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Having read Allan Radcliffe’s second book, Blurred Faces, earlier in the year I was really keen to get this his debut novel, although he has been established as a short story writer well before this.
Much of what was compelling about Blurred Faces is here two, although there is not quiet the same claustrophobic feel to it.
The journeying with in it is, both Jamie’s move from Scotland to London to study and then work, and return visit that is the context of the narrative, have something of pilgrimage about them, physical journeys that are carrying much deep emotionally journeys within them.
It speaks of identity, especially the ways in which society has shaped the identities of gay men (and other sexualities and genders), how Jamie felt unable to share his true self with his parents because of his perceptions of them, of their prejudice – but also ways in which Jamie was maybe unable to share his true self even with himself. Our self-censorship is more powerful than any action of society – and it comes with great sorrow when you realise the chains you wear you put upon yourself.
At 150 or so pages this is distilled work, it comes as no surprise that it is from the hand of a writer skilled at the art/craft of the short story – it provides a punch far greater that the weight of its pages.
