This one seems to massively split the Goodreads community but I fell very much on the ‘loved it’ side of the fence. I think if you go into it expecting a clear, linear narrative, you’re going to be disappointed. I also don’t think the marketers have really done themselves any favours by presenting this as ‘the post-Brexit’ novel because it sets a very specific expectation that Autumn only meets in quite an obscure way.
What is this book about? The divisions highlighted by Brexit definitely plays a part alongside the (sometimes ridiculous) bureaucracy that continues on regardless, the relationship between a young girl and her elderly neighbour, the historical silencing of women, society’s tendency to ignore or disavow uncomfortable truths, the dishonesty of politics, life and death and love and loss and everything in between. The prose is beautiful, elegant and jarring and the narrative, if you’re willing to look a little beyond the surface, really does have a lot to say. I was utterly transfixed. If you’ve read it, let me know what you thought below, it’s definitely the kind of book that really lends itself to discussion.

‘We’re going to survive–our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams–and in their worst nightmares too.’
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My initial reaction to this one was that it isn’t Madeline Miller’s ‘The Song of Achilles’. It took me a few hours to realise that I was doing such a disservice to this book with the comparison.
Pat Barker joins an incredible trend of giving voices to those women who have so often been silenced in both literature and history. This isn’t ‘The Song of Achilles’ because it isn’t a love story, it doesn’t focus on the heroes and it definitely doesn’t pull its punches.
We follow Briseis, once Queen of Lyrnessus and now slave of Achilles, part of his spoils for successfully sacking her city and killing her family. While watching the all-too-familiar story unfold from the sidelines, we are continually reminded not just of her total lack of agency, but of all the nameless, faceless women who form part of the backdrop of this Ancient Greek epic. Even Helen, ‘the face that launched a thousand ships’ is depicted as a woman caught in the tides of history (or, more accurately, HIS story), a slave to the decisions of men and yet held accountable for all of them regardless.
It’s a powerful, harrowing account not just of the mothers, daughters and wives of The Iliad but of all women who have lived (or still live) with little or no control over their own destiny. There’s all the heroes and glory, battles and grief that you’d expect but you witness it all through the eyes of the women wondering whether each sword stroke will make their lives better or worse.
This isn’t a perfect novel. There’s a few awkward perspective shifts, the pacing is sometimes a little off and I think a lot of people will prefer the beautifully tragic, ‘The Song of Achilles’ but it is a fantastic retelling in its own right.

‘They will say “Agnes” and see the spider, the witch caught in the webbing of her own fateful weaving. They might see the lamb circled by ravens, bleating for a lost mother. But they will not see me. I will not be there.’
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Even out of context, her prose gives me chills. This is the fact laced fiction (or ‘speculative biography’) of Agnes Magnúsdóttir, a woman convicted of a double murder and sentenced to death in 19th century Iceland. Burial Rites is a dark and rather grim read but it is so, so beautifully written; Kent’s prose captures all of the bleak, unforgiving beauty of an Icelandic winter as she slowly unravels Agnes’ story for us, piece by piece as we and she try to come to terms with her seemingly sealed fate. Kent doesn’t necessarily ask us to have sympathy for Agnes, but she does raise some poignant questions about the historical misrepresentation of women. It is beautiful, bleak and powerful - much like the country it’s set in.
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This was a fantastic recommendation from a friend of mine that I went into totally blind. When I realised that it was set in Iceland, I found myself wishing I’d read it before I visited the country back in January but actually, I’m so glad I didn’t. Kent’s words transported me back to that impossibly, stunningly desolate, ‘North of the Wall’-esque landscape. Having seen Iceland, having experienced the lack of daylight and the unforgiving cold, I had memories that actually elevated Kent’s prose in a way that I’m not sure I’ve ever really experienced before.