I was so impressed with Sheila Armstrong’s How to Gut a Fish that I jumped at the chance of reading Falling Animals which spans a year in which the authorities try to trace the identity of a corpse found on an Irish beach.
Oona is out for a walk when she spots a man sitting against a cliff in sight of the shipwreck that caught fire some time ago, apparently resting .Coming closer she realises he's dead, calling the police after popping the wedding band that’s fallen off the well-healed stump of his ring finger into his breast pocket. The police can find nothing to identify the man nor any obvious cause of death besides the cancer that the pathologist finds riddling his body. Witnesses come forward but details are sketchy to say the least. A year to the day after the man’s death, a memorial is unveiled filled with names of those who’ve perished at sea.
Armstrong’s novel is a mosaic of narratives written from the perspective of villagers, sailors, professionals and witnesses all of whom have some connection with the unidentified man, each with their own stories to tell. These threads are deftly woven into the story of the village and the shipwreck, one of many along this difficult coastline. Her writing is striking, often poetically so, and there’s a compassion and empathy running through it. Poignantly, in the final chapter the dead are given a voice but the novel ends on a life-affirming note. A very fine debut which reminded me a little of Jon McGregor’s Reservoir 13 in both its structure and the quality of its writing.

It’s so beautifully written that you find yourself wanting to highlight every sentence, every perfect turn of phrase. The prose is poetic but the narrative doesn’t suffer for it, the mystery is lurking in the background edging you forwards. Gorgeous wild setting and achingly recognisable characters with real problems.