Graham Swift

 

Maybe it's something about British authors of a certain age, but there's no way around the fact that Graham Swift's Mothering Sunday and Julian Barnes's Sense of an Ending both feature a dollop of semen as a main character. Because really, the semen emerges as more than a theme: it's a character in its own right. 

I've written about Graham Swift on the blog before, and Waterland is one of my favorite books: for what it has to say about England, and about history, I can't think of many novels which are more compelling or insightful. There are parts of Mothering Sunday, too, which cut deep, and which say a great deal about the constraints of class in Britain. Mothering Sunday is something of a time capsule, too: a short novel frozen in the past, anchored in the years between the war, when country estates maintained their pull. In some ways, Mothering Sunday reminded me of Remains of the Day, Ishiguro's novel of the landed gentry and those in its service. Except, of course, that Mothering Sunday presents a specific moment, whereas Remains of the Day offers a vision, a larger universe. 

Mothering Sunday is successful, but barely: it's beautiful, but flirts with a floral quality. It jumps to the present, but as a way to introduce meditations on writing and the writing life. The most compelling parts of this book focus on the sexuality it introduces at the start, and the lasting implications of decisions made by the body -- as opposed to the mind. Mothering Sunday can be read quickly: it is worth the effort.

The last word is reserved for Swift: "The expression in his eyes as if he were seeing something far off that was also deep inside."