natural love, hidden love

Anthony Shapland: A Rooma above a Shop. 2025. Granta 

This book is one of the most beautifully written books I have read.

I think - Shaplands style - his border breaking style, text being - at the same time - a poem, a prose, a prosepoem, a poemprose

is not everyone ´s cup of tea.

But it is mine. This tea I would love to drink a lot, often, all the time

A room above a shop reminds me a lot of Eimear McBride (her style) which (text, writing) is also

brilliant

difficult

worth the trouble kind of a text, of writing, but maybe this Shapland ´s is "easier". I don ´t know, don ´t really care for comparisons (yet I still make them) but this book got me by surprise. I found it by accident in #mollat (one of my favourite books stores of all times in Bordeaux) and I am glad I bought it, started to read it straight away (sometimes I just place the new books on my bookshelf, on my table and just look at them - I know, weird).

About the plot -

we are in South Wales, in the 1980 ´s and two men, M and B, they find each other, secretly, by accident, and their eyes meet, they hands touch and on the top of the hill, in M ´s shops above, in that room

They find a way to each others hearts, to each other lives and for them, this, feeling, love, this affection, this uncomprehendable understanding is all new, all needed, a must

And in their love nothing is unnatural - not foe them - not a crime like the society, the people, the state, claims and all is secret, way too secret, their touches, their kisses, their looks since if anyone knew of them, if they were reveiled, they would be criminalized, banned. They would be unnatural.

This book broke my heart. These two individuals, they share three secret years together and way too soon it all is over, for good.

"He pushes himself down. He feels left behind. Extra. He lies lower and stays hidden, his hand rests in his pants. He drags M ´s clothes to the bed. He smells them and piles them over his body. He feels hollow, the weight is comfort. He looks for the wear on each cuff. M ´s neat repairs. A stain. He buries himself in fabric, coats and jumpers. He sucks at frayed edges.

He holds a button in his mouth.

His eyes pulses and the world dances at the edges. "