The Strays

Not entirely sure how this book makes me feel. Disturbed, but intruiged by the tension and unspoken pain felt by all, is probably the best way I can describe it. I was unsettled to discover I could relate to more than one character, and I loved the way the female bond of friendship or sisterhood is the centre of this whole tome.
I love art so I enjoyed all the references to the painting process and the contentiousness of introducing new styles into the art world. Even though the story begins in 1930 Melbourne, there are virtually no references to that time period in Australia, other than the art. The language and mannerisms of the characters appear more like it could have been the 1970s. It is as though all the characters are in a bubble of both their own making and the author's. There is a lot conveyed without words or actions here. Masterful and brilliant.

This was a stunner of a novel. Bitto perfectly captured, through gorgeous language, the languid beauty of childhood, where wonder can be found around every corner. Her fuzzy use of narrative details at times felt frustrating, but also stayed incredibly true to the experience of a child recounting a story that she doesn't fully understand. This will absolutely be one of the best I read this year.

This is why I hate getting behind on reviews. On one hand, a little time to reflect on a book is great for processing. On the other, too much time is simply too much. It's been more than six weeks since I finished Emily Bitto's The Strays, and now I'm struggling to remember what I liked and didn't like. I guess what remains in my mind is what was most impactful, whether if provides a full assessment or not. So what do I remember...

I remember that I loved the atmosphere. There was a quaint tension underlying the entire story. It was a place where I as a reader wanted to physically go to, and yet I couldn't wait to leave. Something was wrong, yet I couldn't help but enjoy the stay. It reminded me of Ian McEwan's Atonement. In the first part of McEwan's novel, there is a celestial quality to the Tallis house and the grounds surrounding it that reminded me of innocence; yet underneath it all was this horrible feeling of dread. It was an intriguing place to find oneself. That same feeling populates The Strays in its entirety.

I remember that I didn't quite understand the relationship Lily had with her family. Did they really care so little that they would let their only child live completely apart from them? Was she so bored with her family that she so easily forgot about them? It was actually jarring when Lily's parents made an appearance: oh yes, she has a family, I almost forgot.

I remember anticipating the ending with great zeal. It was obvious that The Strays was building up to something big. The ominous present-day reflections, the increasing tension underlying the slowly building story, these contributed to several nights of going to bed long after my bedtime. This is a wonderful quality to have in a novel, but it can lead to a bit letdown. And despite the enjoyment I had reading The Strays, I did feel that the “big reveal” was anything but big. I remember the letdown, but I also remember the wonderful ride getting to the top.

That, for what it is worth, is what I remember about The Strays.