Synopsis
They were society’s golden ones, endowed with the privileges of youth and wealth, bred to live in a world of limitless possibility, but none of this could save them from self-destruction.
Richard sits on the shores of Sydney Harbour, a hollowed out man remembering a lost paradise as he recounts the years he shared with his best friend, the charismatic heir Hugh Bowman. Gliding through a life of endless luxury and ease, they formed a charmed quartet with their childhood sweethearts, Helen and Pup.
As adults they married and continued their tradition of summer holidays at Palm Beach, giving every appearance of leading charmed and immaculate lives. Like those beautiful people in magazines, their skin was unblemished, their smiles dazzling, the lighting just so. But as Richard confronts his memories what seemed so idyllic is revealed as a sinister drama of secrets, lies and betrayals.
A masterful and compelling dissection of friendship, morality and society from a startling new talent.
Kirkus Reviews
The world of Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan is re-created with a puzzling mixture of stylistic grace and slavish imitation, in a confident first novel by a young Australian writer. That novel is also—as its epigraph and first sentence unmistakably announce—a detailed homage to Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier, a classic portrayal of two marriages destroyed by adultery. "I am telling the story of my blindness and how I came to see," observes Richard, the attorney (and methodical man par excellence) who narrates in retrospect the story of the ongoing friendship that bound him and his wife Phillippa ("Pup"—a would-be novelist) to Richard's lifelong friend, "golden boy" Hugh Bowman, and Hugh's beautiful, emotionally distant wife Helen. We know the eventual outcome of their summers spent together at (Australia's) Palm Beach long before the full explanations spelled out at the conclusion—because Richard circles compulsively around various times in their shared and separate pasts, ruefully conceding the sexual indifference and moral weakness that allowed (perhaps encouraged) his wife and his best friend to betray their spouses. Knox has a gift for precise verbal discriminations and aphoristic statement (e.g., " . . . secrecy can be as precious to some people as the air they breathe"), and Summerland's many exquisite moments are often absorbing. But the best of such moments are lifted (adapted, if one wants to be generous) from Ford or Fitzgerald (there's even a golf match during which a woman player cheats, as in The Great Gatsby), and the open acknowledgements the text makes to its sources do little to ameliorate the reader's impression that he has encountered most ofthis previously. A pity, too, because both Pup and Helen are intensely imagined and credibly complex characters, deserving of a novel of their own. A debut made up much less of observed and felt life than of absorbed fiction. Let's see what Knox does when he writes his own book. First printing of 50,000