Three Graces by Amanda Craig
| Three Graces by Amanda Craig | |
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| Category: General Fiction | |
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Reviewer: Stephen Leach
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| Summary: Part social satire, part family drama, this vivid and complex novel masterfully examines truth, connection, and injustice across Britain, Italy, and beyond with wit and great depth. | |
| Buy? Yes | Borrow? Yes |
| Pages: 416 | Date: June 2023 |
| Publisher: Abacus | |
| External links: Author's website | |
| ISBN: 978-1408714683 | |
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Few styles of contemporary fiction interest me like the state-of-the-nation novel. There's something so utterly compelling about any writer who can catch hold of the atmosphere of the day and capture it, crafting an image of the country as it stands in one particular moment. To say that Amanda Craig is skilled at doing this would be embarrassingly inadequate: she's practically synonymous with the genre of contemporary social fiction at this point. She has such a gift for weaving the ongoing issues of the day into the lives of her characters in a way that feels natural and lived-in, never making them ciphers for social commentary but instead fully realised people, grappling with issues far larger than themselves.
While this preoccupation remains in place in her newest novel, the setting is shifted from Britain to Italy. Craig grew up in Italy, and her affection for the country is evident in the way it's described. The sheer beauty of the Italian countryside is emphasised over and over until I practically felt myself sweltering in it: it's stunning, but the redolence of these images only serves to highlight the impact of the troubles the nation faces. It's an incongruity so stark it's practically oppressive: widespread poverty, the damaging effect of tourism and expats on local economies, the harsh weather, and the rippling social impact of a broadening migrant crisis. As it does everywhere, sentiment is turning against those attempting to come to Italy; the novel opens with one such Italian shooting an intruder into his home, motivated in large part by his loathing of criminals and invaders and his desire to keep his neighbourhood safe. Craig examines this attitude without ever excusing or defending it, avoiding the temptation to steer things into the easy fix of an overemotional redemption or any sort of neat, conclusive justice.
The other major aspect that makes picking up a new book by Craig enjoyable is that her novels, while outwardly standalones, are all interconnected. There's a delight in seeing old characters resurface, but those who haven't will have no trouble in entering this world. For me, it's a delight to revisit it and reconnect with characters I've grown to love as they've aged in real time alongside me – my heart still aches for Xan, as idealistic as he ever was when we first met him. A host of people are here, some old, some new. The pace of the novel is almost frustratingly slow at times as it flits from character to character, each one a part of the sprawling volume radiating outwards from Marta, Ruth, and Diana, the three elderly women at the heart of the story. Early on you could mistake the drifting focus for a lack of focus altogether; at times I found myself growing annoyed that any instance of a character's story building momentum quickly prompted the narrative to cross to someone else. But as things developed I scolded myself for my impatience, realising that this is part of the story's charm. Like the Botticelli paintings the author takes the time to ruminate on, the strands of this story are a tableau of individual parts, interlinking the characters together deeply. It's less a comedy of manners – as I've already seen it described – than it is a study of a group of people grappling with their personal (but shared) histories and what that means for them in the present.
As I've come to expect from Craig's writing, the book spends a lot of time ruminating on the differences between the generations, taking an almost-caustic delight in examining the way in which the young and old often find each other as incomprehensible as if they were two separate species. These interactions feel organic, arising out of the natural mix of people arriving for the wedding of Ruth's grandson Olly to Tania, a beautiful young influencer. At times it became slightly difficult to keep track of who was related to who, but such is the messiness of large, interconnected families – even the characters themselves admit to some confusion.
In the afterword Craig talks of wanting to write about the beauty of age, and this I think she achieves – no unpleasant detail is spared, but she doesn't waste time dwelling on the indignities of age, as many narratives about older people often do. Instead, it's the joy that's focused on: the wisdom and the experience that comes with those years, the autonomy that comes with money and no-one to forbid or control you. From the off we are told decisively that these women do not waste time looking back – and even as this turns out to not always be the case, it's very apparent that none of them consider their lives to be over yet. There is sadness, yes, but it's borne out of the reality that older women are doomed to find themselves less and less visible: their experience and the insight they have to offer disregarded, their contributions overlooked. This state of affairs is resisted by the narrative in way that's almost vocally explicit, by making our central trio the movers of the action around whom everything bends.
It's a placid and contemplative sort of story, strangely so given that the story spans only a fortnight.
Craig has a knack for aphorisms of the sort that make this work: the book is filled with countless passages I felt the urge to note down, remarking on the mundanity and cruelties of age and family with brutal honesty. Families should live as close together as possible, especially in old age. People used to know this, Italians still knew it, but in richer countries the generations avoided each other […] it was taken for granted that they had nothing in common, and then everyone found themselves desperate for company and help when it was too late. It's bittersweet, but Craig is deft enough to balance the scale finely. Even Diana, who is hard to like at first, becomes softened by events and finds some deserved happiness.
The Three Graces is a beautifully compelling read – slow but incredibly readable, plot driven but also intensely interested in its characters – and is the work of an author who knows precisely what she's doing. Her writing is laced with wit and characterisation, rejecting straightforward resolutions and simple answers, and never losing sight of the personal element in big ideas. I just hope there's more to come.
I'd like to thank the publishers for sending a copy to the Bookbag.
If you haven't already, you should read The Lie of the Land, Craig's earlier novel about the city-vs-country divide in post-Brexit Britain. Lisa McInerney's The Blood Miracles is a similarly expansive, though far more sharply-drawn, portrait of modern-day Ireland.
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