Delivers in so many ways

I tend to come to things a little bit later than most. I didn’t get round to watching Game of Thrones until the end of series four. As for Breaking Bad, the whole thing was well over by the time I dipped into this brilliant piece of television. This explains why, four months after it was awarded the Man Booker Prize 2018, I have just read Milkman by Anna Burns. By distancing myself from all the hype surrounding the launch of things, I find that I approach them with fresh eyes, unaffected by others thoughts and opinions. This method does, however, have its pitfalls. There is a definite art to being a latecomer that involves the avoidance in the media, generally, and social media, in particular, of any references to interesting new films, TV programmes, books etc. that you think you might pick up on in the future. It’s possible, but not easy.

So when I started reading Milkman, all I knew about it was that it had a strange title; it was set in Northern Ireland; and was unanimously considered excellent by the Man Booker Prize judges. The novel is narrated by a girl of eighteen and is set in the late 1970’s during the Troubles. However, don’t expect any historical or political analysis or judgement because that’s not the remit of this book. This is the ‘norm’, the everyday life, for our unnamed heroine. She recounts extraordinary events in a matter-of-fact voice tinged, often, with a light touch of humour. The very first sentence sets the tone of this extraordinary novel. “The day Somebody McSomebody put a gun to my breast and called me a cat and threatened to shoot me was the same day the milkman died.” What an opening sentence!

However, it isn’t without its challenges and is quite unlike anything I’ve ever read before. It’s wasn’t the long chapters or sentences (some the length of a whole page); the minimal punctuation; the lack of paragraphs or the flow of consciousness narrative that surprised me. Although I have to admit that, in the past, I’ve given up on books that have had all, or some, of these features. What I hadn’t come across before are characters with no proper names, only denominations – like tablets girl, maybe-boyfriend, third brother-in-law, Somebody McSomebody and milkman. Some characters have more than one, like the narrator herself. The wee sisters were my favourite characters, all aged under ten and intellectual far beyond their years, who enjoy nothing more than a bit of philosophy or dipping into Thomas Hardy novels.

However, the mistake I made, from the start, was thinking that I knew exactly where the plot was going – young girl being stalked by older predatory male comes to a grisly end. Perhaps I’ve watched too many episodes of Silent Witness. So, early on, I was annoyed by the narrator’s habit of breaking off at key plot moments and taking off on long rambling and, apparently, unconnected outpourings. But be warned. Don’t even think about giving up on it at this stage. Before long, you realise that you have become totally invested in this girl’s life and predicament. The sense of place that she conjures up is so vibrant and realistic that you feel you are there beside her. You begin to be affected by the claustrophobic atmosphere, feeling trapped, with no escape from the prying eyes and caustic gossip of its inhabitants. You worry every time she sets foot out of her door. In short, you’re completely hooked.

So, yes, there’s no doubt that this book is a challenging read, but it’s well worth the journey.