Study for Obedience (2023)

Why this one?

This is another one on the 2023 Booker Longlist, from which I’m cherrypicking a few books that grab my attention. This one seemed to be attracting a lot of polarised opinions, and also had the advantage of being rather short.

Sarah Bernstein was born in Montreal, Canada but now lives in Scotland where she teaches literature and creative writing. Her first book, Now Comes The Lightning (2015) was a selection of prose poems and was shortlisted for the Robert Kroetsch Award for innovative writing. In 2021 she published her debut novel, The Coming Bad Days. Study for Obedience is her second novel and has also been longlisted for Canada's Giller Prize.

Thoughts, etc.

Study for Obedience is something of a difficult one to summarize. It’s a short book but in no senses a simple one. The unnamed female narrator arrives in an unnamed Northern European country (seemingly Scandinavian or Baltic), to tend to the needs of her successful oldest brother. Her own background seems fairly obviously Jewish, a fact that inspires hatred in the local residents, seemingly in part down to their past as collaborators (at least) in major atrocities (most probably the Holocaust, though it isn’t specifically named) against her people. Various troubles in the town, largely involving death of or disruption to local pets and farm animals, are attributed by the locals to her, and she is avoided, feared, and seemingly plotted against by the residents. With her brother frequently away on business, and she unable to speak the language, the whole thing has a fairly dense layer of mystery about it.

I have to be up front and honest on this one, I struggled to fully parse what it was getting at. It’s title hints at something of a sketch - not the final article, but a preparatory ‘study’, further implied by the scrawled handwriting font used for its title. The writing itself backs this up, with long paragraphs featuring speech-like interruptions (“yes, yes…” etc.) and frequent digressions. The narrator is trying to make sense of her unusual experience, recounting it in notes and freeform thoughts. Its narrative is provisional, conditional, incomplete. That much seems to be the case. But what, if anything, is the final piece - ‘Obedience’? - that she is working towards? That’s less clear.

I did find things to enjoy about it. It was easy to get carried away in Bernstein’s rich, dense prose, which is packed with ideas to the point of overflow. Despite its acknowledged web of literary allusions, it felt possible to get lost in its writing without feeling an excessive need to understand all of its references. Her writing on nature and evocation of the landscape is also a pleasure. The narrator herself is an intriguing character, full of contradictions - intelligent yet willing to abandon her work for a life of menial subservience; wildly introverted yet happy (at least initially) to move to a country in which she cannot communicate; a proficient linguist yet unable to make sense of the local language; attempting to hide her origins yet exposing herself by clinging to traditions like the making of straw dolls; etc etc. Her setup, and the difficult circumstances in which she finds herself, make for an intriguing premise.

In general, I’m not someone who looks for simple conclusions and tidy endings in novels; I love a good loose end or a touch of ambiguity. Where I find myself a little less satisfied is when I can’t quite see what purpose such deliberate obfuscation is serving, and here that’s the impression I was predominantly left with. Others have said this is a novel that rewards multiple reads (always an interesting one for prize juries as - for the Booker at least - each book on the final shortlist will get at least three read-throughs by the panel - perhaps somewhat divorced from the typical behaviour of the ‘average reader’. I wonder?) - I can see how this would be the case. There are a lot of layers to unpick here and I think a single read doesn’t allow all of the required connections to be made. It reminded me a little of the early Women’s Prize winner Fugitive Pieces (1997) by Anne Michaels in that sense - another book by a poetic and highly allusive writer which had a kind of poetic unity that could only be appreciated in totality, rather than in the process of reading.

Having read a few reviews, I’m probably not alone in having found it difficult. There are clearly readers out there who will enjoy the rich intelligence of this book, and have a lot of fun picking over its references and puzzling together its meaning, however provisionally. For me there is a little too much of a sense of unresolved ideas here. Its central thread, if such a thing exists, seems to be around its narrator’s desire to erase her individuality and identity as a form of self-punishment for a kind of survivors’ guilt, something which is more than encouraged by her perceptions (reliable or not?) of the locals’ hatred of her. That’s interesting enough as a concept, but I struggled a little too much to form a full picture of the intent of this intriguing but elusive little book.

Score

7

I think it’s great that books like this are showing up on the Booker longlist. Last year’s inclusion of Treacle Walker proved that difficult, allusive and fable-like books can find a place on the shortlist, so it wouldn’t be a huge shock to see this making an appearance on the final list. If it were to win, it would a rare departure from the Booker’s general preference for books that are accessible (even when innovative) - so that feels unlikely but not impossible. On a personal level, I took flashes of enjoyment from this and found much to admire but - on a first read at least - not an overall feeling of satisfaction.

Next up

I’m waiting eagerly to see what’s on the shortlist! As usual, I’m planning to read all of the shortlist, rather than just the selections I’ve made from the longlist, so I’m secretly hoping for at least some crossover with those I’ve read already. Particularly hopeful that In Ascension, Prophet Song and Pearl will be on there…