Reading this novel felt rather like flipping through a pile of family photo albums, with a member of that family sitting beside you and explaining the snapshots as you go.

The person doing the explaining in the book is the protagonist, Margaret Byrne: estranged from her husband Harry, mother of adult twin daughters, loving grandmother to two little boys – and deceased since 2014.

Margaret takes the reader through her memories, in no particular order, encompassing her childhood and youth in Aberdeen, Scotland, her years as wife and mother, her daughters’ grown-up lives and families in Australia and Spain, her diagnosis with cancer in 2012, subsequent treatment, and her death.

She is, it seems, condemned to be an onlooker as events play out, those at which she was alive and present, and others where she is a mere observer. She is a wry, humorous commentator, all too aware of her own foibles and weaknesses and those of others. Especially after her death, when she longs to kiss or hold her grandsons, or speak to her daughters, but is obstructed by her lack of – well, a body or voice.

The narrative is like a stream of consciousness, the sort that could very well occur as photos prompt reminiscences and anecdotes. Once I grew accustomed to the style of the novel, I found it delightful.

There are reflections on family, living and dying: on children, change and growth, along with episodes that she would much rather forget:

It’s amazing how completely you can block things out when you want or need to, and how deeply people can take this to heart… I felt ambushed – not by Rachel and not in that moment, but my preconceptions of her over the years, the sense that my instincts had been held repeatedly and unknowingly to ransom by my motherly myopia. I felt guilty for not seeing Rachel for what she was, blindsided and blind by my beautiful daughter.

A Country of Eternal Light p186-187

There are references to events that occurred after Margaret’s death: the Black Summer bushfires in Australia in the summer of 2019, for example, and the Covid pandemic soon after. Her bewilderment at observing people walking outside wearing face masks was a nice touch: we are so accustomed to this sight now, but what would an alien from Mars have made of Earthlings during the pandemic, I wonder?

The single thing I did not like about this novel was the profound twist at the end, which (in the interests of not being a plot spoiler, I won’t divulge.) On reflection, I think it was there to make a point about the fragility of memory, and the different ways in which humans cope with grief.

A Country of Eternal Light is essentially a book about vulnerability. I found it to be an immersive and thought-provoking novel, with vividly drawn character and settings, evocative prose, and moments of humour, sweetness and melancholy.

A Country of Eternal Light is published by Fourth Estate in February 2023.
My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.