The next book on the Women’s Prize longlist for me was Sight, by Jessie Greengrass, a novel which I’d been anticipating, since Greengrass was shortlisted for the Young Writer of the Year Award back in 2016. If Sight hasn’t quite made me a rabid fan, it’s at least made me understand that shortlisting. Greengrass is at ease with language, and her sentences reflect that ease; she’s never uncomfortable or dull to read.

Where Sight is open to criticism is in its relentlessly autobiographical-seeming and narrow focus. I’m wary of saying this, especially because it is a book about motherhood, pregnancy, daughterhood, and grief: all subjects that women seemingly cannot write about without being asked if they too have experienced such things as their characters experience. But the choice of person and narrative style in Sight pushes us towards such an interpretation: it’s an extremely tightly focalised first person throughout, except for sections on the history of medicine (Röntgen, Freud, and John and William Hunter are of main interest, for their relevance to the protagonist’s physical and mental state throughout the book). Insofar as it has a plot, Sight is focused on the protagonist’s choice (or not) to have her first child, but we know from flashes back and forward that she has a daughter, so her agony of indecision is not especially suspenseful for the reader. What we’re left with, essentially, is a collection of meditations on the body and on grief, but the protagonist’s voice so rarely makes connections between her own experience and anything in the wider world—she doesn’t seem to have a job, for example, or any friends except for her partner; there’s no discussion of how societal pressure might be affecting her decision-making about children—that it reads more like disconnected autofiction. This is absolutely a matter of taste, but the trend towards fiction writing that might have been better off as memoir is not one that I feel very positively about, so although Greengrass is a skillful and thoughtful writer, I’d feel obscurely frustrated if Sight made the shortlist.

Unfortunately I just couldn't get into this. The writing is beautiful, and the recollections of her mother's last days and the grief that follows are poignant, but it felt as though the narrator never pauses for breath and I was forcing myself to read on. Perhaps I just wasn't in the right frame of mind for this book and someone who wants to get lost in musings would enjoy this.

This book didn't so much speak to me as reach deep inside me and grasp my naked soul. It was just so exquisitely written. Stunning, perfectly formed sentences. Just a thing of breathtaking beauty. It was an utter joy to read. But it was hard to read - I had to break it into small chunks so I could rest/compose myself as it had me panting with raw, visceral emotion. Never before have I so fully and deeply related to a character and/or a book's subject matter - every thought, notion, emotion was as my own! I felt/feel exactly the same - I could've written it myself (except that, of course, I couldn't as I don't pretend to have an ounce of the author's talent.) I enjoyed the sections about the discovery of X-ray, Freud etc but it was the meditations on the death of the main character's mother and her own journey to motherhood that hit me like a sledgehammer.

I do not say this lightly: this book has had a profound effect on me and I will remember it for a long time to come. To say it was sublime is not to overstate its power. Thank you Netgalley for the chance to read this phenomenonal piece of work. Thank you Jessie Greengrass for writing a book I will be recommending as often and as fervently as I can.

An amazing reading experience. Not to be missed.

Sight is the first thing by Jessie Greengrass I've read (she's also published a collection of short stories, An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to One Who Saw It) but it certainly won't be the last. Greengrass writes the kind of extraordinary prose that illuminates even the simplest of fictional lives, demonstrating the significance of things that in another writer's hands would be banal. Her writing reminds me of Gwendoline Riley's First Love and Samantha Harvey's Dear Thief. Sight's structure may be off-putting to some readers, and certainly the reviews on Amazon and Goodreads indicate that this is a Marmite book, with people usually giving it either two or five stars. The unnamed narrator's musings on the death of her own mother when she was a very young woman, her decision to become a mother herself, and the experience of her second pregnancy are intercut with three biographical essays on the history of science. The first considers Wilhelm Röntgen, who first produced and detected X rays. The second is on Anna Freud, Sigmund Freud's less famous psychoanalyst daughter, who I've encountered in my own historical research because of her feuds with Melanie Klein over the psychoanalysis of children. The third is on John Hunter, a Scottish surgeon who has no simple legacy, but who taught Edward Jenner, emphasised the importance of watchful observation during his time as a battlefield medic, and ran an anatomy school in London.

What links these four threads is the idea of inward sight: how far we can see into ourselves, and how far others can see into us. Greengrass's description of the dissection of the body of a woman who died while giving birth (memorialised in William Hunter's The Anatomy of the Gravid Uterus Exhibited in Figures, which seems to have been inspiring a lot of novelists recently - it also turns up in Bernard MacLaverty's Midwinter Break) is set beside the idea of psychoanalysis as a way of disentangling and anatomising your inward self. The famous X ray image of Röntgen's wife Anna's hand is used by Greengrass to remind us that there are some things we can't see through - in this case, Anna's wedding ring. For this reason, Sight's tangled threads worked beautifully for me. However, Greengrass's prose is even better than her structure; the sections on pregnancy and early motherhood here are the best - and also, for women like me who struggle with the idea of having children and having to live up to the label of 'mother', the most reassuring I've ever read. Here's a bit of what she has to say:

'Even after birth... I felt that I had not quite done things properly and that my own experience lacked, in some way, that element necessary to transform it into knowledge: that it remained not the thing itself but only a picture of it, so I was not quite yet a mother... I waited, patiently, through all the dark extended hours for the instant of my own remaking when at last I would feel the things I ought: certainty, transparency, delight; but it didn't come... I came at last to understand that what I had taken for a temporary loss of balance was only how things always would be... and even then I could not say for certain that I was happy but only that the thought of things being otherwise was unbearable.'

Sight is a short but tremendous novel, and, despite splitting opinions, surely has to be a strong contender for the Women's Prize shortlist.

Historical accounts of interesting scientific developments and psychoanalysis are interwoven into this novel about a woman trying to decide if she wants to have children and dealing with growing up, grief, daughterhood, motherhood. She struggles with feelings of inadequacy on her path to becoming a parent, caring for her dying mother and recounting memories of her psychoanalyst grandmother. The language is precise and the novel is beautifully written.

Sight is one of those novels that critics absolutely love but some readers may find difficult to like and after reading I can completely understand why.

It is definitely not an easy novel to read, requiring concentration from the reader, but don't let that put you off for this is a novel that is complex, thought provoking and extremely well written.

We never know the name of the main character, only that she is pregnant with her second child but what we do learn is the thought process she went through before finally deciding to have children

Told in three parts Greengrass digs deep into psyche of the narrator, analysing her relationship with her mother as she nursed her through terminal illness, as well as her relationship with her partner. You could distinctly hear the cogs in her mind turn, as she agonised over her decision and wondered if this is what would await her child, if it was right to bring a child in to a world where they might also have to bear such pain and grief. She also has to consider her own suitability to be a parent, will she be a good Mum, will her partner be the Father she would want him to be?

Her thoughts ran deeper still and Greengrass skilfully interwove the history of three medical pioneers to try and show the many layers that make up our bodies and minds.  I found their stories fascinating. I knew little of Rontgen, the discoverer of X-rays or John Hunter, eminent surgeon and scientist. Their work was truly remarkable and John Hunter's work into pregnant women ground breaking. Sigmund Freud, eminent neurologist and founder of psychoanalysis completed the trio. I loved the way Greengrass was able to link their discoveries with the narrators own situation, as she tried to understand who she was.

I could the understand the narrator's turmoil, but I did find her slightly annoying and selfish, particularly in her relationship with her partner. I think perhaps this was intentional, to strip back her decision making process, to fully illustrate her angst and turmoil, her childhood and early adult life playing a big part.

The writing is superb and not surprisingly, Sight has been longlisted for The Women's Prize for Fiction. I am sure that it will also make the shortlist.

As you can probably tell it is a novel that I found extremely hard to review. The themes and meanings within the novel are complex and I found it difficult to put in to words my own thoughts, but I have tried my best even if they are not what the author intended them to be!

It is a novel that will not be for everyone, but I thought it was unique, thought provoking and brilliant.

Longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction, Jessie Greengrass's Sight has been lauded as a poetic meditation on the experience of motherhood.
The novel is more of a stream of consciousness from an unnamed narrator as she is pregnant with her second child, reflecting on the first, her relationship with her mother and grandmother. While the novel has been celebrated by many, it is the exemplar of the high-brow literary novel - it is experimental and reflective, lacking plot or character development.
However, where a book such as Fever Dream -  shortlisted for last year's International Man Booker, deftly explores motherhood in a compelling narrative, Sight instead offers a self-indulgent musing on the narrators relationships. We get little sense of character or personality from anyone within the book, unsurprising as it is barely more than a novella and deviates several times to delve into stories of historical figures, which are not cohesive with the main narrative.
The prose is lengthy and high-flown, putting the reader at further remove from the unnamed narrator, who's lack of character definition makes her difficult to relate to - although perhaps if you have had children her musings are more meaningful. That is not to say a relatable protagonist is necessary, some of the best works of fiction feature despicable characters, or those at much remove from the reader, however, it is necessary to make a character like this in some way compelling, which Greengrass doesn't quite achieve here.
Despite the extensive ponderings, the novel never really goes anywhere, and has very little substance. It could perhaps be read as a study of mental health, particularly depression, though there are other novels which I feel have captured these more effectively and certainly more accessibly for readers. It is true that the novel has been celebrated by many for it's style but I wonder perhaps if the form as high-flown literature begins to define a reputation for the novel itself.
As a novel reflecting on female experiences and relationships I had higher hopes for Sight, so this was disappointing, though I can understand why some readers appreciate the perspective it offers.



I received this book as an advanced reader copy from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review; all opinions are my own. 
Image from Amazon.

Sight is an intelligent meditation on the 3 stages of one woman’s life as a mother, daughter and granddaughter. It artfully intertwines that story with 3 important areas of scientific investigation including Freud and his family, Rontgen (Xrays) and the Scot John Hunter and his brother who pioneered human dissection methods in medicine. Jessie Greengrass’ astounding work provides a universal yet deeply personal account of a grieving woman trying to make sense of her own changing place in the world following her Mother’s Death. Highly recommended.

Thanks to Netgally and John Murray Press for a review copy of this novel.

I really struggled to finish this book, and was so close to just DNFing and moving on with my life. The main draw for me was the fact that it was long listed for this years Women’s Prize. I went in knowing little about it, which I thought would benefit my reading, as it seemed to be a tale of more a character driven point, rather than plot. I honestly thought it had neither.
I found the writing to be over the top and self indulgent to the point of irritation. What Jessie Greengrass has written seems to be more a stream of sub conscience rather than a story in any format. The descriptions dragged on for lines and made it too much to be enjoyable and just came across as pretentious.
I didn’t like the use of a named narrator as in this case I felt complete disconnect to her and therefor lost interest in what she had to say. The passages I did enjoy the most were in part two and they were those concerning her relationship to her grandmother. However they were continually interrupted by backstory on Freud which totally threw me out of the narrative that I was finally getting sucked in to and made it unbearable to read, I eventually just started skipping these portions of the book as it added nothing for me personally and just made me more and more disenchanted with the whole thing.
For such a short story (under 200 pages) it seemed to drag on as though it were 1000 page long. I liked the idea of the story going into in, however I feel like it needed a lot more editing as it reads a stream of inane ramblings, none that I personally felt were connected at all.

“Nothing that’s forced can ever be right. If it doesn’t come naturally, leave it.” So said Al Stewart in 1976. Forty-two years later, this is a message that still resonates.

Sight is a text that is undoubtedly clever. Our narrator, a young pregnant and oh-so-artistically nameless woman considers the female generations of her family.

In the first of three parts, she considers her mother who has passed away some time ago. This is interwoven with the story of Wilhelm Röntgen, the discoverer of x-rays.

Then we consider the grandmother, a psychoanalyst known universally as Doctor K. This is juxtaposed with the story of Sigmund Freud and his family.

Finally, we consider our narrator’s unborn daughter, told alongside the story of John Hunter, a pioneer of modern surgery.

The compartmentalising of the story into three sections, each with its medical counterpoint, feels heavily contrived. The counterpoint stories add little; they are not told in enough depth to be interesting, they just seem to add padding. But in truth, the main story itself is not much of a story. Mostly it is philosophising on the nature of love and life. By the time we get to the ultra-sounds in Part 3 we feel we have already been navel-gazing for quite a while. The language is convoluted and when the reader unpicks the complexity to expose the meaning, there isn’t always very much to find.

Sight is an interesting compare/contrast with David Park’s Travelling in a Strange Land, also a meditation on life, familial generations and grief; also essentially an interior monologue; but done without the padding, contrived parallel stories, or cod-philosophy. Basically, David Park writes with more power using simple, clear language. That’s why I would refer Jessie Greengrass back to the sage advice of Al Stewart.

DNF at 43%

This book had the feeling of a very stretched short story. Checking the authors previous works I am not surprised she has written short stories before.

I think there is a great idea in this book, taking the reader through the grieving daughter and the soon to be mother, between states of her mind and memories. It could have been an amazing short story but it didn't work for me in novel form. I didn't feel Rontgen's story was bonding with the main story- couldn't help to think it was stuffed in to make this long story into a novel.

The writing is good and poetic. I feel sorry to give this book a 2 stars, but as a novel, it didn't work for me.

I think this book is for a particular reader. I thought the writing was good and poetic, but the style was just not for me. I felt like it was pushed into a narrative. I couldn't feel for the narrator, she as a bit distant. The skeleton of the book was not strong enough.
The narrator is the second time pregnant. This is interwoven relationships of her parents, herself and children had been linked with success and failure at times. And I find this emotion very relatable.
For me personally, it was too sad and playing with the strings of my heart. And it just doesn't go with my definition of success for a book.
I do appreciate the talent in writing, but I didn't find it so comprehensive. Thanks a lot to the publisher and NetGalley for providing a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

The prospect of having children can be exciting, but also a terrifying. Luckily, it's something I've never strongly desired so I'm satisfied in the role of uncle, godfather and sometimes babysitter to friends' children. However, some reasons I'd be frightened of having children (beyond a total ignorance of how to care for them) is a dread of making some irreparable mistake and also the inability of protecting them from experiencing hurt at some point. Jessie Greengrass describes this as “the overwhelming fear of fucking up that having children brings, the awareness of the impossibility of not causing hurt like falling into endless water”. Her debut novel “Sight” is a reflection on the process of having children and why her narrator is particularly self conscious about the continuation of her lineage. But, more than that, it's a remarkably poignant meditation on the internal and external levels of our mental and physical reality. The narrator is a young woman who cared for her mother during her terminal illness and now faces the prospect of becoming a mother herself. She sifts through her personal past and considers the lives of disparate individuals such as Sigmund & (his daughter) Anna Freud, Wilhelm Röntgen (the first man who produced and published scientific studies of X-rays) and scientist/surgeon John Hunter. In doing so, she embarks on a journey into how she might allow her child to see the multiple layers of life and thus pass on an abiding sense of happiness.

As demonstrated in her excellent short story collection “An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to One Who Saw It”, Greengrass has a particular creative talent for not only plucking out and creatively reimagining unusual stories from history, but finding a wondrous pertinence in them. It's fascinating when talented writers can pair distinct elements of fiction and nonfiction to create a story which is still deeply emotional. Ali Smith also accomplished this in her novel “Artful” where she essentially took a series of her lectures and threaded them together around the story of a narrator who is grieving for (her or his – the narrator's gender is never specified) lost lover. It still worked as a piece of fiction for me because I felt drawn into the journey this narrator took towards a new understanding through intensely contemplating these different subjects. Greengrass similarly pairs her narrator's struggle with accepting the identity of motherhood by considering the multiple innovative methods particular historical figures took in seeing one's self: whether that be the bones of our bodies, the internal workings of a woman's womb or a method of understanding the unconscious mind.

Sometimes it's not what these figures found which the narrator identifies with, but their process. For instance, she speculates “if we could understand these moments and the weeks that followed them when Röntgen, alone, placed object after object in front of his machine and saw them all transformed, then we too might know what it is to have the hidden made manifest: the components of ourselves, the world, the space between.” In her connection with the challenges and moments of revelation these individuals experienced over a century ago their scientific practices act as touchstones and channels towards the narrator's own working towards a cohesive sense of being.

The sections where Greengrass recounts Freud's professional/familial relationship with his daughter Anna take on a very personal feel for the narrator. Her grandmother, who referred to herself as Doctor K, was a psychoanalyst so her ideas were directly inherited from Freud and influenced the icy grandmother-grandaughter interactions at her Hampstead Heath home. This challenging relationship combined with her mother's terminal illness heavily colour the narrator's complicated distress over the prospect of motherhood. They make her yearn for that clarity of vision which can be passed on, but she also acknowledges with caution that “the price of sight is wonder’s diminishment.”

One lovely moment in the book which will no doubt be highly relatable to avid readers/introverts is the default compulsion the narrator feels to read. At one point she states “I read not with any particular object in mind, nor really with the intention of retaining any information about the subjects that I chose but rather because the act of reading was a habit, and because it was soothing and, perhaps, from a lifetime's inculcated faith in the explanatory power of books, the half-held belief that somewhere in those hectares upon hectares of printed pages I might find that fact which would make sense of my growing unhappiness, allowing me to peel back the obscurant layers of myself and lay bare at last the solid structure underneath.” Part of the joy of this novel is in its inherent belief in the power that reading has to connect us to the past and ideas when we're grappling with life's challenges – even when we only turn to books in a disconsolate and disordered way.

The way that Greengrass combines disparate elements from the past with her narrator's dilemmas is done with such fluidity that it reads with stunning ease. Like Virginia Woolf's writing it's often poetic and philosophical at the same time making statements such as “what are we if not a totality of days, a sum of interactions; and a glimpse of what is underneath the surface, the skeleton on which the outer face is hung, cannot undo the knowledge of skin but only give it context, the way it rises and falls, its puckering, its flaws.” This novel seeks to account for the unruly fluctuations of emotions and disparate elements which make up our existence. As a deeply introspective work of fiction it won't appeal to everyone because its drama is primarily in how it marks the subtleties of transitions in life (from child to adult, from daughter to mother.) But it does so in such a captivating and meaningful way that sensitive readers will find “Sight” utterly gripping and profound.

This is a wonderfully written, introspective account of motherhood. The author brilliantly weaves together an account of her own upbringing and the times she spent staying at her psychoanalyst Grandmother's house, her experience of agonising about whether to become a parent herself and her ensuing experiences as a mother, the death of her mother and historical accounts of the discovery of the X-ray, Freud's development of psychoanalysis and the very first caesarean sections.
I loved this book and can't wait to read the author's previous collection of short stories.