Skip to main content

NW by Zadie Smith: A review

Zadie Smith employs a non-traditional format and punctuation in telling this story, something that is almost guaranteed to turn me off immediately. I just find it annoying. And yet, several pages into this book, as I got into the flow of the story and of the language of northwest London, suddenly it didn't really matter any more. 

Smith uses a stream of consciousness technique in telling the tangled stories of Leah and Keisha/Natalie, as well as Felix and Nathan. Indeed, the reader reflects, how else could these stories be told?

And so we have these four people who were connected in childhood and whose lives are now tangential, sometimes touching, sometimes intertwined in the small community that is NW. 

The main story here, though, is the story of a city, a complicated place where people live cheek-by-jowl and yet are in their own worlds. It is a place that will seem very familiar to urban dwellers everywhere, I think. We follow the characters from their private homes - flats - to public parks, to workplaces, walking the streets, navigating the roundabouts, taking the Tube. This is modern-day London. It is a fascinating place and the strongest character in this tale.

Smith's focus among her human characters is primarily on Leah and Keisha/Natalie. (As a child she was Keisha; as an adult, she changed her name to Natalie.) They are now thirty-somethings, but they are best friends from childhood, a childhood spent on the council estate of Caldwell. Their lives are bound together forever by an incident in that childhood. Now they are trying to make their way through adulthood in a way that brings them happiness.

On the outside, they both seem successful. Natalie is a lawyer, married to a rich banker, mother to two kids and seemingly living the good life. Leah has a worthwhile job dispensing money to charities and is married to a beautiful man who adores her and who craves children with his beloved wife. 

We soon learn though that Leah has a dark secret. She doesn't want children, and she has taken steps to ensure that there won't be any, a fact of which she has not informed her husband. 

Natalie, too, is unfulfilled by her seemingly perfect life. In pursuit of fulfillment, she engages in some extremely risky sexual behavior, again without informing her husband.

The ancillary characters, also from Caldwell, Felix and Nathan, have roles to play in this story, too. 

Felix has had a checkered employment history, but now seems to have settled into work as a mechanic. He has a woman in his life whom he cares for and who cares for him. He seems on his way to a stable relationship and a stable and successful life. 

Nathan is just the opposite. He is living on the streets and seems incapable of pulling himself out of the downward spiral his life has taken. 

The amazing thing about this book for me was the language and the way it evokes the spirit of a city that is constantly changing as waves of immigrants attempt to make lives for themselves on its streets. It is a city that reinvents itself from day to day and year to year and yet its essential character seems unchanging. A resident from twenty years ago, fifty years ago, would still recognize the old girl in her new guise. And all of that is there in the language.

I had not read any of Zadie Smith's work before, other than an essay here and there, so I have nothing with which to compare it. I don't know if this is the way that she usually writes, but I found her prose lyrical, magical even. And yet...

And yet, in the end, the book was ultimately unsatisfying. We are left to ponder the randomness of fate and how Leah and Natalie have come to the circumstances in which they find themselves. What is their way forward? It's very unclear from the murkily over-dramatic ending. Maybe a bit more time given to exploring motivation and laying some emotional groundwork for the drama would have given the reader more of a feeling of resolution at the end.

Nevertheless, Zadie Smith has an amazing ear for language and for dialogue and she is able to communicate a sense of place and a sense of the rhythm of the city's streets that make for some truly unforgettable scenes. I look forward to reading more of her work. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...