How is it that we all have the same words available to us, but some people can select and arrange these words into something that is more than just writing? Burntcoat is sculpted from the language in such a way that Sarah Hall produces a piece of work that has a primal strength but also a real sense of human vulnerability.
We trust our bodies to perform as we intend them to, but sometimes the unexpected happens and a sudden medical episode can change us forever. Edith is ten years old when her mother suffers a devastating stroke and everything they know about living has to be re-learnt. Edith relies on her creativity to distract her from her responsibilities and she teaches herself to put together huge pieces of art using whatever she can find in the land around their cottage.
Wood is what she loves best, not processed planks, but wild chunks of wood with the grain raised and intact. As a student she discovers the Japanese art of charring wood to increase it's strength, and after a residency in Japan, this is the technique that makes her a celebrated sculptor as an adult.
Edith begins telling her story at a point in her life when she knows she is dying. She spares no detail of her loves and losses and the emotion is raw throughout the book. The narrative is dark and physical with a sense of urgency that demands to be read. Time is running out for Edith, and soon the past will rush in to meet the present and carry her on to whatever it is that comes next.
Comments
Post a Comment