Book: The Mother
Author: Yvvette Edwards
Publisher: Mantle
Price: Hardback £12.99 and eBook £8.99
Review by Irenosen Okojie
In Yvvette Edwards’ stunning new novel The Mother, we find a couple struggling to cope after the murder of their teenage son. Not only must Marcia and Lloydie attempt to rebuild their lives following Ryan’s tragic death at the hands of a boy his age, but Marcia has to attend the trial of her son’s killer.
It’s through her eyes that this remarkable novel unfolds. Edwards is a master at depicting the tragedies which befall families and the ripple effects they have to contend with long after the fire has started.
Her astonishing debut novel, A Cupboard Full of Coats (published by Oneworld) and longlisted for The Man Booker Prize 2011, is evidence of this: a bold, vivid account of a troubled young woman whose demons from the past threaten to destroy her life in the present.
With The Mother, Edwards picks up the baton again to display her assured hand at tackling dark subject matter, and continues to draw some of the most complex female characters I’ve had the pleasure of reading.
Marcia and Lloydie not only have to contend with their grief, but the slow erosion of their relationship, causing insidious damage. They are at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of their responses to their loss. Marcia, more outwardly expressive, shows her grief. She is the one who finds the strength to attend the trial, deal with the barristers and develop a good relationship with the family liaison officer.
She is the glue in the household, holding the pieces of their lives together with the kind of unsteady grip one can only know through tragedy. Lloydie, who also loved their son dearly, cannot support her in the way she’d like. He is unable to share his pain. He cannot tell her how he feels, somewhat hampered by his inability to reveal that vulnerable part of himself.
Not a poor husband by any means, he is a man shaped by the absence of a mother’s gentle influence early in his own childhood, and by the brutal hand of a hard father who showed very little affection towards him. The gulf between them grows as Lloydie retreats and shuts down emotionally.
Marcia begins to resent him for this and for making her be the one to dig into her emotional reserves for them to survive. These complexities play out marvellously on the page.
There’s an unforgettable courtroom scene early on in the book where Marcia both reviles and empathises with her son’s killer. She despises him for the heinous act of killing her son, yet watching his every move, she sympathises as he begins to adjust his limbs, tired after having been in the same position in the dock for hours.
It’s Marcia’s ability to show these emotional nuances, these small moments of conflict which make Edwards such a fine, psychologically intelligent writer.
The courtroom scenes are particularly well written. You experience every deep breath Marcia takes, each bit of tension in her body, every glimmer of hope for the right resolution. Edwards writes with such microscopic precision, you’re not only left knowing Marcia’s burden, but what it looks and feels like.
In one of my favourite passages, Marcia leaves the house unable to deal with entertaining visitors from the church. Once outside, she is overwhelmed by the beauty of young black boys.
“It strikes me again just how many beautiful black boys there are in the world, how little of life I noticed with my old eyes. They saunter past me, beat-boxing aloud, cavorting on the green, showing off. They distract me, these young boys; cocoa demerara – and vanilla skinned, small and tall, confident and awkward, with skiffles and afros and cornrows and futures, years filled with football and wii, jerk chicken and study. There are so many of them, so strong and dark and beautiful, alive everywhere.”
This is a devastating, powerful and haunting novel. Edwards should be applauded for lifting the curtain behind an all too familiar news item. This intimate portrait of a family’s grief humanises those stories.
Ryan, Marcia’s son, is somehow irrepressible – even in death: whispering to us in those quiet moments where we see Marcia struggling to get out of bed, compartmentalising in order to function, compiling lists so those unbearable days have a structure.
Even seemingly trivial tasks take on a whole new meaning and dimension in light of her loss. A vibrant and vital young man, we feel the threads of Ryan’s absence throughout the novel, and we know the weight of Marcia and Lloydie’s pain.
The Mother is remarkable, honest and illuminating. I cried several times. It’s a juggernaut of a book in every sense and should, if there’s any justice, cement Edwards as one of Britain’s best new voices.
I urge everybody to go out and buy a copy. This is essential reading for 2016.
The Mother will be available for purchase from Thursday 7 April 2016.