A brutal debut, Fiona Mozley’s novel is as bleak as the legend of the Yorkshire countryside in which it is set.
Life on the margins as a young Daniel – our narrator – heads north in search of his sister, Cathy. His earlier, rural life with Daddy and elder sibling has come crashing down amid violence, anger and a terrible vengeance.
It’s a dark tale beautifully wrought, a British gothic simultaneously pastoral and fraught with a sense of foreboding. The fiercely loyal trio eke out a living in a home built for them in the woods by Daddy apart from the village. He wanted to strengthen us against the dark things in the world. The more we knew of it, the better we would be prepared. And yet there was nothing of the world in our lives, only stories of it. They forage and hunt interspersed with periods of plenty. A huge, fierce man full of simmering anger, the father is a much-sought undefeated bare-knuckle prizefighter.
Elmet is fierce and biting, a family saga interspersed with periods of incredible violence. A semi-squatter on the land that is Elmet, they are inevitably drawn into the greed and corruption of the local landowners and landlord farmers. As outsiders, the family is ostracised and, to some extent, feared – imagined threats founded in nothing more than his physical presence. Cathy is like her father, driven by anger and a sense of justice and family loyalty; Daniel is like his (absent) mother. It is he who keeps house.
Lyrical and visual, Mozley’s prose beautifully captures the ‘badlands’ of the poetry of Ted Hughes’ Elmet (Yorkshire’s West Riding) and its ancient mythical legend. The narrative veers dangerously close to melodrama towards the end but nevertheless Elmet is a powerful debut novel.
Fiona Mozley was shortlisted for the 2017 Booker Prize but lost out to American author George Saunders and Lincoln in the Bardo.