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A review by jaymoran
The Bass Rock by Evie Wyld
5.0
It settles on the ground, ruffles its feathers, walks around the girl, it shows some respect. Then little careful movements, it touches her with its beak, fluffs away, then back again. It is careful. The eyes are still good, the tongue, once shaken of dirt. The soft paunches of face. More birds come, and ants too, in the hair, in the moist parts, blowflies and their meaty babies, beetles, their prickled feet, gossipy little men, buttinsky, fussbudget, intermeddler. The small things of the forest make it their business to know the girl, before the large things come at night, the foxes, the buzzards, a road stoat that eats from the web between index finger and thumb. It is a relief, to be picked clean, to be rid of the worst of the flesh.
The hole in the ground is not big enough to contain her, especially once the swelling comes, she pops out of it, the loose earth dances from her stomach.
After reading All the Birds, Singing in 2018, I knew Evie Wyld was a writer to be excited about. That taut, gritty novel with its searing brutality and moving vulnerability left me desperate to read more - so when I heard about The Bass Rock, I didn’t even need to know what it was about...I wanted it.
The Bass Rock looks at the historical violence against women and the ways in which they are blamed for their bodies and their feelings, as well as for the action of men. There are witches, ghostly presences, trauma, strained relationships as well as a lot of love within these pages, and it’s truly brilliant. Wyld’s prose is, as usual, captivating, somehow managing to be unflinchingly barbaric, effervescent, and hilarious, sometimes all at once. The novel is split into three sections, and my favourite, by far, were the sections set after the war with the character, Ruth, whose situation was somewhat reminiscent of Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier). I felt so much for her, and I felt that her chapters were where Wyld's writing shone the most.
It’s a vivid Gothic piece that cuts close to the bone but looks to tend wounds that are hundreds of years old.
The hole in the ground is not big enough to contain her, especially once the swelling comes, she pops out of it, the loose earth dances from her stomach.
After reading All the Birds, Singing in 2018, I knew Evie Wyld was a writer to be excited about. That taut, gritty novel with its searing brutality and moving vulnerability left me desperate to read more - so when I heard about The Bass Rock, I didn’t even need to know what it was about...I wanted it.
The Bass Rock looks at the historical violence against women and the ways in which they are blamed for their bodies and their feelings, as well as for the action of men. There are witches, ghostly presences, trauma, strained relationships as well as a lot of love within these pages, and it’s truly brilliant. Wyld’s prose is, as usual, captivating, somehow managing to be unflinchingly barbaric, effervescent, and hilarious, sometimes all at once. The novel is split into three sections, and my favourite, by far, were the sections set after the war with the character, Ruth, whose situation was somewhat reminiscent of Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier). I felt so much for her, and I felt that her chapters were where Wyld's writing shone the most.
It’s a vivid Gothic piece that cuts close to the bone but looks to tend wounds that are hundreds of years old.