriting Award? Or the Tesco Poetry Award? The thought makes me shudder. Yes, I know that makes me sound quite snobby.) Fortunately, this was last month’s book group choice, so I was able to read an excellent piece of storytelling.
The premise…
…is apparently a secret. There are two women who meet on a beach. Something terrible happens. They meet again two years later and this is where the story starts. In a bid to drum up mystery, the blurb only tells us this much before claiming that ‘we don’t want to tell you what happens in this book. It is a truly special story and we don’t want to spoil it.’ Now, obviously, neither do I wish to spoil the novel for any potential readers, but (much like ‘The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas’, on the back of which the same plea is made that the magic is in the unfolding of the story,) I suspect that a little more insight may actually come in handy if you are more interested in storylines more than in marketing strategies. If you’d rather keep the plot information to a bare minimum, you can skip the next paragraph. (Please note that I DO NOT consider these ‘spoilers’.)
The book is narrated partly by Little Bee, a young Nigerian girl who has attempted to enter the UK illegally. After two years in a detention centre, she seeks out the only people she knows in England: Sarah and Andrew O’Rourke. Sarah, the other narrator, is struggling: she and her husband seem unable to move forward after the incident two years ago. Despite having demanding jobs and complex relationships, neither one can forget what happened. Little Bee’s phone call has a stunning impact on their lives and, as the story develops, Sarah begins to reassess her life. What was it that happened two years before? Will any of them ever be able to move forward without fear?
The style…
…is immediately engaging. Little Bee speaks directly to the reader in a very honest way, sometimes revealing her inner feelings, sometimes imagining whole conversations with people in her village back home, sometimes explaining to us what our lives seem like to outsiders. Language is used in a very enjoyable way, especially when Little Bee imagines explaining terms like ‘topless’ to her people back home. (This ‘does not mean, the lady in the newspaper did not have an upper body. It means she was not wearing any garments on her upper body.’) Little Bee is keen to speak authoritatively in English but finds it difficult to always judge the nuances of the language, leading to some gentle humour and some thoughtful discussion.
(Why is it acceptable for a daily newspaper to print pictures of women with naked breasts?) Cleave varies the voice and syntax of the Nigerian characters, which helps to give different characters distinctive personalities and helped me to imagine the sound of the speech. I enjoyed reading the story from the first pages and it was a bit of a shock when the narration switched to Sarah.
Sarah seems, at times, to be less descriptive than Little Bee in her narration, although this is partly because she does not need to make the same comparisons or to reflect on details that are, to her, simply mundane. Her style is still engaging, although it is less humorous. On reflection, I found this interesting as she would seem to be better equipped to cope with life than the younger woman, but she is perhaps more audible in her fear and dissatisfaction. Despite always expecting the worst (her priorities when entering a new space are very sad), Little Bee seems sometimes the more optimistic of the two; perhaps Cleave is showing the innocence and hope of youth. I found the contrast between the two styles was not at all jarring, which it can be in some books, but was sufficient to develop the characterisation of the two women as well as the story.
The two women take it in turns to tell the story in the first person which helped me to engage more with their histories, hopes and fears. The chapters are very long (there are only 11 in a book with 374 pages) so you have plenty of time to adjust to each character's perspective. Sometimes there are small overlaps so you can see how each of them views a particular situation. The narrative is not strictly linear; there are many flashbacks but they are well prepared for and I never found it confusing. The story is well paced and there is a real sense of anticipation as you wait to learn what happened two years ago and what will ultimately happen to each of the women. I never once reached a point where I felt like I had lost interest in their story, or like I wanted the chapter to end earlier than it did (which can definitely be a problem with very long chapters in some books).
Although there are flashes of humour which made me laugh out loud, and some interesting diversions along the way, the overall tone of the book is very sad and dark. Even some of the humorous elements are actually sad when considered soberly. In depicting the terror Little Bee feels, Cleave creates a genuine chill in the reader. I found it particularly horrifying because I was reading about something that is happening, now, today, somewhere in the world. I tend to think that it is easier sometimes to read stories set in, for example, the Holocaust because, wrongly, there is a certain sense that it is safely in the past, and lessons have been learned and that it was exceptional. In a sense, of course, it was and it has, but the crux of it – people systematically hurting other people – is unlikely to ever stop. However, the fact that the violence and struggle for survival that Cleave depicts is happening today meant that by the time I had finished reading the book I felt like I needed to do something about it, something to help.
The book does not send out a clear message regarding what to do, although there is a definite criticism of the British immigration detention centres. Cleave encourages us to think and my mind is still buzzing. What can be done? Genuinely, possibly, be done? Perhaps Cleave is simply pleading for greater understanding and recognition of the difficulties and dangers that refugees face. Sensibly, Western disbelief of genuine fear felt by refugees is shown in a way that makes it seem perfectly reasonable. How can we possibly, in this comfortable world (and the book is completely located in the upper middle class world where the biggest issues seem to be sartorial dilemmas and what to do with one’s garden) really believe in men who will kill women with a machete? This is key to our failure to treat refugees compassionately and the answer is unclear. It is telling that one refugee does not bother telling her story; instead she trades a more useful commodity, as she has learned that we care about trade, commerce, more than truth.
The book’s one slight flaw in my mind is the ending. After a gradual build up of suspense, and a chilling and compelling twist which complicated my feelings towards one of the characters, there is a rather unbelievable plot development. I was not overly concerned as by that point I was hooked, but as far as resolutions go, it is rather impracticable.
There are touches of melodrama as the story develops, although it never reaches Dickens’ level, but it is there because it is true and the writer believes what he is showing us is true. Although I can find overly dramatic stories unconvincing and therefore irritating, even the most dramatic moments in this novel seemed horribly believable.
The ending is beautifully written but I would have liked a final chapter from the other woman’s perspective and to find out what happened next. I didn’t want the story to end, not because I felt that it was incomplete (I could guess most of what was likely to happen next) but because I wanted more of a sense of ‘closure’. It was still a satisfying ending in the sense that it seemed an appropriate way for the narrative to draw to a close.
A note on men and women
As he is a male writer, it is interesting to briefly note Cleave’s depiction of the sexes. I felt that he wrote well as a woman, but found his male characters rather frightful. Partly this is because men are the aggressors in the stories the women tell in the detention centre – every story begins with ‘the men came and they’. Partly this is because the guards and police officers are mostly men and they seem uncaring, rude or oblivious. But the central male characters are also weak. Andrew, Sarah’s husband, is haunted by his choices into severe depression, although at least this revealed a conscience. Lawrence, Sarah’s lover, struck me as completely pathetic and unlikeable. As the novel continued, I found more and more flaws in his character and I found it difficult to understand what she saw in him.
In contrast, Sarah, although frequently in tears, seems far stronger than either of the men, and Little Bee is even stronger. I found this segregation contributed to the dark tone of the book: is Cleave really trying to suggest that all men are a threat to women? Reflecting on the book now I find this demonisation slightly troubling, but it did not affect my reading of the novel.
Conclusions
I found this novel genuinely compelling: the story is well paced, contains convincing characters and explores a range of themes including loss, hope and the treatment of refugees. The story itself is interesting and there are flashes of warmth and hope in among the dark tale which make it more poignant and more readable. I would recommend this to anybody, but be prepared to sit and devour it in chunks! It is a powerful story, so if you are likely to be affected, I’d grab a box of tissues too.
The men came and they...(a haunting tale of immigration) 
What, you mean "Every Little Helps" isn't poetry? :) Excellent, analytical review, as always.