Sometimes when I read a really interesting review on someone else's blog, I rush off and immediately order the book. That's what I did recently with When We Were Romans, though as usual I can't remember which blog I saw the review on. I'd heard of Matthew Kneale after the great flurry of interest in his 2007 English Passengers, a book which is still languishing unread on a bookshelf in a house I don't currently live in.
So -- this is a novel with a child narrator. That's s tricky one to pull off successfully -- Emma Donaghue did it with Room a couple of years ago, but I wasn't very taken with that much-praised novel -- the narrative voice started to irritate me a lot. But this one I thought was spot on.
Nine-year-old Lawrence tells his own life story, complete with misspellings. From his point of view, what happens is simple. His parents are separated, and he lives with his mom Hannah and little sister Jemima. Once day his mother tells him they must move to Rome, where she once lived, because his father has found out where they are and is threatening them. So begins a tremendous adventure -- first of all the journey, then the arrival in Rome, the meetings with Hannah's many old friends, the problems with finding a suitable and attractive place to live. Lawrence is an intelligent and responsible boy, and his ability to cope, even to take charge and make decisions, is often called upon, because, as he sees it, Hannah is quite often sad. In fact, as is abundantly clear almost from the beginning, Hannah is suffering from some form of mental illness, bringing with it both depression and paranoia. But this is only clear to the reader. Lawrence, in his innocence, though he gets angry with his mom from time to time, never questions her view of events. As time goes on, and Hannah's condition deteriorates, this gets harder and harder, but though he is aware that something is wrong, he doesn't realize how seriously her perceptions are skewed. He does, though, have a lot to worry about:
she said "what d'you think, should we put a chair against the door?" She was waiting again. I thought "why are you asking me, mum, you usually do the chair against the door, you don't ask me" so I said "I don't know I suppose so" and d'you know that's what got her really angry, it was funny, I only said "I don't know I suppose so". She gave me a look like I was really horreble, like I was a really bad boy, and she said "all right then I'll just do it myself". So she went off with a kind of thumping walk and got a chair from the dining room and I tried to help her, I tried to carry one of its legs, but it was too late, she wouldn't let me now, she lifted it up high so I had to let go, actually it hurt my hand a bit but I didn't say anything. Then she put it against the front door and walked off, she didn't look at me at all.
Interspersed with the story of the events in Rome are accounts of Lawrence's reading matter. He is fascinated by stories of ancient Roman Emperors and Popes, whose madness and paranoia cause terrible suffering to the people. Needless to say, he never sees the parallels with what is happening in his own life. Obviously things cannot go on like this for ever, and the ending is certainly sad, though we have to hope Lawrence will win through to a happier future.
This is a very moving, very truthful novel. It's often painful to read but also beautifully written and constructed. I'm very glad I read it, and next time I find my copy of English Passengers, I shall give that a go too.
