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Rachel CuskRachel Cusk
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BiographyRachel Cusk was born in Canada in 1967 and spent much of her childhood in Los Angeles before finishing her education at a convent school in England. She read English at New College, Oxford, and has travelled extensively in Spain and Central America. Her first novel, Saving Agnes (1993), won the Whitbread First Novel Award. A Life's Work: On Becoming a Mother (2001), is a personal exploration of motherhood. In The Lucky Ones (2003), she uses a series of five narratives, loosely linked by the experience of parenthood, to write of life's transformations; of what separates us from those we love and what binds us to those we no longer understand.    
  Genres (in alphabetical order)Fiction, Non-fiction     BibliographySaving Agnes Macmillan, 1993 The Temporary Macmillan, 1995 The Country Life Picador, 1997 A Life's Work: On Becoming a Mother Fourth Estate, 2001 The Lucky Ones Fourth Estate, 2003 In the Fold Faber and Faber, 2005 Arlington Park Faber and Faber, 2006 The Bradshaw Variations Faber and Faber, 2009 The Last Supper: A Summer in Italy Faber and Faber, 2009  
  Prizes and awards1993 Whitbread First Novel Award Saving Agnes 1997 Somerset Maugham Award The Country Life 2003 Whitbread Novel Award (shortlist) The Lucky Ones 2007 Orange Prize for Fiction (shortlist) Arlington Park    
  Critical PerspectiveRachel Cusk’s work is notable for its dark subtle comedy, the creeping sense of menace below its surface, and its exquisitely sensitive treatment of the failure of expectation. In prose elegant and precise, but also lush and abundant, she probes those uneasy spaces between protective reticence and manufactured openness. She has an unflinching eye for the telling detail, and a fascination with the multiple pressures in human relationships. Strong on physical description, the evocation of place, and the oppressive minutiae of interiors, Cusk writing is also particularly memorable for its psychological acuity and emotional resonance.
The Temporary (1995), Cusk’s second novel, is the tale of Francine Stock, a young woman working as a temp in London. Francine, like Agnes, is lost to herself, trapped within an unarticulated existential drift. There is something repulsive about her narcissism, yet she is an attractive presence. We are never quite sure if she is completely vacuous or merely engaged in a surreptitious attempt to become a master of romantic, sexual and office politics. Just how far she is complicit in her own unhappiness is a question which Cusk never answers, as we move to the increasingly dark final section of the novel. Anyone who works, has ever worked, or is thinking of working in an office would do well to read The Temporary. Cusk is extremely good on the sheer unremitting tedium of desk-bound life. She exposes the menial and the petty and mocks the ridiculous desire to appear unique which characterises the milieu within which Francine works: ‘every office was at pains to possess its own character: “What do you think of this place, then?” people would ask Francine at the end of the day, and although she never really thought anything, they would proudly tell her that she would get used to it in the end.’
The Country Life (1997), Cusk’s third novel, is one of the wittiest, most compelling and most intelligently written novels of recent years. There is also something wonderfully and ineffably odd about it. This ostensibly simple tale of Stella Benson, who gives up her old life in London to become an au pair in the country, succeeds by stealth. It is not just a fish-out-of-water tale, or a comedy of manners in the style of Cold Comfort Farm, although elements of both are present. Cusk has achieved something unique here. No description of the novel can hope to do justice to its mysterious strangeness. Very little happens. That is perhaps the key. So much is suggested. The drift into the bucolic, arcadian splendour is consistently undercut by the enigma of the protagonist and her long unexplained flight from London. Cusk builds a brooding sense of danger, but never reveals its source: even when we discover why Stella left London the sense of disquiet remains.
Like David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten, The Lucky Ones (2003), Cusk’s fourth work of fiction, is more a collection of short stories united by common threads, overlapping incidents and characters, than a straightforward novel. By removing the ornate surface of her prose Cusk reveals the kind of lyrical, slow-burning, painterly attention to detail with which Alice Munro has become the world’s foremost fictional excavator of human relationships and interior life. Cusk examines the way in which lives collide, in which meaning is both lost and found in the world of the family. In The Lucky Ones circumstance, fate and pride contrive to strip life of its fairytale Disney World sheen. Mothers and fathers wrestle with lives changed by the experiences of cohabitation and parenthood. The novel communicates with great power the reality that life will not allow you time out from its trials just because you have children. This is a theme which Cusk also looks at in her remarkable memoir of motherhood, A Life’s Work: On Becoming a Mother (2001). She refuses to parade the sort of meaningless platitudes which Hollywood superstars are so taken by, choosing to deal with the effect of motherhood on the mechanics of her own life. She writes of the difficulty of losing her identity to the role of mother, the struggle to exist independently of her daughter, and the daily battle to keep working. Savage, caustic, unashamed and bleak, A Life’s Work is also extremely funny and tender. That it has appalled as many people as it has delighted suggests that the world is not yet ready for such honesty. However, I think Cusk’s take on the ‘world of milk and shadows and nothingness’ is inspired and inspirational writing, and, I should think, absolutely indispensable for anyone thinking of becoming a mother.
Cusk’s most recent novel Arlington Park (2006) is a reworking of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway. As a number of characters make preparations for a dinner party, we are taken in and out of their thoughts. These characters are solitary creatures, haunted by loneliness and mortality. Juliet is stifled by ‘the solid, bourgeois, profitable ordinariness of life,’ disturbed by the failure of her brilliant younger self to achieve all that was expected of her. Massie is experiencing an ‘unstable level of dissatisfaction’ which causes several angry outbursts at the expense of her own children and a woman in a car park. Christine appears to be optimistic and ebullient, but this is gradually revealed to be little more than a protective facade. Solly believes marriage should be ‘the state of hyphenation,’ and yet for most of the women in this novel it seems to be at the point of full stop. Although it is less opaque than Woolf’s novel, Arlington Park is equally strong on the constraints of routine and domesticity. This novel is an excavation of the deleterious effects of mundanity, which makes it a strangely terrifying read. Rather than generate a conventional sympathy for her characters, Cusk prefers to leave the reader with a slow building rage at the way a lack of colour in adult life stifles even the freest of souls.
Garan Holcombe, 2008
   
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