A terrifyingly plausible precursor to Handmaid’s Tale. Red Clocks, by Leni Zumas.

Red Clocks by Leni Zumas

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Ever since the signing of Roe vs Wade there has been people who’ve wanted to overturn it. In Red Clocks, Leni Zumas imagines just that. There has been no government takeover by an extreme Christo-conservative regime, merely the ‘Personhood Amendment’. Abortion is completely criminalised, IVF banned, a ‘Pink Wall’ stands between America and Canada to arrest women seeking such procedures under the charge of conspiracy to murder, and in fifteen days unmarried persons will be prohibited from adopting. In a small town in Oregon Red Clocks follows five women, young and old, living with old restrictions back in place.

In short, it bridges the gap between the now and The Handmaid’s Tale; the complacency that allowed such an amendment to be passed, the disregard of men who don’t understand or care about its effects, and how women continue to navigate being a person when their country may only see a womb, a red clock.

There is “The Wife” (Susan), mother to two and married to one thoroughly ungrateful husband. “The Daughter” (Mattie), a star student that finds herself pregnant with nowhere to turn. “The Mender” (Gin), an eccentric women living out in the woods with her goats and especial knowledge of plants and herbs that lands her on trial like she’s back in Salem with her ancestors. Then there is “The Biographer” (Ro) , a teacher, single, longing for a child her body can’t provide, and writing a biography of Eivør, a long dead polar explorer who had to fight her way to study science only to be silenced because no one would believe a woman had written about ice floes.

Each chapter is presented from the perspective of their titular character, at first I found this a little difficult to follow as names were not presented immediately but once settled in to the style it read as easily as any other book. Readers are able to piece the town together where the characters overlap, as expected of small towns everyone knows everyone else. It wasn’t lost on me either the parallel between characters and their titles. Susan and Mattie fit traditional gender roles and are defined by them, being a wife, being a daughter. Gin and Ro forge their lives outside of those expectations, whether by choice or circumstance, and are defined by their deeds. A risky narrative device, or little reminder that in a male-supremacist world a woman’s relation to a man trumps autonomy.

Red Clocks is a novel of ideas in that it takes the grain of criminalised abortion and reasons out the consequences from ripple to ripple. However, there’s also the underlining accusation of complacency, and sleep walking in to legislation because we left the decisions to someone else with an agenda. . How many times since 2016 have we heard the phrase “I never thought it would actually happen”? But it’s not all doom and gloom, there is humour (clap clap say the labia), and a realist description of women’s lives, even the grisly parts.

I want everyone to read this book. Especially the pro-lifers whose arguments never seem to go beyond carrying a pregnancy to term, though I feel Red Clocks will end up preaching to the converted. This book is important because of the ways in which it differs from The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s not set in a radical dystopia which could be written off as “oh just fictional”, the only difference between the world of Red Clocks and our own is the Personhood Amendment. It addresses the affect such legislation would have on us alive right now, not imagined women in a far future. Like the official summary says, it’s frighteningly plausible.

Full disclosure: I was provided a free ebook copy from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for a review. The opinions are all my own.

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Catfished by lesbian selkies. The Gloaming, by Kirsty Logan.

The Gloaming by Kirsty Logan

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Hauntingly written The Gloaming by Kirsty Logan follows the life of the Ross family in their tatterdemalion guest house, practically falling in to the sea, on an unnamed island somewhere in the Scottish Hebrides. It’s an island where no one really leaves, figuratively or literally, with some strange magic drawing every wanderer back and every death is not a death but a slowing down, slowing until the islander turns to stone on a cliff facing the sea.

The Gloaming is an awkward book to review as so much, whether thematically or structurally, that giving away a little can give away a lot. There is some magic though you’ll be hard pressed, apart from the petrified islanders on the cliff, to spot it for certain. That is part of the book, and magic’s, charm but towards the end the charm began to rub off. Where I thought there would be a climax the story circled back and left my emotions feeling deflated. I recognise that this was the point, to deny the reader a resolution since a key theme (at least that I identified) is how, like the gloaming, nothing lasts forever and we are all stories that are continuing to unfold and change; however, such endings work only when there has been a sign of growth, we go on but not exactly as before, otherwise what’s the point?

I think some of my frustration comes from a sense that Logan didn’t ‘lean in’ on the magic or folklore elements. The narrative dips its toe but shies away just as it gets interesting, and then repeats the process a few chapters later. It ended up leaving a lot more questions than answers, though yes, I know, we don’t always want to know how the magician does the trick. For me it would have helped if the story settled in to Folklore adaptation (I did get some flashbacks to the film Song of the Sea/Amhrán na Mara) or Magic Realism. I have read other reviews that suggest The Gloaming takes place in the same universe as The Gracekeepers so perhaps it’s my own fault for not reading that first.

I also found it difficult to engage with the characters. There are six key characters, Signe and Peter Ross, former ballerina and boxer, raising Islay (pronounced Eye-la), Mara and Barra (Bee), then later Pearl, Mara’s girlfriend. Oh, yes, this is an LGBT+ friendly book, and no, Mara’s story does not revolve around pain or tragedy caused by being gay! To be honest, I would read it for that alone. Anyway! Something tragic happens which I won’t mention upfront for fear of spoilers but lordy lord I wanted to shake these characters something fierce. It could be taken that the family’s arc is them coping with grief, in which case as someone who has climbed that hill already, I can confidently say none of them have healthy coping strategies. This made reading hardest for me because I couldn’t empathise with them, when they were wilful (e.g. Islay leaving the island) I wanted to smack them with the arm of one of the petrified islanders, and when they were human their idiosyncrasies were so watered down each character melted in to the other. There were a few scenes, especially if all four women were together, where I could lose track of who was speaking or doing what. Once again, what I felt like enough questions weren’t answered about the characters for me to really dig in.

However, the language is beautiful. Logan is at her best when describing a physical or emotional experience, or giving personality to the sea shore or inside of a run-down old mansion. There were a few points where she would code switch but it didn’t detract from the pace or sense of the scene or chapter. It reads especially well for fans of Jen Campbell, it was no surprise to see her name in the acknowledgements.

All that said, I did like the book. And lesbian selkies is definitely a sub-genre I want to see more of.

*full disclosure: I received an uncorrected proof ebook through NetGalley for free in exchange for a review. All opinions are my own.

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