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Review: The bricks that built the houses Kate Tempest

In her sparky debut novel, The bricks that built the houses, Kate Tempest writes of a dream most Londoners have had at some point; to escape the amnesia and overwhelm of life in the capital city.

The blurb suggests it’s going to be a road trip story - a group of unlikely strangers finally get out, leaving ‘jealous boyfriends, dead-end jobs, violent maniacs and disgruntled drug dealers’ far behind. But this story is less about the great escape and more about the build-up of mounting pressures that make people want to run away from everything.

The novel is centred on entrapment. Like many of us chasing our dreams, the characters face the awful nausea of doubt. They doubt that they will ever realise their ambitions, and doubt that they should dare to have dreamt them at all. This novel is about the barriers faced when seeking success. It’s about confidence drained by troubled upbringings, morals traded for money, prejudice, and poor employment opportunities. It’s about trying to get past the point of just surviving, past trading time for money, towards something more meaningful. Tempest explores the relationship between internal psychological barriers that stop people from succeeding, and those that are imposed by social divisions, and oppression. The characters will strike a chord with those that have known adversity. They feel guilty and ashamed, as though they have already done something wrong, just by breathing.

They are frustrated with the world because they are caught between the urge for social acceptance, and the urge to not live by the rule book, to not be a dog beaten down on and worked to death for someone else’s gain. Tempest is a master of human observation, painting pictures in the reader's mind through subtle gestures, and expert dialogue that animate characters with such fondness that as you read they begin to feel like your mates, gathered warmly down the pub. Everyone can find a piece of themselves in this book, which will not only help them to understand the experience they are having, but make them want to triumph. Whilst Tempest highlights the inequalities in society, the biggest task these characters face is self acceptance. At times the narrative becomes heavy, as though there is no hope at all. But the story is peppered with light hearted, playful interactions, making it feel a lot like real life: between the dread and pain, there are moments when there’s nothing to do but laugh about the absurdity of it all. Why are we here, on earth, playing all these funny games? Can we choose success? As characters realise themselves, queer relationships are explored, and normality is questioned. The reasons for living become clearer when everything isn’t so white, cisgendered, and heterosexual. Perhaps there are other, truer choices to be made. This book makes you want to keep going despite the trauma and heartache of feeling at odds with the world, despite the times when dreams seem to fail and all direction is lost. It makes you want to be yourself, even if you can’t find a single soul that understands you.

Right from the outset, Tempest challenges the conventions of a novel, opening the book with a spoken-word piece that shoots straight from the hip. She goes on to use anecdotes that paint the scene in the reader's mind like a film script. It's not overly verbose. She uses the characters' dialogue to say it all. Her style is extremely refreshing and keeps you interested in the next twist. There are parts of this novel that resemble a coming-of-age story, and other parts where you could be watching a Guy Ritchie film. Like her characters, this writer doesn't want to be pigeon-holed. She has a natural style that carries the story with ease.

The only downside to this book is that the narrative is not always plausible. Tempest tries to make every character's life intersect. They show up in surprising places, and in the end, all turn up at the same party. Perhaps this is to give the impression that London isn’t as big and anonymous as it feels, and that despite the loneliness of it, all of our lives are inextricably linked. However, there are a lot of characters in this book and to have them all know each in some way or another seems a little far-fetched. As a result, towards the end of the book, you can find yourself lost for a moment, as the story collapses in on itself. But, if you can take this small downfall with a pinch of salt, and not get too bogged down in details, you can focus on the bigger questions Tempest raises.

These are questions about morality, consequence, and ownership. About gender, sexuality, patriarchy, and capitalism. What does power look like and how is it used in subtle everyday interactions? Is selling your body to mechanistic capitalist labour really worse than selling it privately for sex? Tempest reveals the irony and hypocrisy we face when navigating life in the metropolis, with all of its structures and systems that stifle and constrain. This book is revelatory in its observation of the human condition and liberty in the developed world.

Overall, this is a bold debut novel. Like all the best literature, it sits in your mind well after the final page has been read. It’s important in that it brings a study of the human spirit, and how it feels to reject expectations. It opens up space for convention to be challenged, and justice to be sought. Despite the darkness and challenges characters face, the book has an overall positive note - forgiveness and humility are what will set us free.