Gwendoline Riley has consistently distinguished herself through her extraordinary ability to expose human cruelty with devastating precision. In her latest work, The Palm House, she introduces a new layer of subtle tenderness to her depiction of the intricate bonds between two long-time friends navigating London life.
The narrative commences with London enveloped in a thick dust storm, a surreal phenomenon originating from the Sahara. As old friends Laura and Putnam gather for a drink in a Southwark pub, sharing a packet of crisps, the obscured cityscape becomes unsettlingly alien. The sky assumes a “dark yellow” hue, reminiscent of iodine, while newspaper images depict a “blood red sun,” a “jaundiced” City square, and a formidable cloud looming ominously over The Shard. Much like this Saharan dust storm, Riley’s literary craft reconfigures our perception of the familiar, elevating the seemingly mundane lives of her characters into something profoundly striking and original.
Riley’s female protagonists, often writers themselves, frequently navigate the tumultuous waters of difficult relationships. For instance, in First Love, a novel shortlisted for the 2017 Women’s Prize, Neve grapples with an abusive marriage. Similarly, Bridget in 2021’s subtly brutal My Phantoms finds herself entangled with her relentlessly self-absorbed mother. A recurring motif in Riley’s fiction is the presence of mothers who are often monstrous and persistent, frequently juxtaposed with fathers who are typically monstrous and deceased.
Her stories deliberately eschew conventional linear plots; significant external events are rare. Instead, their captivating tension arises from Riley’s disquieting perceptiveness and her prose, which is both sparse and unyielding. She possesses an exceptional talent for capturing dialogue, meticulously revealing the myriad unconscious ways individuals expose their deepest selves – not only through their spoken words but, more poignantly, through what they choose not to say, or simply cannot. Riley stands as the profound chronicler of human disconnection, her characteristic bone-dry humor often underscored by the dizzying precipice of despair.