This is an utterly fascinating and incredibly literary novel. Extremely poetic and as dark as a winter night without the Christmas glitz. The main character, Mary, is a tour de force – ageing, prickly and a complete misfit, she provides a piercingly perceptive voice on the world around her. Which is also the world around us, of course. Through Mary, we understand again the utter strangeness of the world we live in, and feel the edginess and potential danger of our everyday lives. Yes, it’s the story of a loner and how she collides with the threatening world around her – but in that sense it’s the story, surely, of all of us.

Interestingly, the actual narrative, concerning the disappearance and possible murder of Mary’s mother, is almost irrelevant – what counts is the poetic power and literary nature of the text. This reminds me of the best passages in Lawrence or even Joyce and I wonder in fact if, in years to come, the character of Mary in Prince Rupert’s Teardrop will be seen as one of the forces driving the novel to a different type of expression. Not that narrative and the need for it will ever be left behind, but it’s exciting to see that the genre can be moulded into a significantly new shape. As a result, the ebb and flow of the surface story here becomes the least attractive part; even the glorious chapter about the Armenian struggles is, admittedly, a work of art, but out-of-place in the context of what is being done with the book. This kind of novelistic oddity is, however, not uncommon; Hardy occasionally does the same.

Before I read this work, the author asked me to let her know if I thought the secondary character of the killer, a man who may or may not be called “Roo”, was real or simply a product of Mary’s wild imagination, as this was one of the points which had apparently come up in discussions. Actually, bearing in mind what I’ve already said about this work, I think the issue is irrelevant. A novel of course is never “real” and the characters in it are always made up. Even Mary. But the fact that we don’t know about the status of “Roo” within the text is another, very subtle way of playing with reader expectations concerning what a novel is or should be.

In conclusion, there are three questions which need to be considered:

1. Is this a difficult novel? Yes, in the sense that, for me, it stands outside the novel genre and is more comfortable with the “label” (if we must have them) of poetic prose, or prose poem.
2. Is it a novel worth reading? Absolutely yes, but slowly and giving yourself time to savour the experience. Much like Lawrence, a page or two a day gives the optimum pleasure.
3. Is it a novel that will stand the test of time? Though I say this in a novel culture where the best-written and most interesting works are sometimes shunned, I’d like to think so, yes.

Finally, I would state that if this is the standard of Glass’s work, then I’ll be first in the queue when her next offering comes up. And if it’s a poetry collection, I’ll even pre-order! Fascinating stuff indeed.

Ooh, interesting review. I didn't read this book particularly slowly but I loved it all the same. I definitely had to take breaks from it here and there - in a good way, I mean, because it's so powerful.

I've been meaning to respond to this review for a while as I thought you brought up some really interesting points and had - yet another - way of reading it. I ended up linking to your review from my blog and discussing a couple of points there: particularly your idea about Ch.4. So I thought I'd just post that here in case you were interested.

Also on the post are a few of the other links to reviews of PRT on the net in case anyone wants to compare em!

Great review, though, Anne. Really enjoyed reading that.

I hear so much about this book. The excerpt I read was certainly stunning. Great review Anne.S

Thanks, all! And I've commented, Snowbell - very interesting indeed.

A
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