Helena McEwenCritiques

Eve leaves her father in their countryside cottage and moves to London to study painting. At the Art school she meets a bunch of girlfriends and they start sharing their lives. Eve's father comes and goes and eventually is gone, the pain she feels is soothened by this beautiful friendship.
Helena McEwen paints with words, every moment of Eve's life is present with vivid colors in the reader's mind.

"Sometimes it's all too much, don't you think?"
"That's why people paint, Eve, why they write music or sing or make films. Because they can't stand it either"
"Don't forget the good things", she says as we cross Trafalgar Square between the huge lions.

Wow, this book was absolutely breathtaking. I felt like I was in the paintings and walking the streets of London along side Evie! So amazing. :)


*won from goodreads

I liked this book but having everything related through the eyes of a painter at every turn gets a bit wearying. The characters were good but, for me, there was something about every one of them that I found really annoying and I just couldn't help wondering if meant to represent 'typical' eccentric arty people, or if they were just all annoying.½

Wow, this book was absolutely breathtaking. I felt like I was in the paintings and walking the streets of London along side Evie! So amazing. :)

Authors come at writing from many different walks of life. Oftentimes they have had another career first or they have taken another path before realizing that writing is where their passion lies. And sometimes it is easy to guess where authors have come from through their writing. McEwen was an artist before turning her hand to writing and it clearly shows in her incredibly visual, composed, and artistic description in the novel Invisible River.

Opening with Eve on the verge of moving to London to pursue her studies as an art student, she is leaving her worn-down, sad, and alcoholic father, who has cared for her since her mother's death when she was small and she worries about his future knowing that she must break free and pursue her own life. She soon finds a close group of friends at school and starts painting jewel bright London cityscapes in celebration of the vibrant city in which she now lives. Eve also develops a friendship and a secret crush on a second year sculpture student, Zeb, who is already in a relationship.

When she chooses not to go home for Christmas, Eve makes the difficult decision to stay away from her needy father, anxious to conceal from herself just how poorly he is coping on his own. But he comes to find her in London, landing on her doorstep drunk and devastated. Frustrated by his embarrassing presence in her flat and his inability to face his demons, especially his alcoholism, she tells him to leave only to find herself consumed with worry and despair when he actually does disappear. Her cityscapes become riddled with nightmare characters and the colors are muddied and terrible as she embarks on a desperate quest to find him even as she knows he is lost to her, beyond saving.

The imagery in the novel is simply overwhelming and startlingly present. McEwen draws beautiful mental pictures of Eve's paintings, her friends' works, and Zeb's intricate and enchanting sculptures. Certain of her paragraphs are love letters to color and to technique. The art is detailed and full. The characters are not quite as vivid as their works although Eve's nightmares are lucid and phantasmagoric. The actual plot is really just a bildungsroman, Eve's coming of age and straining to break free of the past that she eventually comes to understand will be a part of her forever. The secondary characters' chosen subjects illuminate them as much as any description of them does. And Eve's artistic progression clearly highlights her inner turmoil and struggle. The middle section of the book, the search for Eve's father, overwhelms the framing sections a bit and makes the tone of the ending feel dreamily unearned. Over all though, there is some gorgeous and poetic writing here and McEwen can certainly paint a word picture.½

Pretty much everything I had seen/read/heard about this book was tied somehow to alcoholism. It was therefore a little odd that with the exception of one very vague reference (once) in the first chapter, I read the first part of this book wondering if I had somehow confused it with another book. And then it happens.

I did not necessearily find this book difficult to read, but I did find the realism with which it was written and the all too true, but disturbing, feelings of the daughter unsettling. I became very vested in the interests of these characters and I "needed" to see how it was going to play out.

I seem to have given this book a slightly higher rating than others, but I would have given it even higher had it not been for the "style" of the author's writing. I am not familiar with McEwen, so maybe this is how she writes everything, but whole sections of the book were written like poetry. Sorry to say, I do not like poetry. The only thing which kept me reading was the fact that she occasionally stopped the poetry and wrote in traditional conversational segments. The jumping from a simple conversation to the imagery of the river was too disjointed for me. Possibly I simply cannot appreciate her poetic style, but the fact remains that the book seemed chaotic, and I found myself skimming the imagery to get to the meat.½

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/mar/19/helena-mcewen-invisible-river-review

Helena McEwen is an artist who brings a painter's eye to her fiction. Her first novel, the heartbreaking and beautiful The Big House, dealt with family tragedy; Ghost Girl, which followed in 2004, was the story of an unhappy convent schoolgirl who is liberated by her elder art-student sister; and her latest, Invisible River, while not a sequel to it, has a heroine who is herself sometimes a bit of a ghost girl and is just starting at Chelsea School of Art.

Eve and her writer father have lived alone together in Cornwall since her mother drowned, which may or may not have been accidental, when Eve was a small child. He is Prospero to her Miranda, looking after her and telling her marvellous stories until, defeated by loneliness, he seeks solace in drink, and she yearns for a brave new world of independence. His art will come to nothing. He will never finish the book he has been struggling with for years. The narrative begins as Eve, sick at heart, knowing he won't cope, leaves for London.

In the mode of a classic girls' school story – the train journey, the first day of term, a canvas bag of new art materials – we are introduced to the students and tutors who will be friends or foes. The tutors, mostly, become the enemy; they are seen as sneering and embittered by their own lack of success. There is a certain amount of contempt on both sides, although eventually Eve comes to feel a pang of pity for her chief tormentor, Sergei. There is a nice portrait of the elegant, redoubtable school secretary Miss Pym, who holds the real power in the establishment.

Soon Eve is one of a quartet of girls, with Bianca, Cecile and Roberta, all vividly depicted and characterised through their work. Bianca, sophisticated and cosmopolitan, makes glittering collages, Roberta moulds figures from Thames mud and Cecile paints enormous flowers and foliage. Then there is Zeb, the second-year sculpture student with whom Eve falls in love but who is involved in a tempestuous relationship with Suzanne. Handsome and practical, Zeb can fix a washing machine as well as create tiny, exquisite mechanical presents.

For all the fun of Eve's new life (the book is set in an unspecified year, a sort of pre-BritArt age of innocence, with a few signposts to guide the reader – an anti-war march, a Rothko exhibition at the Hayward, Giacometti at the Serpentine), there are glimpses of a peripheral darkness in the London she describes so tenderly. When her father is found slumped on her doorstep, that darkness becomes tangible. After a while, despairing of his inability to be helped or to help himself, Eve shouts at him to go. He disappears into the streets, and Eve embarks on a long nightmare quest to find him among the rough sleepers; she sees him in her dreams and hears him calling to her and cannot save him.

In its unflinching juxtaposition of shadows and light, pain and happiness, Invisible River is a love story on several levels. There is the anguished father/daughter love, Eve and Zeb's gentle progress towards being together, the love of London's buildings, parks, skies and especially the river Thames. Not least, there's a delight in the materials used to make art. Here is the beginning of a sustained chromatic paean to paint: "Aureolin, a gentle golden yellow that is soft and hums, high-pitched lemon yellow, sharp and startling, then the low velvet tone of alizarin crimson, and the seductive cobalt blue. It fills me with longing, if cobalt blue was a man I'd run away with him . . ."

The book is notable for its portrayal of kindness, too, whether it is just a friendly word from a dinner lady in the canteen, the support of friends and Safi, the counsellor who helps Eve with her grief about her father, or the practical kindness of Magda, the selfless neighbour who looked after Eve as a child. Invisible River is about looking, seeing and understanding, about passing through the invisible curtain that separates one reality from another, and it is an evocative reminder of how it feels to be young.

Eve and her writer father have lived alone together in Cornwall since her mother drowned, which may or may not have been accidental, when Eve was a small child. He is Prospero to her Miranda, looking after her and telling her marvellous stories until, defeated by loneliness, he seeks solace in drink, and she yearns for a brave new world of independence. His art will come to nothing. He will never finish the book he has been struggling with for years. The narrative begins as Eve, sick at heart, knowing he won't cope, leaves for London.

In the mode of a classic girls' school story – the train journey, the first day of term, a canvas bag of new art materials – we are introduced to the students and tutors who will be friends or foes. The tutors, mostly, become the enemy; they are seen as sneering and embittered by their own lack of success. There is a certain amount of contempt on both sides, although eventually Eve comes to feel a pang of pity for her chief tormentor, Sergei. There is a nice portrait of the elegant, redoubtable school secretary Miss Pym, who holds the real power in the establishment.

Soon Eve is one of a quartet of girls, with Bianca, Cecile and Roberta, all vividly depicted and characterised through their work. Bianca, sophisticated and cosmopolitan, makes glittering collages, Roberta moulds figures from Thames mud and Cecile paints enormous flowers and foliage. Then there is Zeb, the second-year sculpture student with whom Eve falls in love but who is involved in a tempestuous relationship with Suzanne. Handsome and practical, Zeb can fix a washing machine as well as create tiny, exquisite mechanical presents.

For all the fun of Eve's new life (the book is set in an unspecified year, a sort of pre-BritArt age of innocence, with a few signposts to guide the reader – an anti-war march, a Rothko exhibition at the Hayward, Giacometti at the Serpentine), there are glimpses of a peripheral darkness in the London she describes so tenderly. When her father is found slumped on her doorstep, that darkness becomes tangible. After a while, despairing of his inability to be helped or to help himself, Eve shouts at him to go. He disappears into the streets, and Eve embarks on a long nightmare quest to find him among the rough sleepers; she sees him in her dreams and hears him calling to her and cannot save him.

In its unflinching juxtaposition of shadows and light, pain and happiness, Invisible River is a love story on several levels. There is the anguished father/daughter love, Eve and Zeb's gentle progress towards being together, the love of London's buildings, parks, skies and especially the river Thames. Not least, there's a delight in the materials used to make art. Here is the beginning of a sustained chromatic paean to paint: "Aureolin, a gentle golden yellow that is soft and hums, high-pitched lemon yellow, sharp and startling, then the low velvet tone of alizarin crimson, and the seductive cobalt blue. It fills me with longing, if cobalt blue was a man I'd run away with him . . ."

The book is notable for its portrayal of kindness, too, whether it is just a friendly word from a dinner lady in the canteen, the support of friends and Safi, the counsellor who helps Eve with her grief about her father, or the practical kindness of Magda, the selfless neighbour who looked after Eve as a child. Invisible River is about looking, seeing and understanding, about passing through the invisible curtain that separates one reality from another, and it is an evocative reminder of how it feels to be young.

I know I'm late writing this review, but I just couldn't get into the book. Even the first few pages focused too much on the main character's emotions for my liking

It seems that this book didn't really have any story to it. It descibed every colour of paint there is, all forms of art and how these colours and art make one feel. I suppose that is good to know.

The book was about a art student and I expected that I would be reading lots about colours and such. I wasn't expecting a depressing novel thatnever lead me anywhere. I felt like I was missing something.

When there was any dialogue, it is in short meaningless sentances.

I don't think this was my kind of book and I was disappointed. Different strokes for different folks.

I even forgot to write a review for it until now. It was an early review, but I am much too late in writing a review for it.

An art student in London and her alcoholic father -- excellent description of each, but not a very engaging story. Too much depression.

I received this book as party of the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program.

"The Invisible River", by Helena McEwen, revolves around Evie, a young artist, who moves to London. Evie is attending art school, and, consequently, friendship and romance bloom. Under these circumstances, the major characters and protagonist learn to examine their own lives and how their lives are reflected through art.

While I admired McEwen's writing, I felt that there wasn't much to keep me interested in the story itself. The plot was formulaic, and the characters seemed to be lacking depth. This aside, McEwen's brilliant use of imagery is what steals the show.

This book is a very quick read, and would be perfect to curl up with on a rainy afternoon.

Helena McEwen tells a story of young artists who bring London to life with their presentations of colors. She develops her characters in quick brush stroke sentences and brings the women to their experience from the inside out.

At first, the narrator Eve and her friends Rob, Bianca, and Cecile seem impossibly naïve and spontaneous in their reactions to art school lessons. As the novel progresses, though, the invisible substance of their personalities emerge just as their individual ideas of art emerge in their sketch books and final works of art.

McEwen fills in the surface structure of the novel with the deeper structure of the interactions of the friends and their relationships outside the circle of four. The artists must look inside themselves to find their own unique ways to create and to make choices of ultimate life paths.

I enjoyed the writing style of Helena McEwen when Eve made descriptive statements about the outcome of events first. Then she wrote the full context of the happening drawing the reader into its full meaning, filled with emotion, memories, motivations, and local color. The style and substance of the novel remind me of Virginia Woolf’s The Voyage Out.

I will admit, I kept putting off reading this book due to the negative reviews but I was determined to use this long weekend to catch up on the stuff I really need to read so it moved to the top of the pile. And I must say, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed it.

I have been to London many times so it was neat to read about places I was familiar with. The storyline was interesting and made me laugh and cry at times. I think it did lack some depth though; I found some of the characters a little hard to relate to (I never really felt like I knew any of Eve's friends). But, on the whole, it was a nice, easy Sunday afternoon read.

Evie is a young woman from Cornwall who has lost her mother as a young girl. She doesn't remember much about her, but she's watched her grieving father disintegrate into a self-pitying drunk over the years, and she looks forward to starting a new life at a London art school with both relief and trepidation. How will her father manage without her? she wonders. On the first day at the college, she makes friends with three other young women; there's eccentric and outspoken Bianca from Italy, Rob (for Roberta)—an expectant young mum, and Cecile, who's left behind a career as a ballerina. Together, the four young women take in all that London has to offer their creative young minds. They visit museums, go out on sketching and painting outings in parks and in the midst of various cityscapes, get together for their daily tea or coffee to talk about their art, gossip about their instructors, and generally give each other emotional support. Evie is immersed in her art, her love of colours and her growing interest in a sculpture student called Zeb, until her father shows up one day and makes a public display of himself on the school grounds, so drunk he can't stand up on his own two feet. What ensues forces Evie to make the choice between caring for her alcoholic father or choosing to live her own life.

When I read the description of the book, I thought it would be exactly the kind of story that would appeal to me, but it all went wrong somehow. To begin with, I couldn't connect with any of the characters, who failed to lift off the page. I would have thought that as an artistic person myself, McEwen's visually rich world of shapes and colours would have appealed to me, but her insistence on depicting everything in terms of colours, colours, and more colours, quickly became annoying, added to which the descriptions of one piece of student artwork after another was simply tedious. I read a review by a person from England who loved this book, greatly enjoying the fact that they recognized most of the locations depticted. I enjoy books set in the UK, but in this case, the great many detailed descriptions of various London spots, both well-known and more obscure, were completely lost on me, though this probably became an issue only because I was enjoying so very little of what this book had to offer. I had to force myself to pick it up after the first couple of chapters (never a good sign.) After a few more chapters, I was going to give up altogether, but decided to at least finish the second section, in hopes that things might fall in place for me. But much to my chagrin, the already depressing occurrences in the story took a turn for the worse, which is when, at page 185 (out of a mere 301 pages), I simply gave up. I NEVER skip ahead and read the final pages, but did so this time, just in case I might find some redeeming qualities, to make sure that I was giving a proper chance to this Early Reviewer novel, but didn't see anything that made me change my mind. As I had been reading, I kept wondering why this one got published, when there are so many talented, yet unknown writers who would give anything for their manuscripts just to be picked up out of the sea of submissions publishers and agents receive every day. The worst book I've read so far this year.

How extraordinary to open a new novel by an author you have grown to love and discover that her heroine was setting off from your home town on the same journey that you have made many, many times.

… I saw St Michael’s Mount slip away behind the hedges, with the sun glinting on the sea.

“Let me go!” I shouted to the sea, and then the hedges and into the marshes at Marazion.

And all the way through Cornwall past Redruth and Camborne and Bodmin Moor and St Austell I could feel the pull of my father left alone.

I was halfway into Devon before it happened.

it was because of those tunnels cut in the red rock; you plunge into them after the miles of sealight, and the tentacles couldn’t hold on. They had to let do, and then the city of London began to hum like a magnet, pulling me towards it …

Eve is leaving her home in Cornwall to go to art school in London. Her emotions are caught perfectly. Cornwall is lovely, but when you are young and your head is full of dreams you want more. There are places to go, people to meet, sights to see, such a big world to explore …

But Eve worried about her dad. There had only been the two of them since her mother died when Eve was just five years old, and she loved him dearly. He had been a good man, a thoughtful and creative man, but his loneliness had pulled him towards alcoholism.

Soon though she was caught up in a new life. The joy of finally being at art school, of being part of the big city, of being part of a new group of friend who have dreamed the same dream…

Through Eve’s eyes I saw London afresh, I relived student life, and most of all I saw the colours of her exciting new world, the art she sees, and the art it inspires.

I squeeze the tubes of oil paint on to the palette, one by one. I love the colours and their secret singing. Aureolin, a gentle golden yellow that is soft and hums, and high-pitched lemon yellow, sharp and startling, then the low velvet tone of alizarin crimson, and the seductive cobalt blue. It fills me with longing, if cobalt blue was a man I’d run away with him. He calls with a longing to far away. Blue is a calling-away colour and its sound is a sound so beautiful it makes you want to leave the earth. Not red though, red pipes up, especially cadmium scarlet. ‘Do-do-doooo’, it says like a trumpet, it runs in your blood the same sound, ‘yes, this is life!’ It gets hot and passionate. If you put it in a painting it jumps forward, ‘I am here!’ it says, ‘right here, ME!’ and I love red for that. Then the beautiful violets, half red, half blue. Cobalt violet, singing in the range next to pink, but with more majesty, more mystery, and ultramarine violet, gentle, tender, like the shadows in the twilight, but deep, with dignity and a hidden depth, like someone who walks among people but knows they are really a seraph.

There are wonderful colours, wonderful imagery on every page, lighting up a simple coming of age story.

The world is seen through the eyes of one girl, one girl living entirely in the present.

That meant that her friends’ characters are not explored in any detail, that practical concerns are neglected … but for me that didn’t matter, living with Eve, seeing the world through her eyes, was wonderful.

I loved seeing London again, visiting the galleries that I have missed since I left – this book reminded me just how much I would love to be able to visit the Rothko Room at Tate Modern again – and I loved being an art student.

I loved her relationships with her friends, her fellow students, her tutors. And I particularly liked Miss Pym, the college secretary, who I suspect was named after a certain lady novelist …

I must confess though that I was a little disappointed when the story briefly returned to Cornwall. Although the setting was very, very close to home it wasn’t my Cornwall, it was an idealised Cornwall, seen not through the eyes of a native but through the eyes of a visitor.

Not a major issue, you wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t live here, but I fear that I was beginning to gush, so I had to mention it.

Cornwall and London meet when Eve finds her father slumped on her doorstep. She can’t cope and shouts at him to go. He disappears and, desperately worried, she realises that she is all she has and that she must find him.

Eve has to reconcile her love for her father with her need to live her own life.

“Sometimes it’s all too much, don’t you think?”

“That’s why people paint, Eve, why they write music or sing or make films. Because they can’t stand it either”

“Don’t forget the good things”, she says as we cross Trafalgar Square between the huge lions.”

She sees London’s darker colours, and they are reflected in her art.

This is the real coming of age …

Invisible River is a quiet book, driven by character and not plot, with a lovely narrative voice, rich colourful prose and a moving emotional journey.

A lovely book to wander through.

And now it is gone I am left wondering what will happen to Eve and her friends, and wishing that I could step back into their world …½

While this book doesn't contain a ton of intricate plot details, it is a quick and engaging read. McEwan uses beautiful, profound imagery to propel the characters into a new world and describe their experiences through the eyes of artists. The colors and scenery alone will have you turning pages until the last minute, and the end of the book will leave you swirling with thoughts and emotions. A refreshing and easy read.

When Evie goes to art school in London, she leaves her alcoholic father on his own only to have him show up drunk on her doorstep a few months later. Luckily Evie has made some good friends at school who can support her through this time.

This was a sleepy, meandering book. The author is great at using descriptive language and the book is filled with her robust imagery. The problem is that there isn't that much plot or character development behind that imagery. I didn't feel connected to Evie or her friends - I was able to put the book down for long periods of time without thinking about it.

I have had some great luck with Early Reviewer books. Until now, that is. Invisible River follows Evie as she enters Art School in London, forms new friendships and seeks an independent existence. She leaves behind her father who is suffering from the drowning death of her mother years before and is trying to cope through alcohol. When her father shows up, drunk and passed out on the steps to her apartment, Evie is forced to deal with the guilt and pain that her quest for freedom and independence brings.

I almost always finish a novel. In fact, I can only think of one or two that I have put aside before turning the final page. As a beginning writer, I feel I owe it to the author to read the words she or he have laboured over and that an agent and publisher feel worthy to publish. Finishing Invisible River was a chore. If it wasn't for knowing I had to review it and my commitment to recognizing an author's work, I am not sure I would have. The reason: I just couldn't make myself care for the characters. I tried. I really did. I believe the story had so much potential for pain and, yes, celebration that I kept hoping to find it. I found, however, the dialogue to be unbelievable and stilted, the description overdone and choppy (I know Evie is a painter but how many times do I need to read the names of a tube of paint?) and the characters to be stereotypical archetypes. All of this contributed to my growing lack of commitment and compassion towards Evie and her friends.

I hope to receive another book from the Early Reviewers program soon so I can return to reading the high quality of writing I have enjoyed from my participation in the program so far.

This novel is about a young artist, Eve, and her growing pains. Throughout the book, she seeks her bearings and her voice, trying to come to her own terms with life. It's an ambitious prospect told through an artist's eyes: colours and images abound - perhaps too much as the descriptions tend to get cluttered in the author's willingness to recreate Eve's paintings. Some of the themes, alcoholism, depression, seeking independence, are broached with a serious and sincere attempt to develop the main character; however, McEwen doesn't quite manage it: Eve, and certainly her friends, remain flat, immature even. There is potential aching to breaking through, but the novel doesn't quite succeed and stays very superficial.
This will probably be an appealing novel for a young female audience: it has a freshness and naivete that would resound well with that group.½

Evie is off to art school in London, leaving behind her widowed, alcoholic father. During the next year she does much soul searching as she deals with loss, love and learning to let go. Through it all, Evie is supported by her amazing circle of friends.

Helena McEwen writes in color. There isn't a lot of story here but the word painting is exceptional. When it comes to beautiful imagery, Helena McEwen is a master.

The book invisible river is about Eve's first year at art school. Helena McEwen does a great job describing the school and Eve's narratives are beautiful. However, the dialogue between Eve and her friends seems a bit forced and unnatural. This is not the book for someone interested in a fast paced plot, but it is definitely a worthwhile book to read.

Invisible River by Helena McEwen is a soft, gentle book about a young woman's first year in art school. We experience the world through Eve's eyes, lit with luxurious colours and rich with synesthetic sensations. Even in its saddest moments, the text is suffused with gorgeous imagery: jewel-like passages that lovingly ornament an otherwise simple story.

This is quiet, meditative text, certainly not for every reader. I enjoyed Eve's narrative voice and was moved by her emotional journey. If you're looking for a strong romance or an action-driven plot, this is not the book for you. But if you appreciate the visual arts, richly developed characters, and a sensitive narrator, this book will be a pleasure.

It was quite a mystical experience to read Invisible River. It is obvious that the author looks at the world through the eyes of an artist, and shares that view with her readers in a magical and almost spiritual way. Her characters are interesting, leaving me wanting to know more about them. The main character's complicated relationship with her father was well written and heart-breaking. This is the first book I've read by Helena McEwen but there is no doubt that I will be looking for her other books. It's also a book that left me wishing for a sequel so that I could see what happened next to these amazing characters.

Eve leaves her father in their countryside cottage and moves to London to study painting. At the Art school she meets a bunch of girlfriends and they start sharing their lives. Eve's father comes and goes and eventually is gone, the pain she feels is soothened by this beautiful friendship.
Helena McEwen paints with words, every moment of Eve's life is present with vivid colors in the reader's mind.

"Sometimes it's all too much, don't you think?"
"That's why people paint, Eve, why they write music or sing or make films. Because they can't stand it either"
"Don't forget the good things", she says as we cross Trafalgar Square between the huge lions.

In a word, Invisible River, Helena McEwen’s novel of a somewhat lost, troubled girl at art school in London, is ethereal. There’s a light touch to McEwen’s prose, like she’s only floating over the surface of her story, despite the heaviness of her themes and the emotional punch she wants to pack.

The wandering nature of Eve’s present tense narration sometimes works – “she knows how to make an unseen world into pictures and I want to know too” – but also proves that less isn’t always more. (If a crow’s “wings shine white in the sunlight,” that might be a valid image with which to provide the reader, but not one that warrants a chapter break.) Although I don’t know much about art, Eve’s observations of the world and her own paintings often focus on colors and the emotions they evoke, so I didn’t feel like her “artiness” went over my head. But all that description didn’t leave much room for character development outside Eve’s own head. Her fellow art students were either forgettable (the boy she likes; the married friend whose husband is never in the picture) or intriguing sketches that deserved to be more fully realized (the pregnant and engaged friend; the brash Italian friend). Eve’s depressed, alcoholic father, especially, shows up on her doorstop, but his motivations are clear to neither Eve nor the reader, and his story arc wasn’t satisfying to me.

McEwen’s imagery can be incredibly pitch-perfect: “And when I walk under the bridge and along the river, watching it glint and ripple, I feel a wide-open hope spread through me, that makes me stand still just to breathe the feeling of it.” I just wish that there had been a bit more substance between those moments.