Novels by Ingrid Persaud, Christopher Wilson and Angelique Kasmara; Abbas Nazari’s Books of My Life; a hybrid book by Hollie McNish; best recent poetry books; and local memoirs
Tragedy and humour meet in the joyful, patoisinfused journey of an offbeat household.
Every couple of years, I read a novel that is so delightful and so moving that I press it on friends and family. I’m judicious with these recommendations, as it can be tedious to have works foisted on you that disappoint.
But with Love After Love, I felt confident that its warmth, wit and cleverness would deliver. The Costa judges agreed, awarding Ingrid Persaud the 2020 Costa First Novel Award. Set in contemporary
Trinidad, Persaud’s debut novel – she won the 2017 Commonwealth Writers’ Short Story Prize and the BBC National Short Story Award in 2018 – follows three intersecting characters throughout a pivotal decade of change in their lives.
Betty Ramdin, a widow, has withdrawn from the world following the death of her husband. Seeking a male influence for her young son, Solo, and perhaps company for herself, Betty invites her colleague, Mr Chetan, to live with them in a crumbling mansion in the capital, Port of Spain.
Slowly, the three form an “unconventional family”, and the novel’s chapters switch between their first-person points
of view, drawing vivid, raw portraits of vulnerable people at major points of transformation and trying, despite frequent setbacks, to connect.
Written in dialect, the language sings, and the pace of the novel is swift and intimate. The relationships between the three protagonists are fully evolved, and their attempts at unity heartbreaking for anyone who has ever loved, or tried to build a home outside, the traditional family structure.
Broader themes of homophobia and the claustrophobia of island nations add depth, but it is the personal lives of the trio, their distinctive voices and idiosyncrasies that anchor the novel.
Although tragedies underpin the plot, the novel pulsates with humour and fun, building to a crescendo of emotion that left me sobbing. The importance of home, food and community, no matter how small, is beautifully captured by Persaud, as are the varied ways in which love can express itself, and be meaningful beyond the traditional structures of family and blood kin.
From Mr Chetan’s point of view, on Betty’s cooking: “I understand a kitchen. I’m not saying Miss Betty can’t cook. But give Jim his gym-boots. She hand nowhere near sweet like mine. Two of us coming home from work, same tired, so I took over the cooking three times for the week. As it’s Sunday I decided to do my nice steamed kingfish callaloo with salt meat and rice, and just for Solo, a macaroni pie.”
Some of the chapters felt too short, and the novel, unusually, would have benefited from an additional 100 pages. Solo’s illegal migration to New York occasionally felt rushed – it probably could have been a novel on its own.
I read a lot in the past year of pandemic lockdowns, but nothing that uplifted me like this or made me feel connected to the vagaries of the human heart. A brilliant read for anyone in need of some joy in their reading stack. l
Although tragedies underpin the plot, the novel pulsates with humour and fun.