Greythorne by L. M.
Merrington
I
read most of Greythorne on two train
trips, one into the city and one back home, and in both directions I found
myself wishing my destination was further away so that I could remain seated and continue to read. It’s vividly-written and gripping but it’s also short, which means
that the anxiety you feel about how it’s all going to end doesn’t go on for
long enough to cause any serious health concerns (I’m not big on thrillers,
but this was a level of thrill my poor heart could cope with). Greythorne tells the tale of Nell
Featherstone, a governess who starts working at the mysterious Greythorne Manor with little Sophie, whose father is the mysterious Nathaniel Greythorne and whose mother
mysteriously died not too long ago (is ‘mysterious’ even a word? It’s starting to look weird). The book starts off rather Jane Eyre-y, with a sinisterness woven
into it that reminded me of Dr Jekyll and
Mr Hyde (I should mention I haven’t read either of these for years,
so it may be the vibe I’m remembering rather than the actual stories…), but,
despite these similarities, it was completely unpredictable and overall an
absolute cracker of a read.*
Wild by Cheryl
Strayed
I
seem to be drawn to memoirs, even though many annoy me. The question I have
about everything I read – Why are you
telling me this?! – particularly bothers me while reading memoirs, yet I
still find myself attracted to them more than any other genre of writing.** In
the last few months I’ve read The
Anti-Cool Girl by Rosie Waterland, which I liked, and Flesh Wounds by Richard Glover, which I really liked, and then Wild
by Cheryl Strayed, which I flipping LOVED. In all my memoir-reading, I’ve
realised that it doesn’t take a dramatic childhood to make an excellent memoir,
it takes a good writer and a single theme tying everything together; Cheryl Strayed’s writing is GOOD, and reading about her hike made me want to shove everything into a backpack and find my nearest bush track more than anything anywhere ever. Wild is
beautiful and painful and brilliantly-crafted and I found it movingly relate-able despite
the fact that I have almost nothing at all in common with Strayed. I think it’s the best memoir I’ve ever read.
///
*
I was tossing up for a while whether or not to include this footnote... A few years ago I met L. M.
Merrington, the author of Greythorne, through this blog, so it took me a little while
after starting to read her book to shut up the voice in my brain that kept shrieking “OH MY GOODNESS, LOU WROTE THIS!!!!” and to simply
enjoy the story. I already knew she was a gifted writer with an enviable
vocabulary (both of which Greythorne demonstrates well), but it takes an extra
special sort of amazingness to not only write a complete novel but to then have
it published, and it was very exciting for me to order, receive, read, and then thoroughly
enjoy the fruit of her labour.
**
Is this hypocritical coming from a blogger? Most often my answers to the Why are you writing this?! question are,
“Because I think someone may relate to it,” “Because I think someone else will
find it funny, too” or “Because I want to remember it later when I read back
over my blog.” I have cut out many a paragraph which doesn’t pass the Why?! test. You’re welcome.
Aww thanks Annelise! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
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