The Bass Rock
by Evie Wyld
A review
‘What would it take?’ she says. ‘What if all
the women that have been killed by men through history were visible to us, all
at once? If we could see them lying there.
What if you could project a hologram of the bodies in the places they
were killed?’
Evie Wyld’s The Bass Rock is a powerful
indictment of male violence against women, a denouncing of misogyny and male
toxicity in all its forms, whether it is the “everyday sexism” women have to
put up with on a daily basis or, in its most extreme incarnation, rape and
femicide.
The novel’s message is conveyed through three
interlocking narratives. In the early 18th
Century, Sarah, a young woman suspected of being a witch, is on the run from
the men who want to kill her. In the years after the Second World War, Ruth
marries widower Peter and they move to their house in North Berwick. Ruth struggles to get used to her role of
surrogate mother to her stepchildren Michael and Christopher, as Peter becomes
increasingly engrossed with work and longish business trips to London. Six decades later, Ruth and Peter’s house is
put up for sale – Viviane, mourning the loss of her father, is asked to take
care of the property until a buyer is found.
The Bass Rock stands as an impassive sentinel, its silent presence
providing a link between the fate of the three characters caught in a seemingly
inescapable cycle of male violence.
Throughout this novel, I felt myself in the
company of a confident writer. The three narratives are related, but very
different in style and execution. Sarah’s
story is recounted in the first person by Joseph, the teenage son of a
down-and-out vicar who saves Sarah from the clutches of her pursuers. The narrator of the present-day segment is Viv
– cynical, sweary and often darkly funny.
Ruth’s story is written in the third person, although clearly from the
perspective of the protagonist. Wyld
keeps tight control over these disparate narratives through the use of a highly
formalised, quasi-ritualistic structure.
The novel is split in a prologue and seven parts. Each part is made up of five palindromic chapters
(helpfully numbered I – II – III – II – I), with the Sarah segment at the
centre bookended by Ruth’s story and, at the outer ends, Viv’s narrative. Interspersed in the narrative are brief impressionistic
vignettes, portraying stomach-churning violence against women.
Traditional writing tips suggest that a story
or a novel should immediately provide a clear setting of the narrative, to
ensure that readers quickly get their bearings. Wyld’s approach is more
challenging. Many details come into
focus only after a gradual process of discovery. Slowly, the links between the different
narratives become clearer.
The Bass Rock (c. 1824) by Joseph Mallord William Turner |
There is no denying that The Bass Rock is
a strong and assured novel. Until around
half-way through I even considered it a clear five-star read, one of my
favourite books of the year. Then doubts
started to set in. I have three main
reservations. The first (which is –
admittedly – not entirely the author’s fault) is that the novel has been touted
as a Gothic novel. It does, in fact,
have some supernatural elements but these are limited to vague “presences” in
the house and some “witchy” shenanigans in the Sarah and Viviane segments. Ruth’s story also has some tropes of the “sensation
novel”, the Gothic’s close cousin – but they are scant basis to consider this a
work of Gothic fiction. My second
reservation concerns the 18th Century chapters – they start out
promisingly, but the setting remains sketchy and vague, and Sarah’s character
is never really fleshed out.
My third reservation however is more central to
the novel’s approach. As The Bass Rock progresses we discover that most
of the featured male characters are monsters. Not insensitive, not chauvinistic
but actual criminals. Abusers, stalkers, rapists, murderers. The
only male characters who are spared the novel’s rage are Christopher and Michael
– but that’s because they are, like all the novel’s women, victims of male
power games. Of course, I do understand
that this is in keeping with the declared feminist stance of the novel. I equally understand that in the face of the
male violence which still shamelessly stalks women all around the world, it is
ok for a novel to double as an angry, polemical manifesto. But I also tend to believe that readers’ intelligence
should not be underestimated and, just as they are able to tease out the
intricacies of structure and plot, they can also fathom and embrace a novel’s
message without it needing to be driven home with a mallet.
But don’t get me wrong. Despite my
reservations, there is much about this novel that I loved. Indeed, I am tempted to eventually revisit it
as, with the benefit of hindsight, some of the details in the earlier chapters
will likely take on an added significance.
Kindle Edition, 354 pages
Published March 26th 2020 by Vintage Digital
The Bass Rock by Martin Oates https://martinoates.co.uk/products/bass-rock |
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