BookBrowse Reviews Disquiet by Julia Leigh

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Similar to a Rembrandt sketch, this novella breathes full-bodied life through only a few deft, precise strokes

Julia Leigh's second work is a beautiful, gothic tale and an intimate examination of psychological pain. The novella opens with Olivia's return to her childhood home after a twelve-year absence. Her two children trail behind her. A sense of foreboding and displacement takes root in the first scene when Olivia tries to open the gate to her mother's chateau via the electronic keypad. The gate will not open. Undeterred, she and the children veer off the path to the lawn, and Olivia tries to enter the chateau's grounds through, presumably, her "secret" childhood entrance. This is closed to her, too, until her son, Andy, bloodies his shoulder in his effort to force the door. As they walk across the lawns to the main house, the gardeners cut large hedges into playful shapes – barbells, ice cream cones – but the whimsical characters of the plants seem odd in this cold, closed world. Soon, Olivia's brother Marcus returns home with his disconsolate, depressed wife Sophie and their stillborn child Alice. Olivia and Marcus's mother resignedly watches over all them. It becomes clear that these characters are plagued with deep sadness, regret, and disquietude. Even the children – Andy and Lucy – wrestle with their own pain, as Lucy strives to understand the disorientation of her new life in this chilly house, and Andy plots to return home to his father.

At the center of this dismal group is Olivia, a woman who has fled from an abusive husband only to find herself unmoored from the bearings of her life. She pronounces to her brother that she "is murdered" and even offers her children to him, desiring perhaps to unfetter her life so she can leave it. Her body is covered with yellow bruises and her broken arm is in a sling. It becomes obvious that the future of her life will depend on her own choices and ability to cope, none of the adults – her brother, mother, Sophie, or the housekeeper Ida – will consciously help her.

This is not a warm family; secrets, resentments, and deep fissures exist here with the morning tea. There will be no late night therapeutic discussions, no sage advice about how to handle the vicissitudes of life. There are moments when various characters attempt to reach out to others, but the dysfunction is too deep, the ceremony too ingrained for there to be real connection. Ultimately, Olivia's children, particularly Andy, provide the catalyst for her recovery. Contrasted to Sophie, slowly dying inside as she nurses her dead child, Olivia is brought back to life by the flesh-and-blood Andy, the child that refuses to give up on her, though she would give up on him.

This transformation is powerful, and though some critics have argued that Disquiet is light on plot, Olivia's evolution is absorbing and complex. Leigh is an artist working at the top of her game, and the success of this novella lies in her ability to shave as much fat from her narrative as possible, while maintaining deep, profound significance. Similar to a Rembrandt sketch, this novella breathes full-bodied life through only a few deft, precise strokes. Like a poem, each word carries a heavy load. Leigh is a remarkable, stunning writer and Disquiet is a must-read.

This review first ran in the November 12, 2008 issue of BookBrowse Recommends.

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