Clear is such a unique novel: so quiet, so stripped of excess, that it feels almost elemental, like the land and sea that shape its characters. Carys Clear is such a unique novel: so quiet, so stripped of excess, that it feels almost elemental, like the land and sea that shape its characters. Carys Davies has crafted something astonishing here: a story that is both intimate and profound, a meditation on solitude, survival, and the unexpected bonds that form between people when language fails but the heart understands.
The premise is deceptively simple. In 1843, a minister named John Ferguson is sent to a remote Scottish island to evict its last inhabitant, a man named Ivar. It is the era of the Scottish Clearances, a time when landowners saw more value in sheep than in people, and Ivar, living alone with only his animals for company, is an inconvenient reminder of a past that the powerful are eager to erase.
But before John can even begin his task, an accident leaves him unconscious on the shore, and Ivar, unaware of his mission, takes him in, nursing him back to health. They do not share a language, but a fragile understanding begins to form between them. Meanwhile, back on the mainland, John’s wife Mary, alarmed by the nature of his task and the dangers he may face, sets out to find him. The novel unfolds like a slow tide, inexorable and deeply moving.
The prose is spare, yet every word feels deliberately placed, carrying the weight of something larger than itself. There is a Claire Keegan-like precision to Davies� writing—an ability to render landscape and emotion with a crystalline clarity. She does not waste words, nor does she need to; the spaces between them do just as much of the storytelling.
Ivar, in particular, is a marvel of character work. He is lonely but not broken, a man who has lived so long with the sea as his only companion that he seems half-wild, and yet, his kindness toward John is immediate, instinctive. There is no need for grand declarations between them—only gestures, food shared in silence, the slow and careful work of trust being built. Davies� use of Norn words adds another layer of authenticity to Ivar’s world, anchoring the novel even more deeply in its time and place.
And then there is Mary—perhaps the most unexpectedly compelling figure of all. Her journey to find John is not just a physical one, but an emotional and intellectual reckoning, a confrontation with the limits of duty and the shape of love. She is the kind of character who does not demand attention but earns it nonetheless, with quiet resolve and deeply felt emotion.
If I have one complaint, it is simply that I wanted more. The novel is brief—almost too brief for something so rich—and I found myself reading over passages, reluctant to leave the world Davies had so masterfully conjured. But perhaps that is the point. Some stories are not meant to be sprawling epics; some are best told like this, distilled to their essence, leaving space for the reader to sit with them, to let them settle.
Clear is a novel of remarkable restraint, yet it brims with meaning. It is about displacement, about kindness, about the human need for connection even in the most isolated of places. It is, in every sense, a stunning achievement. 4.5/5.
Anne Tyler’s Three Days in June is a novel that left me cold. It’s a short book, but it felt long—dragging me through the mundane grievances of a womaAnne Tyler’s Three Days in June is a novel that left me cold. It’s a short book, but it felt long—dragging me through the mundane grievances of a woman so self-absorbed and neurotic that I struggled to find anything redeemable about her. The entire novel could be summed up as "white, middle-aged woman problems," and while that premise could have been compelling with depth and nuance, it ultimately felt shallow and pointless.
In theory, this could have been a fascinating character study, an exploration of family dynamics, regret, and resilience. But instead, it’s a tedious march through Gail’s unfiltered internal monologue. Her perspective is judgmental, self-pitying, and, frankly, exhausting. I usually don’t mind an unlikable protagonist—flawed, complicated characters can be deeply compelling—but Gail isn’t complex; she’s just tiresome. Her ex-husband Max, who is meant to be the laid-back counterbalance to her uptight nature, ends up being the only character I felt any sympathy for.
The novel’s structure—three days, three acts—should have given it a tight, propulsive rhythm, but instead, it meanders. The "big reveal" in the middle isn’t surprising, and the resolution feels unearned. And then there’s the ending. Without giving too much away, it felt disappointingly neat for a story that should have been messy, raw, and real. Some moments of wry humour pop up, and Tyler’s prose is, as always, smooth and readable, but that’s not enough to salvage a story that feels so aimless.
Ultimately, Three Days in June didn’t work for me. It’s a book about self-absorbed people wallowing in their own dissatisfaction, and while that can sometimes make for an insightful read, here it just felt like a chore. If you’re a die-hard Anne Tyler fan, you may still find something to appreciate, but for me, this one was a miss. ...more
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