Something Might Happen, by Julie Myerson, turns a typical “rustic idyll” (126) in seaside Suffolk into the setting of a chilling murder, a mystery without a resolution. Myerson’s story is not crime fiction; it is not interested in neat-and-tidy answers; we never discover who is responsible, or why smiling, relaxed Lennie was the victim. Rather, the novel focusses on her friends and family as they come to terms with their grief and loss. Lennie’s father, Ben; Lennie’s husband Alex; the couple’s best friends, Tess and Mick; the children of both couples; the family liaison officer, Ted Lacey: all are intertwined in this novel of life, death, family and solitude.
The small beach town is known as “a safe place” (9), “one of the happiest and most picturesque […] in all England” (47) according to the guidebooks. It has its own “salt-stained” (4) and sea-bleached identity that comes from being isolated at “a dead end”, with “creek, sea and river on three sides, the road going up to the A12 on the other” (46). Peaceful and lonely in equal measure, it certainly doesn’t have any of the “buildings, people, mess, dirt” (181) that London offers.
Tess knows the town’s spirit inside out and, before Lennie’s death, “used to like it” (3). She adored “that moment when you can’t see what’s what any more and sea and sky are one” (174); she enjoyed feeling “smaller, safer, a speck on the ground” (147), in awe of the beauty of nature around her. Most of all, she cherished the smell of young innocence her children possessed in the town’s environs, protected as they were from “the different contaminated smell of the outside world” (225.) But the dream of tranquillity and security of coastal living are shattered all too soon, and she is awakened instead to the “rough, sea cold that goes right through your clothes and hits your bones” (8), the creepy tales of deaths in the “marshes” (80); the eerie “energy” of the countryside “that sucked you in, that snared you” (327). As events take several turns for the worse, Tess and her family have little hope of finding peace on the town’s shores.
I have to say, I whizzed through this book. It’s short, it’s an easy read and, honestly, it didn’t require or incite much emotional commitment from its reader. That is not to say the novel is badly written – indeed, there are a few stylistic quirks that I appreciated, such as the lack of quotation marks around speech, which means the narrative blurs into the dialogue. This intrigues the reader into questioning what is being said vs. what is being thought, what is being shared vs. what remains a secret. I thought it was effective, too, the way in which Myerson refused to solve the murder mystery, in order to focus on the living.
I know some people adore books of this undemanding measure; it’s just that I do not find them hugely fulfilling. Plus, and it sounds ridiculous to say it, but the characters of the children really irritated me: they were too prominent, too in-the-way and Tess was far too sentimental about them – even on their naughtiest days – to earn credence or respect from me. To sit through 300-odd pages about how young, sweet and innocent children are was a little sickening, especially for someone who, personally speaking, probably won’t ever be convinced on that score anyway…
Much to my disappointment and shame, this hasn’t been a particularly objective or academic review – but then again, I forget that I’m not an academic any more, am I? Now I’m just a reader entitled to read books that engage and enthuse me. Unfortunately, this has not been one of the best: 2/5 stars.
Next week I’ve got David Mitchell’s Black Swan Green in my sights for Worcestershire. I’ve been dying to read this one for ages so stay tuned for what I hope will be a great review!