Gwendoline Riley has been on my radar for a while because of her widely acclaimed novel First Love but My Phantoms is the first book of hers I’ve read. In some ways, it is not an easy read, it deals with dysfunctional families, it is sad and uncomfortable at times but Riley’s sparse yet absorbing writing style makes it very readable and thought provoking.

My Phantoms is a first person account of Bridget’s relationship with her dysfunctional family. Meticulously detailed and observed, it mostly focuses on her relationship with her mother, Hen. As an adult, Bridget only occasionally speaks to or sees her mother and these meetings are always painfully awkward. She speaks to her sister Michelle even less. Their father, Lee is brilliantly brought to life as Bridget remembers her childhood but she has since stopped contact with him. Yet through these dissections of phone conversations, visits to relatives or annual mother-daughter birthday dinners it sadly becomes apparent that Bridget lacks any self-awareness and empathy. She tries but it’s as if she somehow lacks the emotional intelligence to have meaningful relationships with others. Ultimately, I found My Phantoms quite moving and very good.

My thanks to Netgalley and Granta Publications for the opportunity to read My Phantoms.

The first thing that came to my mind when I started reading this was the Philip Larkin poem that begins “they fuck you up your mum and dad” because the novel is entirely about the narrator, Bridget’s, terrible parents. It’s a quick read, and it digs deep on family relationships, but its main stylistic trick is that we find out barely anything about Bridget. We’re told that she’s in academia, has a boyfriend called John, and a cat called Puss, but that’s pretty much it. This limited the sympathy I could feel for her in her interactions with her family, since I had no real reason to care about her as a protagonist, but it progressed the idea that even her mother wasn’t able to truly know her. An interesting read!

I found My Phantoms quite a thought provoking book. The family dynamics between the narrator Bridget and her father and her mother was really interesting to read.

At different times in the book I felt sorry for Bridget and then sorry for her mum. I think they just didn't know how to have a relationship with each other but perhaps there was a sense of duty for both of them to maintain one.

I haven't read Gwendoline Riley's previous book but I will be definitely seeking it out after enjoying this one.

The title of this book couldn’t be more appropriate as I found myself genuinely haunted - I dreamt about Bridget and her difficult relationship with her mum Hen every night I was reading it.

Like all of Gwendoline Riley’s previous work it’s a sparse and slim novel but she conveys so much economically. The plot itself is fairly simple - Bridget reflects on the sadness and loneliness of her mother’s life during their annual birthday meetings in London. None of the characters is particularly sympathetic but they are extremely compelling and vividly-drawn. The anxiety that the narrator feels in her reminisces about her childhood interactions with both her parents is palpable and fully conveyed to the reader.

If you’re a fan of Riley’s previous work you’ll find much you recognise here - if not you’ll find much to savour.

One thing you quickly notice as you progress through this novel is that the narrator is not going to tell you much about herself: she is far more comfortable when she can direct her attention elsewhere. This can be very frustrating for the reader, but that frustration is actually one of the strengths of the novel.

My Phantoms is narrated by Bridget. In the opening chapters, she tells us about her father, Lee, and her dysfunctional relationship with him. But the majority of the book concerns her relationship with her mother, Hen. As we read, we quickly become aware that there are fault lines in all the relationships (daughter-father, daughter-mother, wife-husband). We also become aware that we are being presented with a one-sided view of those relationships and it is up to us as readers to piece together a more rounded view and draw our own conclusions about what has caused these fault lines.

This is similar to Riley’s previous novel, which is the only other of her novels that I have read, “First Love”. That novel told us about a woman in an abusive relationship but gave us just one side of the argument, so to speak. In my review then, as a woman gave us her evaluation of past relationships, I wrote that “perhaps the strength of the book is that is leaves the readers to evaluate these relationships and decide for themselves where the fault line in the dysfunctional relationship lies.” You could take that novel at face value, or you could read between the lines and see other forces at work, things that the narrator either could not or would not see.

The same applies here. Bridget appears cold and unemotional, and she is not giving us much in the way of insight. Largely, this seems to be because she is almost completely lacking in self-awareness or empathy. This is where the reader’s frustration comes in, because as you read, you will almost certainly begin to wonder why it is that Bridget cannot see what you can see. You will also begin to form your own views on things that Bridget never sees fit to tell us about, or which she chooses not to follow through on. Why, for example, does she not want her mother to meet her boyfriend? And there are hints of something sinister sounding in her parents’ relationship that we can only speculate about.

I really appreciated the writing style in this novel. What could have been a very depressing read was made engaging and absorbing because of the way the narrative is written. Yes, Bridget is frustrating to spend time with because she is oblivious to so much around her, but even in the midst of frustration and damaged relationships, there is humour and there is a lightness of touch.

For me, this probably isn’t as powerful as “First Love”, but, on reflection, I think it feels more mature.

A mother -daughter relationship gone wrong - the daughter keeps her distance perhaps because she is worried that her mother will taint her life with her bad luck and attitude.

Enjoyable in a weird way - the relationship is beautifully described, I felt the daughter's embarrassment and frustration at her mother's choices. The ending is quite abrupt - but then life can be like that I suppose. A recommendation.

Bridget has got a difficult relationship with her mother. According to Bridget -and I guess it's true- her mother finds it hard to really engage in things and people and to really connect, so their relationship feels uncomfortable and forced. What I felt more and more during my reading of the book though, was that Bridget is also to blame for their dysfunctional relationship. She is not very emphatic towards her mother and is occasionally even mean.
A very engrossing read, which describes the complexity of familial relationships beautifully. Gwendoline Riley is an exceptional writer!

Thank you Granta and Netgalley for the ARC

This is a short, taut novel focused on a dysfunctional relationship between the female narrator and her mother. It's beautifully written, bleak but quite funny in places, and leaves quite a lot for the reader to speculate about for themselves (e.g. the dark hints about something sinister in her parents' relationship). It's excellent on the mixture of duty and routine in mother-daughter relationships and as haunting as the title suggests. A fascinating comparison piece to First Love.

“She’s clearly frightened of engaging. That’s a sad thing. A sad and defensive thing. Here’s a better way to put it, she was in an a priori reality …. And that reality was not going to yield to another reality”

I have previously read the author’s fragmentary account of abusive relationships “First Love” which was shortlisted for a whole host of awards (including the Women’s Prize and Goldsmith Prize). As part of the shortlisting for the latter the authors are interviewed, in a fairly set format, in the pages of the New Statesman in the weeks between shortlist and winner announcement (the exception being this year when some still oddly unexplained delays in unveiling the shortlist meant the interviews, other than the winner, were published on line.

In her interview, when Gwendoline Riley was asked how she approaches voice she said

“Well, I just tune in, really. It’s interesting what people get up to under the guise of having a conversation. I’ve heard that marriage counsellors tell couples not to say “always” or “never” when arraigning their spouses. “You always put me down!” “You never listen!” That’s inflammatory. You should say, “You sometimes put me down.” I’m not sure what that is. I remember a woman who used frequently to use both of those adverbs about herself and then add a question tag, too. Things like, “Well I never buy low-fat, do I?” or “I’ve always hated Jonathan Ross, haven’t I?”. So there was this need to constantly assert things about herself, a certain proud vehemence, then this anxious little question: a retreat. I notice things like that.”

And I felt that this skill came to the fore in this her latest novel.

The New Statesmen also, in a brief review of her career, talked of a series of novels with a recurring “dysfunctional family dynamic” each narrated by first person female writers “who aged in step with” the author. And that tradition continues to here, as does what I think is another key part of her writing, a narrator who is far happier to turn their notice and gaze on others rather than on herself.

This novel is narrated by Bridget (now in her 40s) and living in London with her boyfriend. That relationship however is not the subject of her account, instead it is her troubled relationship with her mother Helen (Hen) – based in Liverpool, together with an initial account of the equally dysfunctional relationship, Bridget, and Bridget’s sister Michelle had with their estranged and now father Lee.

Bridget’s account of Lee is simply brilliantly written. I can only really describe it as an autopsy – painstakingly as well as painfully, dissecting his speech, his affections, his mannerisms, his beliefs, even his heroes (Derek Hatton pretty well says it all) to find what both drove and ultimately blocked his heart and mind.

Bridget’s account of her mother takes up most of the book – and is less clear cut as her mother is perhaps more of a developing character. In earlier life almost proud of her unhappiness, simply because such unhappiness (an unfulfilling job, an unhappy marriage) was, in her view, to be expected and to accept it dutifully almost expected of one. Later she seems desperate to find acceptance and community but this only drives her to ill advised decisions (a city centre flat purchased with Friends style aspirations which basically turns out to be in student digs) or if not her very desperation repels others.

Perhaps the biggest difference between the two is in how they seem themselves as viewed by others unknown – Lee as being affirmed by them, Helen as judged by them

Those spectral associates my father raised didn’t persecute him. They were a supporting cast: a wise counsel or a happy coterie, rushing to fill in coveted positions in his court. Leave it to my poor mother to have those awful tormenting busybodies as her imaginary fellows.

But perhaps the real puzzle to solve is Bridget herself – and here we get very few direct clues, relying instead on the tangential and reflective. Bridget may be excellent at rather merciless observation and cutting commentary on the quirks of others and judgement on their character; but she is almost entirely lacking in empathy (what truly behind their behaviour), compassionate understanding and most of all self-awareness (she never really reflects either on how her own actions could drive the behaviour or what she could really do differently).

So for example her clearly callous annual treatment of her mother on her birthday trip to London – distancing her from her house and boyfriend – and her assumption that Michelle will take on the real burden of dealing with her mother on a day to day basis, go unremarked by her, but not by the reader.

Overall like all the author’s books not a comfortable read but a distinctive one.

"I was not susceptible, but then nor did I ever quite feel that I was the intended audience when she took on like this. There was some other figure she’d conceived and was playing to. That’s how it felt. Somebody beyond our life."

Gwendoline Riley's striking novel 'First Love' was one of 2017's most memorable books, winner of the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize for Fiction and shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize, Gordon Burn Prize, Women's Prize for Fiction, James Tait Black Memorial Prize and Dylan Thomas Prize. My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2025729015

First Love's focus was on Neve's mutually toxic relationship with her (in her account abusive) partner Edwyn, but one that Edwyn claimed was rooted in her troubled upbringing, torn between her bully of a father and her comically fussy and eager-to-please, yet also capricious mother.

My Phantoms, to be published in 2021, is her next novel. It is narrated by Bridget, in her forties, and is an account of her difficult relationship with her mother 'Hen'.

"My mother was born in February 1947, in the Hospital Madre Rafols. They called her Helen, after my grandfather’s mother, but she renamed herself, effectively, when her first attempts to pronounce that name produced instead a proud, high ‘He’en!’ My grandmother had thrilled to that, taking the fault as an audacity, which had naturally left her helpless. So then Helen was Hen. The resolute Hen. The remarkable Hen.
...
She was a secretary. Later she moved back up north and retrained in IT. She worked at Royal Insurance in Liverpool for nearly thirty years, in an ugly building, an assemblage of dirty yellow blocks with arrow-slit windows, which she and her colleagues were encouraged to call ‘the Sandcastle’."

Bridget's mother and father were married only a few years, separating when Bridget was two, but her father claimed custodial visiting rights, and the first part of the novel largely focuses on him. It says much about him that he regards Derek 'Degsy' Hatton as a role model, living in a fantasy world of imagined triumphs and social connections:

"My father so relished his own triumphs– or the triumphs of people he thought were like him, like Derek Hatton– that it followed (I suppose) that he took an equal, or an equivalent, portion of pleasure in other people’s failures. Their disappointments, their humiliations. He could never hear enough about the inadequacy of people who weren’t him. And as with his boasting about his past, these things didn’t need to have actually happened for him to enjoy them. The fact that he enjoyed them somehow brought them into being, with each innocuous piece of news you shared with him somehow always ending up as a perfect illustration of some risible misstep. Between your mouth and his ear the facts got bent backwards. So he was neither a prospector nor a connoisseur of human falling short, really, but rather a sort of processing plant which turned all incoming information into the same brand of thrilling treat: that someone had had a knock-back or that someone had looked a fool."

But Bridget and Hen's relationship is at the heart of the novel , and in Bridget's account of her mother, she is someone oddly content with her inadequate lot in life:

"That what my mother did or had done was what ‘everybody’ did or what ‘people’ did was sovereign; that it was ‘normal’: she would pronounce that word with urgent emphasis. Other considerations didn’t get much room. Her antipathy to her circumstances was no spur to change; I think it was the opposite, in a way, back then. My mother loved rules. She loved rules and codes and fixed expectations. I want to say– as a dog loves an airborne stick. Here was unleashed purpose. Freedom, of a sort. Here too was the comfort of the crowd, and of joining in. Of not feeling alone and in the wrong.
...
I think she liked finding life a little bit crap. It encouraged her, in a way. ‘Boring’ films, ‘crap’ exhibitions, ‘mad’ people, these she could happily talk about. This was a world she could be part of. And events that had gone wrong: they were a boon, too. One year, she’d been to a lecture where a microphone had failed to work. That cheered her up no end. ‘Talk about It’ll be Alright on the Night,’ she said. ‘Everyone was shouting, “Speak up.” And this poor man was going bright red!’ It hit a sweet spot, an experience like that."

Their mother-daughter relationship is a very distant one. Helen goes through a second, similarly ill-starred marriage, and Bridget, who barely sees her mother on a regular basis, forms a relationship of her own. Helen takes an, unwelcome, interest in her life, but on their annual meet-up, close to their mutual birthdays, Bridget always feels that any conversation has no real connection:

"I felt that what I said was being scrabbled through for some currency quite other than meaning or information: rather for the glitter of that old magic coin, the token she could hold tightly and exchange for entry, for a real welcome, into her imagined other."

As with First Love, Riley presents a one-sided first-person narrated view but leaves the reader to form their own, more rounded view - for example on why Bridget refuses to let Helen meet her partner and is reluctant to let her in when one day she tracks down their address on Bridget's door (Helen has to resort to desperation to use the loo to gain access).

Riley described her debut novel, in a 2004 interview, as "very intense, formally aggressive" and while there was black humour to be found in First Love, that element remained. My Phantoms is, while having again comic touches, a rather sadder book, particularly as Helen ages. I am tempted to also say a more mature book, except that could imply a unintended slight to the previous novels.

Overall, not as distinctively striking as First Love, but still worthwhile.

Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.

This (shortish) book is told from the point of view of Bridge as she navigates her way through her relationship with her mum , Hen, from childhood to adulthood. I gobbled this book up in 2 sittings and would recommend it for readers who enjoy stories about the subtleties of familial relationships, with some humour thrown in.

The dynamic of mother-daughter relationship is revealed through occasional meetings and telephone calls between the two. I found a degree of low-level anxiety crept in as our narrator described these interactions as neither the reader nor Bridge know exactly how these events, albeit casual and seemingly unremarkable, would play out. The dialogue between mother and child can be wince-inducing as Hen’s self-centredness and low self esteem cause Bridge to move further and further away from her.

In ways, though, I expected more from Bridge as a daughter, or as a person at least. The reader can clearly understand the psychology of the dynamic that has developed between mother and daughter but at times I found Bridge to be cold and detached. At one point I thought I had missed something in the story that had perhaps caused Bridge to harbour such a long held resentment towards her mother. But still she tries; both women try. And I, whilst frustrated with both of them sometimes, remained invested in and moved by their relationship throughout the book.

The dry wit dotted throughout the book did not take away from the complex relationship that was the core of the story. The author was so astute in the mental unpacking of conversations and interactions between mother and daughter - I really admired this analysis that showed the attempts by Bridge to understand, and feel compassion towards, her mum.

An enjoyable and moving read.

My Phantoms by Gwendoline Riley is about a woman's complicated relationship with her mother. It's quietly observational and I enjoyed it.

•thanks to #netgalley and the publisher for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review•

At the beginning I struggled to feel this book, to empathise with the characters and, most of all, with the narrator. The novel is written like a memoir (a fictional one) and it’s a portrait of a quite dysfunctional family. After a while, as I went on reading, I started to really enjoy the writing of this incredibly skilled author. I can’t say I enjoyed “the story”, because the plot is not what is important, here. You, as a reader, don’t care about what’s going on. What you care about is the way these characters talk to each other, the things they say, the way they hurt each other even when they are desperately avoiding to do so.
I found the title really appropriate, because there is a “haunting” atmosphere in the book. Bridge’s parents are her own phantoms, together with everything that’s been left unsaid and all the misunderstandings that they have accumulated during a lifetime. Personally, I found the section dedicated to the birthdays the most heartbreaking one. Riley doesn’t set off to make you cry, and you actually don’t cry, because this is not that kind of book. Nevertheless, as you go on reading, you feel this sense of bleakness in your chest, and all you want to do is to call your mam and laugh with her and tell her about the book you’ve just read and say “thank God we don’t have that kind of relationship”. If you’re reading it and you feel like you want to give up on it, just endure the slow start a little bit more, because this is the kind of novel which grows on you, I promise.