This was the real selling point of the book, as it was such as original mystery tale that it makes you work at keeping all the pieces together for later when you get another clue. A real masterclass in how to weave threads of POVs, with the worlds of books and writing in different forms coming together to tell the full story that only we as the readers ever know. I was enthralled by whether the family would ever find out what each other did alone in their own worlds in this seaside town, and felt satisfied with the ending, despite it being messy and not particularly happy. This is such a patchwork of a tale, and yet it fits together perfectly, dancing with each piece through time and character. But would this be the best turn of events? Gil thinks not. As the story unfolds, the reader waits to see if each family member might reveal their piece of the puzzle and find out the truth of their past together.
But the house holds a secret – letters from their mother outlining her pain and grief in the unhappy marriage she is locked into with Gil. When he has a fall chasing her shadow on the cliffs, his two very different daughters, the arty Flora and the conservative and practical Nan get together to take care of him, as well as the house they grew up in. His wife Ingrid drowned some years back, and he thinks he sees her when he’s walking by the beach. In Swimming Lessons, Gil Coleman is an author of an age who lives by the sea. And all I could think was what a good Gil Coleman he’d make, if BBC Drama ever decide to make this book into a mini series.
He was a lot shorter and slimmer than I had imagined, rather like a lithe ballet star, but it was his iris coloured eyes, the bluest eyes I ever saw, that stayed with me in that wet grey London street. The day I finished reading this book I rounded a corner at Liberty at the back of Picadilly and nearly ran slap bang into the actor Bill Nighy wrapped in an expensively tight suit and French-tied scarf.
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