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shoutaboutbooks 's review for:
The Discomfort of Evening
by Lucas Rijneveld
When a tragic accident ruptures her family, 10-year-old Jas can only watch as the grief spreads; a layer of ice across the hearts of those left behind. Jas' Christian Reformist parents are all but destroyed by their loss and they grow cold towards their children, creating distance and hostility where there should be love and comfort. As time passes, the children grow and, without adult guidance or intervention, their shared trauma manifests in increasingly distressing forms of abuse and violence.
'According to the pastor, discomfort is good. In discomfort we are real.'
It's this graphic cruelty and prolonged discomfort which alienates many readers and makes this such a divisive book. But where we may wince and falter, Rijneveld is unflinching. I was troubled that many elements of the novel seem autobiographic. There are unquestionable parallels between Rijneveld and their narrator, and if it was possible that any of the gut-wrenching events of this novel had been lived, I felt a duty to witness them. The ugly truth is that they will have been, they are being, they will be.
The lack of a didactic voice makes it all so much more harrowing, but I feel that's the intention. Rijneveld wants us to share the discomfort, they want us to confront the things we so often turn away from and ignore. It feels important to acknowledge the horror in everything that leads to these actions, rather than just being overwhelmed by the acts themselves and never trying to understand where the fault truly lies. It's only in understanding that these cycles of trauma and violence can end.
Rijneveld's debut is dark, it's twisted, it's morbidly compelling and it's blisteringly raw. It comes painfully close to being unbearable, but it's one of the most fascinating, challenging works of literature I've ever read.
If you read, read with caution.
'According to the pastor, discomfort is good. In discomfort we are real.'
It's this graphic cruelty and prolonged discomfort which alienates many readers and makes this such a divisive book. But where we may wince and falter, Rijneveld is unflinching. I was troubled that many elements of the novel seem autobiographic. There are unquestionable parallels between Rijneveld and their narrator, and if it was possible that any of the gut-wrenching events of this novel had been lived, I felt a duty to witness them. The ugly truth is that they will have been, they are being, they will be.
The lack of a didactic voice makes it all so much more harrowing, but I feel that's the intention. Rijneveld wants us to share the discomfort, they want us to confront the things we so often turn away from and ignore. It feels important to acknowledge the horror in everything that leads to these actions, rather than just being overwhelmed by the acts themselves and never trying to understand where the fault truly lies. It's only in understanding that these cycles of trauma and violence can end.
Rijneveld's debut is dark, it's twisted, it's morbidly compelling and it's blisteringly raw. It comes painfully close to being unbearable, but it's one of the most fascinating, challenging works of literature I've ever read.
If you read, read with caution.