Review: Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

A real heavyweight among contemporary storytellers, Sarah Waters is one of my most admired authors. Her last three novels have each been nominated for the prestigious Man Booker Prize and the television adaptation of Tipping the Velvet, her debut tale of lesbianism in Victorian England, was an eye-opening experience for many viewers.

I have not yet read Tipping the Velvet but, after being gripped by her latest novel, The Little Stranger, I have decided to explore Waters' back catalogue. Set in the aftermath of the Second World War, when society has changed and formerly rich families are struggling to maintain their grip on the good life, The Little Stranger tells a slow and creeping story about the effects of decay, both physical and social. Brilliantly narrated by a character who keeps you guessing about his own motives and plays with your sympathies, it touches on the supernatural in an ambiguous way that I find rather thrilling.

So I went on to read The Nightwatch, again set in and around the Second World War, and I was not disappointed. With this novel, Waters seems to excel in telling stories that are kind of about nothing - nothing, that is, other than the complexities and absurdities of human life. Even though it often concerns itself with the minutiae of day to day life - affairs, failed romance, petty and not so petty crimes - the secrets you know are coming still grip and enthral the reader. Telling the story in reverse chronological order, Waters' grasp of structure is awe-inspiring and a useful lesson to all aspiring writers out there.

As a reader, Fingersmith was my first foray into Waters' Victorian period. And to be brutally honest, after the first few pages, my heart was starting to sink. Although it had clearly been intricately researched and was written with as much class as ever, I began to feel uneasy. For the dialogue was too twee, the research shovelled too heavily onto the page, as if the authenticity of its setting had been judged more important than the story or establishment of character. When a chap nicknamed 'Gentleman' turned up, I wondered if I had inadvertantly picked up a Catherine Cookson potboiler by mistake.

But I stuck out this inauspicious beginning and almost immediately, my faith began to pay off. When Waters allowed us to move beyond the grim atmosphere of a thieves' den in Victorian London, the story picked up apace and before long, I was hooked. The twist at the end of part one literally made my jaw drop and now, I cared - I wanted to know what happened to these characters and I had opinions on how their fates should pan out, which is surely the mark of a truly successful storyteller.

Of course there was a bit of lesbo action, but it was handled in a tender and not remotely titillating manner. Indeed, given the behaviour of the story's male population, getting busy with a fellow chick seemed an infinitely more favourable prospect. At one point, I was a little concerned that a subplot about sexual deviancy was going to poison the experience, but it was expertly handled. Without subjecting the reader to the ins and outs of it, so to speak, the deeply unsettling influence is made to pervade the atmosphere, just as it does the lives of Waters' fictional heroines.

Drawing characters that are all too human, Waters leaves you wondering if they deserved their fates; who was good, who was bad and just how far you have to go in order to earn redemption.