We Spread by Iain Reid: A review

I have not read any of Iain Reid's previous books, but based on my enjoyment of this, his latest, one, I think I will certainly be seeking him out in the future.

My first quandary in attempting to describe the book is to decide just which category I should assign it to. It is literary fiction, certainly, but also it is a thriller, a mystery, with even a bit of horror thrown in for good measure. Reid has the perfect subject on which to expound on all those themes - old age.

His protagonist is named Penny and when we meet her, she has already had a very long life. She is at a crisis point in her life. Sometime earlier, her life partner had died but before he died, he had made arrangements for Penny to have a residence at a unique long-term care facility. Now, after a series of concerning "incidents," she has decided to take up that residence.

The house in which the facility is located is surrounded by beautiful woods. It is quite a peaceful site and at first, Penny is very content there. In her earlier life, she had been a painter and now she begins to paint again. She settles in, enjoying the companionship of her peers who are the other residents, and relishing the experience of being cared for.

As time passes, however, Penny begins to have a sense of unrest about her new surroundings. She begins to distrust her caregivers and to become disoriented concerning the passage of time and regarding her own place in the world. Is this all just the unavoidable effect of aging or is there something more sinister going on here?

Reid's telling of this tale was quite compelling. I found the book hard to put down. His writing was spare and unembellished but almost hypnotic in its propulsive quality. He is a relatively young person and yet he was able to compassionately relate the story of his characters growing old and losing some of the autonomy that they had enjoyed in their lives. Being able to do so, it seems to me, is a mark of real talent as a writer. It will be interesting to see where that talent leads him in the future.

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. ...

The Nature of Things

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