(HarperPress, $29.99)Skunk Cunningham is 11 years old and in a coma. That’s how this book starts so why I thought it was a comedy, I can’t for the life of me work out.
Snippets of this engaging debut novel from a previously oft-rejected author are narrated by the unconscious Skunk herself, which is something a bit out of the ordinary, but the story of how she got to be unconscious unfolds in the more traditional third person.
Skunk lives on a suburban square in Hampshire, England, with her lawyer dad Archie, her brother Jed and their Welsh au pair Cerys. Skunk’s life is mostly about playing Xbox and working out how to get to and from school without getting the snot beaten out of her by one of the skanky oswald girls. The oswalds are the neighbours from hell. Widower dad Bob is a lazy, lying bully who is doing a delightful job of bringing up his five daughters Saraya, Saskia, Susan, Sunrise and Sunset to also be lazy, lying bullies. It’s the cruelty of Saskia towards yet another poor beleagured neighbour on the square that sets off a chain of events which eventually leads to Skunk being in a coma.
I would love to think that people such as the oswalds don’t really exist because, if they do, God help England is all I can say. Still, Bob may be a psychotic monster but there is no doubt he loves Saraya, Saskia, Susan, Sunrise and Sunset just as much as Archie loves Skunk. And this is what Daniel Clay is exploring, I think: the awful power of love. Not always good but definitely powerful.
I was already well drawn into Skunk’s world before I realised how much of a comedy this book isn’t. It’s a heartbreaker. And it’s a gritty, ugly heartbreaker in parts, so if you’re after puppies and butterflies and white fluffy clouds, look elsewhere. But while it is gritty, it is not ultimately bleak, and Skunk’s innocence shines like a beacon of hope all the way through, keeping you turning those pages sometimes even with a smile on your face.
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