My tummy goes wobbly when I know there’s a new Nina Allen book published. Since The Doll Maker I’ve read each one of her novels and I continue to explore her back catalogue. One of the things I love about her books and her work is that it cannot be easily categorised or compartmentalised. I’ve used the term “genre defiant” many times before in respect of her work and I’ll continue to do so. Like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.
A Granite Silence Is quite extraordinary. It is offered as a novel but so much appears as factual, believable facts, autobiographical, social history, that I would like to call it a “ficumentary”. I even went as far as googling Helen Priestly just to confirm that the events depicted in the book did have their feet in fact and truth.
(I even found a photo of the little girl’s grave.😢)
So it’s in part an historical novel depicting 1930s Aberdeen yet it also hints of autobiography where the writer is travelling on the later cusp of covid and lockdown coming across the true crime story of Helen Priestley’s murder from a photograph. She states that her journey is not essential, and we learn that the initial idea for a new book has nothing to do with murdered children. It’s to do with a Russian émigré, escaping the Bolsheviks! But she doesn’t leave that idea, or cast it aside when another idea seems to take precedence. It’s all woven into the complex narrative.
Nina Allen has always layered her work. One thinks of The Doll Maker were there are stories within stories, epistolary and a first-person narrative but it seems that with The Granite Silence she’s become more sophisticated, more diverse with these layered techniques.
Much of the book appears to be a direct account of the crime itself. Courtroom transcripts, newspaper articles are all referenced, some in full. But the book shifts in times and places pausing the crime exploration to examine the lives of those involved. From Jeannie Donald, accused of the crime, to the forensics professor who was instrumental in the progress of the crime investigation. The lines between fact and fiction become blurred and it’s as if a collection of short stories, thematically linked, are fused together to form a cohesive novel.
And if, after reading the factual parts of the book, the reader is left in any doubt that it is a work of fiction, the concluding chapter is utterly masterful.
The book is empathic, cathartic even. It looks at people, their motivations, their frailties. It tells of a community bonding through a crisis. It’s about telling a story. It’s about the different points of view. Who do we listen to? Who do we believe? And it leaves you almost breathless knowing that you have just read something quite extraordinary.
My thanks to Ana McLaughlin at riverrun books for my gifted copy.