Ten trysts tap in to the modern condition
Review by Emily Watkins
Holly Williams’s second novel chronicles instances of intimacy, harder than ever to come by in the internet age, asking universal questions about loneliness, identity and love.
Using Manchester and Sheffield as her setting, Williams, a books critic for i, tells 10 individuals’ stories via their interconnected sexual encounters. They span existential crises and heartbreak as well as hot hook-ups and adventures. Each chapter focuses on someone who was introduced in the last, a kind of sexy relay race.
We begin with disillusioned welder Will, whose run-in with biphobic bar manager Manda propels her encounter with teenage barman Sy, who is so shattered by having cheated on his beloved girlfriend Bella that he breaks it off abruptly, pushing her into the arms of polyamorous Prisha, whose partner JB is left reeling after a bad hook-up with old friend Soo, and so on.
Operating more like a series of discrete short stories than a novel – although the characters do reappear in each other’s chapters, little Easter eggs for the diligent reader – The Start of Something makes the most of its format to explore as many hot-button topics as possible. The result is a patchwork of contemporary #Discourse, largely compelling – can objectification ever be empowering? What does ethical non-monogamy look like? – but occasionally a little forced.
Amid his angst about hiring a sex worker, university professor Anthony’s deaf daughter proves an excuse to talk about accessibility, while a student protesting his Gauguin module (“because of his ‘morally reprehensible actions as a coloniser, and as a man’”) offers a neat segue into cancel culture. But two characters conflicted about growing up in the shadow of successful fathers extend the book’s conversation to encompass class and privilege, without having much bearing on the plot.
Williams’s characters might at first seem chosen for their convenient proximity to zeitgeisty themes, but their author deals with those ideas with sensitivity and self-awareness: “And who should you source to help you look
woke – oh, a Northern genderqueer spoken-word poet! Perfect”.
Complex rather than cartoonish, her protagonists find their lofty ideals tested against realworld forces in a way that feels refreshing. (“And I have a BLOODY CHILD to look after BY MYSELF do you know how hard that is,” Soo texts JB during an argument about the ethics of sex work.)
Williams’s characters arrive at their various trysts jangling with anxiety and trying to rewrite the stories they’ve been telling about themselves all their lives.
For some, the moments of connection are a means to an end; for others, they mean everything.
And while Williams deals compellingly with the ins and outs (pun intended) of her plot, she is at her best when tapping into the inherent vulnerability that makes sex such a useful vehicle to talk about other things – whether it’s Anthony’s sense of inadequacy, or JB’s radical bid for freedom.
The book’s denouement, a music festival attended by many of the characters, ties up several of the stories in one satisfying swoop; but despite the numerous moral quandaries tussled with along the way, its end offers no grand revelations (thank God).
Instead, its takeaway is quieter, more elegant. Williams shows us that it is in the overlaps – of bodies and ideas alike – that life’s most precious things grow.