Four things attracted me to Andrew Cowan’s Your Fault: its working class, ‘60s setting; its unusual structure; its length and its publisher, Salt Publishing whose list is never anything but interesting. Set in one of those new towns beloved by British town planners of the mid-twentieth century, Cowan’s novella has fifty-five-year-old Peter tell his story to himself, from his first memory in 1962 to the day his childhood ended.
Peter was born on the first day of the new decade. His father is a Scot, an ex-soldier working as a fitter at the steelworks where most of the town’s men are employed. He’s much older that Peter’s mother, forty-one to her seventeen when they first met on Malta where he was stationed. Peter knows Dolly is unhappy, that she sees other men and that she feels trapped in a stifling routine of housework and childcare. His parents rows are a constant and distressing soundtrack to his childhood. Sometimes, Dolly disappears leaving him alone with his little sister, Lorraine. Peter goes to school, makes friends, suffers the usual torments of embarrassment when he gets things wrong and is horrified when an outbreak of sibling rivalry goes too far. Eleven years after Peter’s first memory, his and Lorraine’s childhood ends with a shocking discovery by her, leaving him with a longing to step in and change both their stories.
Cowan unfolds Peter’s story through vivid snapshots of childhood memories, seen from the vantage point of the same age his father was when he died. Gaps are gradually filled as the years progress, small details slipped in making clear that this is not a happy household. Cowan is the master of show not tell, leaving much to the reader to infer. His characters are sharply observed – Dolly’s frustration at being tied to a baby and a toddler is perfectly caught, Peter’s conviction that she exists only for him brilliantly conveyed. Period detail summons up the ‘60s and ’70s beautifully, from the housewives’ Tupperware party, family holidays at Butlin’s and the Tufty Club joined by children who’d learned the rules of road-crossing, to the lives of women, curtailed by housewifery and childcare, their misery medicated with tranquilisers. All this is communicated through the young Peter’s eyes as his fifty-five-year-old self struggles with his past. Hard not to wonder if this is a slice of autofiction given that Cowan was brought up in Corby, a ‘60s new town with a steelworks at its heart, which makes its ending all the more poignant.
I do enjoy a book that doesn’t feel the need to spoonfeed its reader and this sounds very well done.
I know what you mean, Cathy. Writing that tells rather than shows feels so clunky and somewhat insulting to readers.
Yes, hard not to wonder, given all those connections. It sounds like a delicate construction: I’m intrigued.
I may be making the mistake of reading too much into his autobiographical notes, there. It’s quite a tricky construction but very smartly done.
This sounds very good. I’m of that era, grew up in the American equivalent of the town, albeit to a white collar dad and stay-at-home Mom. I’d like to read this.
I’m around that age, too, which was a part of its appeal for me. I’d be interested to hear how it read from an American’s point of view.
If I can find it, I’ll let you know.
I always trust Salt and the setting and subtlety – and novella length! – make this sound so good. Thanks for putting it on my radar Susan.
This one’s right up your alley, I’d say! Salt’s one of those small independents who can put the big girls and boys in the shade in terms of the quality of their list.
Read a review of it today in the paper too. Adding it to my tbr list. Thanks.
Delighted to hear that, Helen. I hope you enjoy it.
I’ve read a couple of reviews of this which make me really want to read it. I remember reading Cowan’s first two novels and then he slipped of my radar. Great to discover he is still writing.
I ordered Pig as soon as I finished this one although I haven’t got around to reading it yet.