I
read this
on the
same holiday as Notes from an Exhibition and in many ways a novel
from the same stable. Exploring the layers of family life – the
love and joy, the dysfunction
and manipulation. Yet somehow to the same measure that Notes from an
Exhibition felt safe the Red House was anything but.
I
seemed to invest in this family (families) in a total way – not all
of them were likable but they got under my skin. Their brokenness
became a
pain that I felt very personally – wishing, willing, them to be
better people and confounded time and again that they weren’t.
Isn’t
that a quality of family life, we hope that our beloved will live
lives of shinning virtue – we set such high expectations that even
the best fall short. And love is mostly about dealing with the gap
between the two.
Haddon's
writing of
the children / young people is one of the strengths, these are
rounded and full-bodied individuals. For a writer to give such
authentic voices to a range of generations seems to be an unusual
skill.
There
is also a power in the fact that “nothing” happens – they have
a week in a holiday cottage, some of them go for a walk, some a run,
they visit some second-hand bookshops, and there is a thunderstorm.
It is easy to keep the audience on the edge of their seats during an
action moive, but to do the same when there is essentially no action
at all is a real talent.
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