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A review by kris_mccracken
Spring by Ali Smith
3.0
Ali Smith's "Spring" hits you like a literary freight train, dragging you through the UK's political and social morass. It's a landscape where grief and absurdity walk hand in hand, a veritable dog's breakfast of Brexit chaos, climate dread, and the staggering cruelty of a country wilfully closing its doors to the world's most vulnerable. Told in language so ecstatic and feverish, it'll have your head spinning, as the book is anything but linear.
Smith is always batting for the underdogs. We've got a suicidal film director, a jaded detention centre worker, an activist librarian, and Florence, a 12-year-old wunderkind who bursts onto the scene like some sort of precocious unicorn prancing through a dystopian wasteland. Florence's character is less about realism than allegory and is Smith's not-so-subtle way of reminding us that the younger generation might just save us if we'd only stop mucking things up for them.
Smith's known for siding with the underdogs, and "Spring" is no exception. She's tackling big issues here, swinging hard at borders, detention centres, and the ugly side of nationalism, all while chronicling the everyday struggles of people trying to scrape by in a broken world. There's grim poetry in her outrage, but after a while, it starts to feel like being browbeaten. It's less a case of "here are some ideas to ponder" and more "here's everything that's wrong with the world—now do something about it!" Admirable? Yes. Relentless? Also yes.
The heart of the story lies in Brit and Florence's unlikely partnership, but the relationship feels strained under the weight of Smith's ambitions. Brit carries her share of emotional baggage, and her interactions with Florence are laced with moments that are touching, perhaps, but utterly contrived. As for Florence, well, I guess that Florence is more of a literary device than a child, a symboffor hope or innocence or some other lofty ideal. The problem is, she doesn't read like any human being you'll ever meet.
The book's non-linear structure and relentless shifts in perspective create a narrative that's about as coherent as a fever dream. Spring itself doesn't even show up until the last stretch, by which time you may feel you've been taken for a bit of a ride. There's hope here, yes, but it comes with a weary sigh rather than a triumphant cheer.
That's not to say there isn't power in the novel, for there certainly is. When Smith lets the narrative breathe, she captures the absurdity and heartbreak of contemporary Britain with a gritty elegance. But those moments feel like they're competing for space amid the novel's ceaseless exhortations and symbolic flourishes. Even the most impactful scenes can feel overshadowed by the sheer volume of themes, ideas, and grievances vying for attention.
"Spring" is an ambitious, messy, and exhausting read. It's like solving a jigsaw puzzle in the dark while someone lectures you on the state of the world. The effort can be rewarding, but it's only sometimes enjoyable. Yes, there's rough beauty in Smith's chaos, a raw energy that refuses to be tamed, but sometimes, you just wish she'd ease off the throttle and let the story speak for itself.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 1/2
Smith is always batting for the underdogs. We've got a suicidal film director, a jaded detention centre worker, an activist librarian, and Florence, a 12-year-old wunderkind who bursts onto the scene like some sort of precocious unicorn prancing through a dystopian wasteland. Florence's character is less about realism than allegory and is Smith's not-so-subtle way of reminding us that the younger generation might just save us if we'd only stop mucking things up for them.
Smith's known for siding with the underdogs, and "Spring" is no exception. She's tackling big issues here, swinging hard at borders, detention centres, and the ugly side of nationalism, all while chronicling the everyday struggles of people trying to scrape by in a broken world. There's grim poetry in her outrage, but after a while, it starts to feel like being browbeaten. It's less a case of "here are some ideas to ponder" and more "here's everything that's wrong with the world—now do something about it!" Admirable? Yes. Relentless? Also yes.
The heart of the story lies in Brit and Florence's unlikely partnership, but the relationship feels strained under the weight of Smith's ambitions. Brit carries her share of emotional baggage, and her interactions with Florence are laced with moments that are touching, perhaps, but utterly contrived. As for Florence, well, I guess that Florence is more of a literary device than a child, a symboffor hope or innocence or some other lofty ideal. The problem is, she doesn't read like any human being you'll ever meet.
The book's non-linear structure and relentless shifts in perspective create a narrative that's about as coherent as a fever dream. Spring itself doesn't even show up until the last stretch, by which time you may feel you've been taken for a bit of a ride. There's hope here, yes, but it comes with a weary sigh rather than a triumphant cheer.
That's not to say there isn't power in the novel, for there certainly is. When Smith lets the narrative breathe, she captures the absurdity and heartbreak of contemporary Britain with a gritty elegance. But those moments feel like they're competing for space amid the novel's ceaseless exhortations and symbolic flourishes. Even the most impactful scenes can feel overshadowed by the sheer volume of themes, ideas, and grievances vying for attention.
"Spring" is an ambitious, messy, and exhausting read. It's like solving a jigsaw puzzle in the dark while someone lectures you on the state of the world. The effort can be rewarding, but it's only sometimes enjoyable. Yes, there's rough beauty in Smith's chaos, a raw energy that refuses to be tamed, but sometimes, you just wish she'd ease off the throttle and let the story speak for itself.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 1/2