Imagine a place where the joy of the seaside has withered, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss and unspoken regrets. That's the unsettling atmosphere Andrew Michael Hurley crafts in his latest novel, Saltwash. But be warned: this isn't your typical beach read. This is a slow burn, a descent into the hearts of characters haunted by their pasts, and it might leave you feeling more than a little uneasy.
Ten years after captivating readers with The Loney and winning the Costa First Novel Award, Hurley returns to the coast – this time to the fictional, bleak estuary town of Saltwash. Think dilapidated cafes, a forgotten bingo hall, and a palpable sense of neglect that feels almost deliberate. Published by John Murray and priced around £16.99 (ISBN-13: 978-1399817530), this isn't a story for those seeking lighthearted escapism. Instead, Saltwash invites you to delve into the darkness of human experience.
Our protagonist is Tom Shift, a 75-year-old terminally ill travel writer. He arrives in Saltwash at the behest of Oliver Keele, a charismatic pen-friend who is also nearing the end of his life. Tom expects a quiet, perhaps reflective, meeting. But here's where it gets controversial... Oliver has also invited a motley crew of other elderly individuals, each burdened by their own personal demons and past misdeeds. It's a reunion of sorts, but one shrouded in mystery and unspoken tension. Are they all there to simply reminisce, or is something more sinister at play?
Both Tom and Oliver carry heavy emotional baggage. Tom is tormented by regrets over a past romantic relationship from 45 years prior, desperately seeking some form of redemption before it's too late. Oliver, an erudite and captivating storyteller known for peppering his conversations with literary quotes, is consumed by guilt surrounding the tragic death of his father. Tom yearns to connect with Oliver, hoping to offer friendship and find solace in their shared mortality. And this is the part most people miss... Oliver, however, seems detached, almost resigned to his fate. He and the other guests are strangely fixated on a mysterious raffle, which appears to be the key to understanding the purpose of this unsettling gathering. Could this seemingly innocuous raffle hold the answers to their collective torment?
We experience the unfolding drama through Tom's increasingly uneasy perspective, narrated in a close third person. Hurley masterfully captures Tom's growing discomfort as he observes the other guests. For example, he watches Petula, a woman with a "blonde pudding-bowl haircut" and a Mary Quant dress, attempt to recapture her youth by dancing the jive. But when her wig slips, revealing a line of melted glue, Tom sees through the facade. He recognizes that no amount of revelry can erase the weight of guilt. As he puts it, "Guilt was immovable. It remained mud-fast in the mind like the boats stuck on the riverbank here."
The hotel itself becomes a character in its own right. Tom is struck by its dated decor – the patterned wallpaper, floral carpets, and ornate lampshades. He notes that "the charm lay not in the furnishings themselves but in the certainty of their sophistication in the minds of the proprietors." The hotel's garish aesthetics amplify the uncanny atmosphere, creating a sense of detachment and disorientation. It's as if the characters are trapped in a time warp, unable to escape the ghosts of the past.
Adding to the unease is the strangely generic dialogue. The characters utter remarkably bland phrases, such as, "He had something of a difficult upbringing, by all accounts." Even the narrator relies heavily on clichés and commonplaces: "The scales had fallen from his eyes"; "still waters and all that"; "in his heart of hearts." This reliance on stock phrases, which might be considered a flaw in a more conventional literary novel, actually serves a purpose here. It contributes to the overall sense of eerie hollowness, reflecting the broken spirits of the characters. In Saltwash, everyone, including the storyteller, is simply going through the motions.
Ultimately, Saltwash is best appreciated as a form of low-stakes entertainment, a winter counterpart to the undemanding but enjoyable summer beach reads. The fact that its publication coincides with Halloween is surely no accident. The novel's grim conclusion sets the stage for a melancholic exploration of free will, forgiveness, and the fragility of life. But despite the morbidity, the story also offers a hopeful message about embracing the end. Early on, Oliver quotes John Donne: "Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so." This sentiment is echoed by Astrid, a therapist, who believes that "no one ever really died... It was all just a beautiful dance of one vast never-ending energy." This could be interpreted as a comforting thought, or perhaps a naive simplification of the complexities of grief and loss. What do you think?
In the final pages, Tom reflects on his seaside stay, describing it as "unreal now... His memories of it were unnerving, like the memories of watching an obscene pantomime full of grotesques and buffoons." While Hurley only lightly sketches this "pantomime," inviting the reader to imagine the bizarre events, the faded midcentury world he creates is instantly recognizable. It evokes a bygone era of seaside towns, a time before affordable air travel, when cabaret entertainers and stage magicians held a certain allure. It's a lost way of life that continues to resonate in our collective consciousness. There is surely no better place to dwell on regret and contemplate the fleeting nature of existence.
So, is Saltwash a haunting masterpiece or a slightly underwhelming exploration of familiar themes? Does its reliance on clichés enhance the story's atmosphere or detract from its literary merit? I'm curious to hear your thoughts. Share your agreements, disagreements, and interpretations in the comments below!
