The Gathering is a beautifully written, mournful novel about an Irish family coming to terms with the death of their brother Liam. It won the Man Booker Prize in 2007.
I read it months ago – in March, I think – and my memories of it have faded. One powerful impression remains though. I finished the book lying in my bed in a hotel room at Gatwick Airport as I prepared to head for Gibraltar for a meeting. I read, astonished as the fiction of the book started to overlap with my own reality: the book ends with the narrator describing herself lying in a bed in a hotel at Gatwick Airport. Each word that I read became increasingly improbable the more it corresponded to my situation. A very bizarre feeling indeed.
Aside from this, I am left with the memory of beautifully crafted prose, and a fine observation of ordinary family life in crisis.
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