Maggie O'FARRELL : Hamnet

On a summer's day in 1596, a young girl in Stratford-upon-Avon takes to her bed with a fever. Her twin brother, Hamnet, searches everywhere for help. Why is nobody at home ?

Their mother, Agnes, is over a mile away, in the garden where she grows medicinal herbs. Their father is working in London. Neither parent knows that one of the children will not survive the week.

Hamnet is a novel inspired by the son of a famous playwright. It is a story of the bond between twins, and of a marriage pushed to the brink by grief. It is also the story of a kestrel and its mistress; flea that boards a ship in Alexandria; and a glovemaker's son who flouts convention in pursuit of the woman he loves. Above all, it is a tender and unforgettable reimagining of a boy whose life has been all but forgotten, but whose name was given to one of the most celebrated plays ever written.

(Review written earlier this week)

I started reading it yesterday on my tablet, I thought I would read it half time with a paperback by Barbara Pym, but it seems I couldn't put it down, so I finished it this morning and neglected Barbara Pym - I'll be back to her soon.

This novel left me with mixed feelings : I think this is a beautifully written book, her style is incredible, lyrical, and I adore it, I wish to read more of Maggie O'Farrell's books now. There are some minor points that disturbed me a little, but not enough to remove a star to my rating.

Trying to get my thoughts in order, but it's hard... What to say ?

What struck me first is that it's written in the present tense. It helps mend the gap between the late XVIth century and now. You're there, watching what happens. 

There are very few dialogues, but it was OK with me.

I don't know why many readers thought this is a novel about Shakespeare, it's not. It's mainly about Agnes, his wife, and the people who gravitate around her, including Shakespeare, but starting with Hamnet, their son. Since the Bard was away from Stratford most of the time, it seems natural to me that he's not here all the time in the story.

Remember that this is a fiction, not an accurate biography, it's a work of imagination, of feelings. We don't even know what Hamnet died of.

Agnes is portrayed as a person of the forest, not a regular human being, she has something pagan about her, some even think she's a witch. There is a bit of magical realism here, something that wouldn't have disturbed me if there hadn't been so much magical realism these days in books I heard about. But it wasn't *that* irritating, just a passing thought before I was caught up by the novel again.

I said we are watching what happens, but not only : there is an earthly, primal feel to this story. You smell it, you watch the colours, you feel the atmosphere, the animals are present almost all the time. Each character - even the unpleasant ones, like John or Joan, has a moment of humanity. By the way, the chapter about the travel of the flea was amazing !

This is a book about love, between adults, for children, between children, for nature, but also about loss and grief. All those like me who have experienced the loss of loved ones will find an echo in these characters, this is all so movingly, beautifully told. As was the ending.

I'm here at the end of my review and still mulling things in my head. This caught me by surprise since the beginning, I was so much in it, bewitched, it left me upside down when I finished it this morning. This is a book I will buy a physical edition of and know for certain that I will read it again. It will certainly leave a deep impression on me. I'm still recovering ! In a mixed up but good way. I think it's going to end up as one of my favourites of the year.

Quote :

"What is the word, Judith asks her mother, for someone who was a twin but is no longer a twin ?

Her mother, dipping a folded, doubled wick into heated tallow, pauses but doesn't turn around.

If you were a wife, Judith continues, and your husband dies, then you are a widow. And if its parents die, a child becomes an orphan. But what is the word for what I am ?

I don't know, her mother says.

Judith watches the liquid slide off the ends of the wicks, into the bowl below.

Maybe there isn't one, she suggests.

Maybe not, says her mother."