I've been a big fan of all the Sarah Moss books I've read, but this one is definitely up there with The Tidal Zone as one of her best. Summerwater is a taut, and at times claustrophobic novella chronicling a day at a holiday resort in rural Scotland. The day is rainy, torrentially so, confining most of the holiday-goers to their cabins, providing the perfect environment for them all to watch each other and get on each other's nerves. Tensions rise throughout the day, culminating in a tragedy.

This is a very belated review for a very good book! This was one of my top reads for last read and I always find writing reviews for my favourite books hard as I’m afraid I won’t do them justice.

Set in a Scottish holiday park, the book focuses on twelve different people as they spend their time cooped up in their cabins due to the bad Scottish weather. Each chapter is from a different perspective; mother, father, child, grandparent. Each chapter is written amazingly and you almost feel as if you are their, seeing what they are seeing and living what they are living.

Sarah Moss has a brilliant way with words and this book is very character driven, which is done incredibly well. The chapters read like the person’s stream of consciousness and I loved that! One of my favourite chapters was the mother who get time to herself but doesn’t know what to do, and ends up wishing her partner and children home. As a mother of three, this particularly struck a chord with me but the beauty of this book is that we can all identify with at least one of the characters and this shows what brilliant writing Sarah Moss uses.

I flew through this book, but also savoured everything that was written. It’s not a particularly long novel but it packs a literary punch in those 208 pages. The ending was not what I expected and a complete contrast to the rest of the book, but again written in such a way that you could imagine being right there in the middle of things.

A brilliantly written book and one that I would urge everyone to read!

Summerwater is set in the Scottish Highlands at a holiday lodge park and follows the thoughts of 12 residents over a day. The residents are trapped in and around their lodges by relentless heavy rain and there is a claustrophobic feeling even in this remote holiday park. There is little for the residents to do other than watch and examine their neighbours. What follows are the inner monologues in a study of how prejudices seep into our thinking. Throughout the book there is a foreshadowing of a tragedy which creates a tension to go with the atmosphere that Moss so brilliantly evokes.

Moss is a brilliant writer and aims her prose at the landscape and environment. I loved how I could feel and hear the rain. Her characters are those you feel you know in person (a nod to those prejudices that the characters are wrestling with) and so it is gripping from the first. Inevitably with this style of storytelling there are some characters you like spending time with more than others. The one downside for me was the ending, it did feel anticlimactic after such a build up. I still thoroughly enjoyed the journey though.

Wooden cabins in a remote Scottish holiday camp beside a grand loch host a varied selection of holidaymakers. The weather has not been good but, on this particular day, the heavens have opened and only the bravest or most foolhardy would venture out.

During the day, we enter the lives of various people, from the keen runner to the older women with the failing memory to bored teenagers to a child seeing dangers in the dark. These episodes are interspersed with scenes from nature.

There is a sense of dread and danger throughout both in the proximity to raw nature and in the threat humans present to each other. There is a sense of danger in such isolation and, though the cabins are in close proximity, there is no sense of community.

The narrative of each character show a marked difference between internal thoughts and the public identity. There is much humour in this duality: a young woman mulls on Don Draper, bacon rolls and a variety of other topics whilst her boyfriend earnestly works to achieve a simultaneous orgasm.

Key themes, never overtly spelled out, are the current political climate and all its negative connotations. Partying from one cabin has disrupted the sleep of other residents and this will shake this fragmented group.

The Ballad of Semerwater, from which the novel takes its name, is turned on its head.

This is a beautifully written and powerful story.

Sarah Moss is the master of Atmospheric tension. The setting of Summerwater takes us to the private shores of a Scottish loch and is as accomplished in its masterful nature writing as it is as a plot-driven novel. Every character is complex and nuanced, leaving us to question what it is that they hiding while also wanting to know everything about them. Moss brings very character vividly to life attributing them delicate sympathies.

Following a number of characters holidaying in cabins under perpetual (unnatural) rain and immersed in Scottish landscape on the longest day of the year, Summerwater is an outstanding example of eco-fiction which examines the human spirit, the divisions we build up between us (a nod to Brexit) and being out of sync with the microcosm it inhabits. Indeed, there is much going on in this novel whose narrative follows a Woolfian/Joycean stream-of-consciousness, hopping from character to character (and cabin to cabin) across a range of characters of different ages and different stages of life, as well as delving into into the thriving and bustling life of the flora and fauna around them.

Summerwater is a novel that explores claustrophobia and the juxtaposition of community and division through the interior monologues trapped within the characters, the apparent lack of action and surroundings where water and sky mould into one. Magnificently written (especially the nature vignettes) the novel is full of foreboding (“There will be deaths by morning”), always pulling up short as action teeters on the brink of something threatening while imagined and real dangers lurk everywhere throughout (and no phone signal available so they are all cut off from help). The build-up to the climatic end is excellently depicted and paced. I don't want to give anything away but it happens quickly, silently and numbly, adding to the horror of it and had me going back to re-read the ending because it literally crept up on me.

This novel is however hilarious as it is tragic and was the first book I read by Moss, I have since gone on to read everything else I can by her!

Sarah Moss must be one of the greatest living writers. Having loved her previous works I already had high expectations which were completely surpassed. Moss's great strength is character development and Summerwater is a fascinating insight into human beings and what drives their actions. The setting of the novel is very quintessentially British - a remote Scottish holiday park on a summer's day that just sees rain, rain and more rain. The characters for the most part are also very quintessentially British, for better or for worse, as the novel centres on themes of isolation, insularity and xenophobia.

The novel is both funny and devastating, lighthearted and harrowing, all building up to a terrifying climax, the traces of which hang in the air from the outset to create a disturbing sense of unease which grows and grows with the introduction of each new character.

The novel is structured to focus on the perspective of a new character or family staying at the holiday park with each new chapter, though their stories are intertwined. Some may read this more as a collection of short stories than a novel but personally I really enjoyed this structure and found it to be similar to Girl, Woman, Other in that regard.

This is a novel that evokes a restless claustrophobia that feels perfect for a miserable, wet weekend in the middle of lockdown. Set over a rainy summer day in a Scottish chalet that could generously be described as a resort, Summerwater dips into the slow minutes of frustrated vacationers. ⁣
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Separated from the distractions of everyday routine and hemmed indoors by a rain torrential even for Scotland, the characters are left with little else but themselves and each other. As in The Tidal Zone, Moss excels at portraying the undercurrents of family life and as we flit between different characters we move between their layers of perception. ⁣
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The mother of two young children who appears to be lackadaisically balancing a resort-owned mug on a wet stone whilst she pays heed to her family had, just moments before, been counting her minutes of freedom, nostalgic for days in which she wore dry-clean only clothes and delivered presentations on long-term objectives. The young couple who keep the curtains drawn till noon are tethered to each other by insecurity and resentment, boredom and fear budding beneath the sheets. A seemingly harmless children’s game over the rope swing hanging over the loch reveals itself to be a psychotically chilling echo of the adults’ muttered xenophobia against the Eastern European vacationers. ⁣
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There is a cool threat in the unseasonable air, a sense of foreboding even as the light does not shift through the long summer day. In days of prolonged monotony, Summerwater evokes the rich complications of the everyday and the ordinary. ⁣

I didn't enjoy Sarah Moss’ earlier novel “Ghost Wall” but found her follow up, “Summerwater,” far more readable. The book is a series of vignettes from the point of view of a group of residents of a Scottish holiday park on one rainy day. There is a feeling of unease throughout the book which successfully generates suspense wondering about the outcomes for the characters. The stream of consciousness inner dialogues capture their emotions realistically and humanely.

This is the 4th book of Moss’s I have read and I have to say it is by far my favourite. The novel is set in a remote camping ground in the Scottish hills in the height of summer, with the rain beating down incessantly. We follow a number of different characters who are staying here on holiday and spend a brief amount of time in each of the characters heads in a very introspective, stream-of-consciousness style.

What I loved about this most was Moss’s ability to represent inner monologue. Each of the characters we meet are just living their lives. It is almost mundane in its plot and what actually happens to these characters but I found their meandering thoughts so realistic and interesting. Through this stylistic writing, Moss is able to build on her characters and create some really believable, real people that live beyond what we see of them in these pages.

Interspersed with the chapters on the characters are small sections focussing more on place and the natural world around these people. These sections, although short, felt really important and made the atmosphere of the location really sing.

Throughout the text and built into the narrative of these characters lives are comments on current social issues. I loved the way Moss handled this. Nothing was overtly discussed and the opinions represented were definitely of the characters rather than the author trying to drive a certain point of view. Among the British campers, there is also a family from somewhere else, and it is fascinating how this presence affects the others in the area and how they react to the disturbance they cause.

Overall, I loved my experience reading this. It was immersive, paced excellently and a poignant representation of people, how we connect and communicate to one another and to ourselves.

This was an incredible novel, an absolute masterpiece. If I’d managed to read it in time this would have easily made my end of year ‘best off’ list but sadly illness has left me reviewing several books very late. The structure and set up of this novel could easily have been gimmicky or ‘slight’ but the author manages to fill 24 hours with an incredible intensity, and allows this small time scale to show us a snapshot of current times. On a campsite in the Scottish Highlands, twelve people are thrown together with their families as terrible weather forces them indoors to their cabins. All they have for entertainment is each other and watching the ‘neighbours. Each individual has their own worries, but the enforced time to observe leaves people increasingly conscious of their neighbours behaviour. One woman relieves the tension by running up a mountain despite the weather, A boy takes to the water in his red kayak, cut off from others and in his own world. There is one family, set apart by their clothes - not really the right thing for this sort of holiday - and their behaviour. Tensions begin to rise, with all looking on, but unaware of the tragic events that lie ahead as night falls.

The sense of place is incredible here, yes it’s gloomy and wet, but that is Scotland. Despite the weather it is beautiful and the author creates a brilliant sense of the landscape being so much bigger and wilder than the humans within it. This is an ancient landscape, it has been there for centuries unchanged and will be there long after this group of people have gone, it highlights an insignificance to the cares, woes and petty differences they may have. In a series of monologues we are privy to the innermost thoughts of a an elderly man with a wife who has the early stages of Alzheimer’s a,l the way down to a little girl called Lola, who bullies a Ukrainian girl. Each monologue is book ended with poetic descriptions of their surroundings, the weather and the sheer beauty of the landscape, Slowly the themes of our wider society creep into the monologues - the bigoted views on immigration, the feelings of helplessness that surround the issue of climate change, What impressed me was how these contemporary themes appeared in very individual narratives. Those streams of consciousness from children were very impressive. My only slight criticisms would be the lack of punctuation that left me re-Reading paragraphs at times and the outlook was relentlessly gloomy, but that probably would not have bothered me had we not been in a pandemic! Other than that I thought this was an accomplished novel by a clever and creative writer,

Among the so-called taste makers of Twitter, this was probably the most talked about and anticipated book of 2020 - and with good reason! Following on from her absolutely stunning novella 'Ghost Wall' Sarah Moss is on fine form once again with this naturalistic, tight-as-a-bow-string take on modern Britain.

Sarah Moss is an astounding writer - somehow her seemingly ‘quiet’ books pack a surprising punch and are always satisfying despite their short length. I aspire to write as well as this!

This book was excellent. I do not think that there is a writer today who can match Sarah Moss' extraordinary incisive writing.

I love Sarah Moss' work and this one again is excellent, utterly unique and told from an intriguing perspective. As a reader you feel like a distant watcher yet the voice is strangely intimate and a clever way to tell a story. Each chapter illuminates a different perspective - longer ones for humans, but also some poignant mini chapters about animals - and each is a story in its own right, imbued with tension which builds towards an exhilarating conclusion. Highly recommend!

No one writes like Sarah Moss. When you open a novel by Sarah Moss you are going to fall down a rabbit hole and not come up for air. Her writing is sharp, detailed and quite frankly amazing, so best clear your schedule if you are about to start one of her books.

So when I heard there was a new Sarah Moss, Summerwater , on the horizon I was desperate to read it. Thank you to Camilla Elworthy for the chance. Back in May I devoured it, loved it, sat down to write my review and failed…

Not because Summerwater isn’t a great book, it is. It’s a fabulous book with bells on! I started and stopped my review because I was convinced I couldn’t convey even half of it’s brilliance. So I wrote one line and stalled; chickened out basically.

But now it’s August and this book needs a review. I need to pay some kind of tribute to this clever and complete book, even if it falls short. And I need to pay tribute to an author I have mentioned numerous times on the blog but never reviewed. So I have embarked on my first reread of the year, put my big girl pants on and here goes…


Summerwater is the story of one day. Set in a small holiday park of log cabins, deep in the Scottish hills, on the shores of a Loch. It is midsummer and it is raining. Raining relentlessly, set in, a constant drumming backdrop to the unfolding events of the day. The rain is fraying tempers, stretching the edges of tolerance, already tested by the late night parties of the Eastern European woman saying in one of the lodges.

Each cabin holds a family, each family has their own story, their own reason for being there. Within each lodge we find a microcosm, the story of a family, but also the story of individuals. There are many lives depicted here; it feels like there are seeds of many novels waiting to be written, nestled in the pages, beneath this rainy Scottish sky. But nothing about these snapshots, these glimpses of each life feels superficial or shallow. Nothing feels incomplete. On the contrary it all feels rich, textured, multilayered and tantalising.

Take for example Justine, mother and wife, walking early and slipping out to run, to find her escape from family life whatever it might cost. Or Josh and Millie, engaged and looking forward, but each pulling in slightly different directions. Or David and Mary, retired and veterans of the holiday park. Both ageing, but at different rates, both aware of but ignoring a growing problem in their lives. And the small inappropriately dressed girl, often seen alone at the edge of Loch, daughter of those who party late into the night. All of life it seems is trapped in theses lodges, bored teenagers , struggling mothers, wayward children, babies and misfits.

It is Sarah Moss’ particular skill that crafts beautifully observed, honest and authentic characters. Characters that live lives filled with dark humour and uncomfortable truths. It seems that people’s inner most thoughts are her speciality, particularly the thoughts of women. Her writing is precise, intuitive and relevant, presenting a series of portraits expertly drawn. Everyone’s strengths, flaws and frustrations are laid bare, all building towards the novel’s climax. Each portrait provides a critical layer of tension, a layer of depth and investment. So many times I felt myself move deeper into the story, sure I was reaching a pivotal moment of crisis or intrigue, but then the writing veered away, pulling me in a different direction, on to a climax I didn’t see coming.

Quite simply there is so much in this book. So much to digest and discuss, so many places the story and events could go. Moss is the master at painting complex authentic pictures in a small window. These are snapshots that get to the heart of a character, their thought feelings and preoccupations, some problems momentary and easily resolved, others deeper brewing and more threatening, maybe not yet fully realised.


Authentic is the word I keep returning to time and again. Sarah Moss gets it! Her detail is all so real, tangible and so beautifully observed.At a stroke she encapsulates a sense of time and place. I found myself nodding along as she conveys the nothingness of holidays with small children in the rain. Or that feeling of setting out on a run when your body is screaming and then it all clicks. Or that feeling of quietly lamenting the life before small children, whilst simultaneously being unable to let go of the day to day realities of life and unwind. All of this matters, all of this is real.

And throughout there is an under current, maybe more than an under current linked to Brexit and it impact. Woven neatly into the narrative, without being intrusive is evidence of the changing of attitudes. Lola, a confident bully of a child, tells Violetta, to go home, rehearsing the xenophobia rhetoric she has learnt from her father. Justine laments the choices that will be denied to her children. And the in antisocial behaviour of women in the cabin, much is made of her nationality, as if this will explain away her behaviour, as if this defines her.

I am a huge fan of Sarah Moss. I don’t even try to deny it. I love the way she doesn’t waste a word, the way she uses language to weave a web and trap you, all the while getting to heart of what she has to say. Summerwater is up there with the best of this year’s publications and this review is my own small way of banging it’s drum. If you haven’t read Sarah Moss before, please do. And if you have, Summerwater is another perfect stop off along the way.

This is a masterclass in character writing. Each character is so different yet Moss is spot on every time with their inner voice, their dialogue with others, their streams of consciousness. This is not a plot-driven book; much of the story is in the tension of person and setting. It's beautifully written but not a roller-coaster ride of excitement. I would have liked slightly more at the end in terms of detail and plot.

This book transports the reader to a lakeside in Scotland and into the lives and minds of its cast of holidaymakers. It is shot through with a perceptive and subtle humour which I forced myself to slow down and savour. Engaging, thought-provoking and atmospheric throughout

Set in a Scottish holiday park, Moss creates an emotive and claustrophobic narrative. Unconnected families all observe each other with a sense of judgment and unease.
Moss' writing has a stream of consciousness and atmospheric prose, culminating in tragedy.

Twenty-four hours in the Scottish countryside, twelve people are staying in holiday cabins beside an isolated loch. ‘Summerwater’ by Sarah Moss starts off with strangers concerned with the minutiae of their own lives and ends with a tragedy.
This is beautifully written with sly humour coupled with sensory description of the place which puts you right there. The pace is slow and contemplative, taking time to plait together the observations by characters and the actual names, so carefully building together a picture of a temporary community. At first, they make assumptions and generalisations about each other. A retired couple sit and look out at the rain, reminiscing about the previous years they spent in this cabin. A young mother runs in all weathers and at all times of day, leaving her husband to look after the children. A teenager escapes the boredom of his bedroom by kayaking around the loch. The Romanian family, who party all night and don’t know how to behave, are the only ones seeming to have fun on holiday. They are also the only ones whose viewpoint we don’t hear, setting them apart from the rest. While at night a shadow stands in the woods, watching.
I never did get the identity of some characters straight in my head and the building of tension – the shadow in the woods – didn’t convince me. I didn’t feel it was necessary as I quickly became fascinated by the setting and the gradual interaction of characters. The constant rain acts as a claustrophobia device keeping everyone inside, feeling trapped, looking out and watching others, making judgements.
‘Summerwater’ is also darkly funny. Don’t miss the chuckle-out-loud scene when Milly and Josh are having sex but she’s thinking about a cup of tea and a bacon butty. The chapters about people are alternated with short sections about the natural world – a deer and fawn, the geology of the rocks, the origin of water flowing into the loch, bats, birds waiting for the rain to stop. These briefly pause the story – most are two paragraphs long – but add to the sense of place.
Most definitely not a page-turner in the thriller sense, ‘Summerwater’ ends abruptly. It is however thick with atmosphere. The rain, the wet vegetation, the finger-chilling cold, the sense of the holiday park, the loch and earth being much older than the visitors. It is a book about a day in which not a lot happens, showing how small things become big when you are bored, and how we are all inter-connected.
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