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Days of Light by Megan Hunter: Echoes of the Bloomsbury set

The author has established her versatility, but there is something calculated about the writing in this novel that suggests an exercise in style rather than a work of authentic fiction

Megan Hunter's latest novel, Days of Light, begins in 1938. Photograph: Jeff Spicer/Getty Images
Megan Hunter's latest novel, Days of Light, begins in 1938. Photograph: Jeff Spicer/Getty Images
Days of Light
Author: Megan Hunter
ISBN-13: 9781529010183
Publisher: Picador
Guideline Price: £18.99

A charge sometimes levelled at novelists is that we write the same book over and over, trying to get it right. This could not be said about Megan Hunter, whose first book, The End We Start From, was a dystopian novel, and whose second, The Harpy, was an enjoyably twisted love story.

Her third, Days of Light, is different again, with echoes of the Bloomsbury set, although whether it’s meant as a pastiche, a parody, or a work of original fiction might be open to debate.

The novel begins in 1938, where protagonist Ivy is awaiting the arrival of Frances, her older brother’s girlfriend, who’s been invited to meet their extended family over Easter lunch. A motley crew is gathered, including Ivy’s separated parents, her mother’s lover Angus, and Angus’s former lover Rupert, who is now making eyes at Ivy herself. A complicated dynamic, certainly, and when the day ends in tragedy, Hunter presents Ivy’s memories of the incident in a striking, dreamlike fashion.

Fast forward six years to when Ivy, now married with children, encounters Frances again, and then to 1956, where she describes herself as “unravelling, somehow ... I seem to not know – who I am, any more. If I ever did? Do any of us?”

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Continuing the story into 1965 and, finally, 1999 provides a neat structure, Hunter offering a single day in Ivy’s life each time, but as her relationship with Frances develops and changes, memories of their first encounter bubble beneath the surface for both, threatening to re-emerge and cause emotional damage.

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Alan Hollinghurst’s The Stranger’s Child and Michael Cunningham’s The Hours are novels that repeatedly came to my mind as I was reading, for the language employed, the character traits, the time slips, and the deeply interior and sensitive perceptions are common to all. But there’s something a little calculated about the writing here that makes it feel like an exercise in style rather than a work of authentic fiction.

Eventually, every novelist must decide the type of writer they want to be: someone who mimics successful formulae or hopes to create their own. For all of Megan Hunter’s obvious talent, I wonder if it’s time for her to make that choice.

John Boyne

John Boyne

John Boyne, a contributor to The Irish Times, is a novelist and critic