In the decade since he and colleagues founded the Guardian’s Long Read column, Tom Lamont’s writing has returned time and again to thorny issues at the heart of communities. Scottish fish-and-chip shops on the brink of bankruptcy. London pubs at the mercy of ruthless developers. Amateur football clubs whose fans are trying to save them from faceless corporations.
In his first novel Go homeLamont continues to prove himself a champion and poetic transcription of the local, providing a comprehensive portrait of the north London suburb of Enfield (where he grew up) and describing a community’s attempts to pull together in the face of opposing forces.
Thirty-year-old Téo grew up under the influence of two friends who “fascinated” him: the rich, good-natured and irresponsible Ben and the problematic, original Lia. Although he considers himself the boring and dutiful one, it is Téo who has left the others behind and moved to London partly to escape Ben’s dominance and his own unrequited feelings for Lia.
When Téo visits the old gang one weekend, he offers to look after Lia’s two-year-old son, Joel. Meanwhile, Lia takes her own life. Leaving no immediate family or clear instructions, Téo cares for Joel against his will, with the help of the young “reform-minded” rabbi Sibyl and social workers. Sibyl’s own battle for the soul of the place plays out in the local synagogue, which connects the two characters by balancing the needs of Enfield’s more secular Jewish community – like Lia before her death – and the more observant community.
Téo’s father Vic, a retired civil servant with an “English-sounding… fancy-sounding” wasting disease, has felt neglected by Téo lately. But Joel’s closeness and the “great, greedy waste of his life force” allow Vic to find joy in life again. There are other reasons why Vic wants Joel in his life. He grew up in a care home and the memory of that has stayed with him. Téo also grew up without a mother for most of his life.
Go home is a love story, but one in which the central, torturous relationship is not romantic. Instead, reluctant guardians fall in love with the child placed in their imperfect care by tragedy. Joel is a poignant presence on the page: a mixture of petty tyranny, vulnerability and shy warmth, seen alternately through the eyes of Téo, Vic, Sibyl and Ben.
Given the book’s emotional and linguistic clarity and its focus on a community grappling with decline, new life, tragedy and everyday defeat, a parallel with the work of Jon McGregor might be obvious. Good prose comes easily to Lamont; it can be evocative and sensible without seeming contrived. “The day receded from the night with its hands raised: it’s your turn.” Ben enjoys the “wise exhilaration” of the first drink of the evening. Vic appreciates the interruptions of the chatter in the synagogue “that punctuated the service.”
As entertaining as this may be in itself, Lamont’s prose serves to reveal characters, as when the work-shy Ben, impatient for his reward, relishes the idea of waking up after a night in the sleeper car and having “easy, unearned miles” behind him.
All of this has restored my faith in healthy novel pleasures, which work well in good hands but have failed to excite me in recent novels. Multiple narrators from the narrators’ point of view are portrayed conscientiously and equally; there is a concentrated location where many corners are lovingly portrayed and illuminated; a culture; a strong social element played without manipulative cynicism. There are endless strings of beautiful sentences and dialogues that sound like real speech without sacrificing form or dynamics. Go home has it all. It’s been a while since I read a work of straightforward British realism and was so impressed.
Go home by Tom Lamont Sceptre 16,99 €, 320 pages
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