Bad Blood by Lorna Sage
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"Gail had a gift for intentness. She could caress shapeless moments [...] as if she was stroking a puppy, until they wriggled into life and sucked your fingers."

[This review is dedicated to EVK, my outstanding student, who gave me this book.]

Lorna Sage's Bad Blood (2000) is an extraordinary literary work! I could not believe that it is non-fiction. I felt everything was so real as if it were a work of fiction by a great writer. Non-fiction books almost never feel real to me because they do not transcend the particular, the specific, the individual. Their meaning and reach are constrained by the connection to concrete facts, like a balloon that wants to soar high in the sky but is tied to a child's hand. Fiction books are able to much better convey the truth since they allow the reader to focus more on the humanness in general rather than on particular people or concrete events.

Ms. Sage's prose is fabulous! She is an extraordinarily accomplished writer with a wonderful turn of the phrase. Just take this "caressing shapeless moments until they wriggle into life" phrase from the epigraph. Reading this I instantaneously recalled people who had this gift. How many of us, though, would have the talent to describe them in this apparently frivolous yet extremely precise way? A metaphor like that carries more meaning than a faithful and detailed account of real-life behavior.

But wait, there is more: Ms. Sage has written one of three best accounts of childhood and adolescence that I have ever read, along with J. Joyce's and J.M. Coetzee's (which are perhaps more universal and realistic as they are at least in part fictional). Playing doctor in the bushes, the horror of braces, schooling torture and malevolent teachers, like the one in the following, unforgettable passage:

"One day he lined up his class and went down the line saying with gloomy satisfaction 'You'll be a muck-shoveller, you'll be a muck-shoveller...' and so on and on [...]"

Still more: the magnificent account of the first school dance, a momentous event in a schoolchild's life. For me, also the mention of Paul Anka's song Diana! The event must have taken place about 1962. Well, I had my first school dance around that time too, and I also remember the horrors of worrying who, if anyone, I would dance with; and I also counted one, two, three, under my breath while "dancing." And, yes, Paul Anka's Diana was there too! A sort of disclaimer is needed: maybe I like the memoir so much because the author belongs to my generation?

The author's grandparents on her mother's side are the main focus of the memoir. Their hatred towards each other is the dominating motif:

"So married were Grandpa and Grandma that they offended each other by existing and he must have hated the prospect of gratifying her by going first. On the other hand she truly feared death, thus he could score points by hailing it as a deliverance and embracing his fate."

The entire thread of the grandfather's diary is stunningly well constructed and presented. The diary itself and the author's commentary seamlessly move from one to the other.

I could keep enumerating the literary values of the memoir, but the review is already too long. Let me only mention that we get an evocative account of life in deeply provincial Great Britain in the 1950s and 1960s. Oh, and my three favorite sentences:

"[...] it's a good idea to settle for a few loose ends [in a story], because even if everything in your life is connected to everything else, that way madness lies."

And what about

"He too was only fifteen, but he smoked and drank, and was fed up with being so young."

And let's end with the best quote about the ending:

"It's the sense of an ending that's timeless.

Four-and-a-half stars, and I am rounding up. Yay! First maximum rating since February.

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