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This morning.

About me

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It softens hard things. On one side is Joe Jacobs or J. But then Joe and Isabel are grappling with a marriage in free fall and Nina is, well, a teenager. The swimming pool serves as the main stage — a platform for arrivals and departures, bee stings, skinny dipping, misunderstandings, and menstruations — and there is a French country house attached to the pool where more intimate moments unravel.

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You know it is. At first they think she might be a bear, but it soon becomes apparent that she is a young woman in her 20s. While Matthew shoots rabbits — and Kitty saws off their tails and arranges them in a vase — Laura spends her time drinking and plotting her escape from their failed marriage by learning the Yoruba language.

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Since Kitty has nowhere to stay, Isabel offers her a spare room in the house. This is not experimental fiction, but it is a peculiar novel at play with the idea of what it means to be one, and it is a lot of fun to read. The writing in Swimming Home is lean and enigmatic, and Levy sketches the characters with simple, evocative gestures, like a David Hockney line drawing.

We are in nerve contact. In fact, he might not be up to it.

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This might explain why the book was rejected by so many English publishers before it found a home at a small subscriber-supported press called And Other Stories. Swimming Home Deborah Levy. The short scenes pop and sear, each one telling a part of the story, allowing the reader to piece together the whole. Like a lot of stalkers, she feels a special connection to her quarry. You did not get home at all.

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He stared at his smarting hand. She knew what rain does.

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The redheaded naturist and poet stalker, Kitty Finch is the catalyst that turns an uncomfortable summer vacation with friends into something weird and, perhaps, dangerous. Nina is stuck in that awkward teenage moment between sexual awakening and the brazen sexuality represented by Kitty. That it was subsequently and deservedly short listed for the Man Booker Prize is sweet vindication.

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I have come to France to save you from your thoughts. He writes about things I often think.

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She was clever. She lifted the champagne flute up to her lips and stuck her tongue inside it, licking the last dregs of strawberry pulp. The poem is a key to the ending, or to the decisions that lead up to it, as the characters are haunted by their past, by regret and missed opportunities to find connection, to find their proverbial home in the world.

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But you tried and you did not get home safely. As she explores the interior lives of her characters, Levy mixes in dreams and visions and memories until it is sometimes difficult to tell these apart from reality. Kitty claims to be in their pool due to a mix up in the rental schedule.