The Colour of Milk

Mary, the 15-year-old narrator of Leyshon’s new novel (after Bedlam), is a young English farm girl with more promise than prospects. The year is 1831 and her family—parents, three older sisters, and grandfather—beats down any spirit or ambition Mary might show. In spite of this, she learns to read and write, taking more pleasure and pride in her skills than in her farm work. When the vicar’s housemaid leaves, Mary’s father accepts payment to send Mary to tend to the vicar’s ailing wife, largely because Mary “ain’t exactly doing the work of a man down here.” As she tells her own story, Mary reveals herself as a pawn in the hands of the powerful. That she has chosen to set down this tale is her one daring act. The stylized language—biblical, colloquial, minimal—and restrained emotion save the story from soap opera melodrama, but also distance readers from Mary’s brief bursts of happiness—with her grandfather and the family cow—as well as from her growing distresses. We see the tragic price she pays for wanting more through the wrong end of a telescope; it is terrible, but too far off to be truly devastating. (Jan.)