Metaliterature

I CAN'T BEAR IT! I MUST TELL THE STORY OF MYSELF! Hmm. Do you ever find yourself not knowing what to think, reading something and being bemused and affected but totally unsure? Now, this sounds like the majority of what I remember of my life to date – ask me a specific question about what I felt or why I did something and an opaque veil drops quickly across my mind’s eye – but it is exactly what I felt about this book by Nicola Barker, her 13th novel if I’m not mistaken, and the one she said in which, “I effectively felt as if I’d destroyed the novel for myself.”* That’s partially because, in this novel: ...the story itself is the destructive element. The thing you’re reading is the thing that’s not permitted. So, the words themselves are a breach of something, the telling of the story is what’s wrong, and the urge to tell it is what continues.** So, you might assume, quite correctly, that I’ve been reading around the subject, mostly in the Guardian (because they love her, a LOT), ...