A book that's hard to review without either giving things away or being so vague as to be uninformative. This debut from ex-patriate New Zealand author Kirsty Gunn is a novella really, coming in at under 100 pages. And written in a beautiful, quite elliptical style, reminiscent of Murray Bail's Eucalyptus – the same dreamy quality to the prose.

It's written from the point of view of a young girl, living with her parents and baby brother in what seems like an eternal summer by a lake. It's touching and sad, and there are two big episodes that occur quite late in the story but which you know must be going to happen from very early on. The impressive thing is the way that Gunn handles these events – offstage. She doesn't linger on them, or give us details. We just see them coming, and then find ourselves on the other side of them. It's a lovely bit of technique, and something that could have failed to convince in the hands of a less assured writer, but here they work. The whole novella is told in the voice of the girl, many years later. Again, this sort of “and I remember that summer by the lake” device could have been clunky – it's hard to balance the thoughts of an adult, looking back on her childhood, with the perceptions and actions of the child she was, but Gunn manages it.

Not a book that you're going to run out into the streets shouting about, but one that will make you nod, and think about for quite a while afterwards. A sad story, told with precision and some amazing craft. I'll certainly be looking out for her next books. Recommended. ( )