Skip to main content

Tim Pears. In The Place of Fallen Leaves. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1993

A novel beautifully written from the perspective of a teenage girl in rural Devon. Observations of the people around her, the farm and the countryside during one long, hot summer, are perceptive, intuitive, acute and touching and Pears captures the subtleties and sensitivities of a range of characters with apparent effortlessness. To read about them is to know them. He describes the forebearance of disappointed women, gives them the dignity of acceptance, and elicits understanding rather than sympathy. To pity these women would be to diminish their resolution and fortitude.

He writes the Rector particularly well; gets inside his head, and gives the reader a wonderful sense of the man’s thoughts and his wisdom. He achieves this by writing the narrative about simple scenes and straightforward people with a mature eloquence, and peppering the narrative with short pieces of dialect which brings life and expression to the characters.

The reader sees the story unfold through Alison’s unsophisticated eyes but with the language of experience and compassion. There are scenes described when Alison is not present so, in these instances, an omniscient narrator takes over. The effect overall is a sensitive, meditative novel written, with great affection which allows the reader to fully inhabit the world of the story, and to grow fond of these people, such that it is a shame to reach the end, to leave them behind, and to close the book on the valley.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. Dir Mike Leigh. 2008

Simple, retarded asthmatic gasps and giggles her way through this nonsensical film from Mike Leigh. 30 year old Poppy’s arrested development is masked by her carer who provides meals and stability. This form of care in the community works well so that Poppy is able to extend her adolescence in this flat-sharing arrangement by climbing into bed with her carer and exhibiting teenage tactile behaviour. Her flatmate is tolerant, even when getting no answers as to where Poppy has been and whether or not she’s ok. To Poppy’s credit she holds down a job. Inconceivably a primary school teacher, she is left in a position of responsibility with young children for long periods without supervision. However, classroom activities are restricted to making masks out of brown paper bags in case anyone thought primary school teaching involved real work. Leigh raises the possibility of serious subject matter when a boy begins to bully others. Without parental involvement, a Socia...

ACCATONE! Dir Piers Paulo Pasolini. 1961

Accatone! (1961) is the first film by director Piers Paulo Pasolini and re-relased as part of a box set of his work. Accatone! features a pitiless, self-serving, manipulative young pimp living in the slums and rubble of Rome, whose lassitude is infectious. Images of his death recur throughout the film and he seems barely living. The exclamation mark in the title may be there to try and wake him up. Pasolini shot the film on the streets, using the people he found there rather than professional actors. The effect is a slow moving realism which casts the viewer as reluctant voyeur; it is impossible to gain any distance from the unrelenting sadism of hollow machismo. Seeing this film fifty years after it was made, the misogyny in this film is deeply disturbing; women are either Madonna, virgin or whore. Accatone says prostitution is ‘a mother’s situation’ which provides the mixed message that it’s selfless and necessary for survival, yet he and his friends view whores as trash; to...

Interior Life of an Estate Agent - part 23

Hot Bodies The heat is intense today. My car is blue with a black interior and the sun on the metal is fierce and punishing. Even with the window open there is no relief. The sunroof has to stay closed because the ferocity of the burning sun is beyond bearing. I’m showing a friendly, chatty elderly couple round a bungalow in suburban bungalow-land where there is no sound but the churning of some piece of workman’s equipment nearby. I stay with the plot all round the house, answering questions, being helpful, making suggestions, until we come to the front bedroom and I turn to admire the view. Across the road are two workmen on the flat roof of a garage. One of them is facing us, wearing a baseball cap and bent slightly forward. All I can see is his perfect flat stomach; so flat that, as he bends, there are neat creases in the brown skin, as neat as pencil lines. He has not an ounce of fat covering his slim, naked upper body and trickles of sweat make tracks through the dirt on th...