FIVE DAYS GONE

The art critic for the Observer explores family secrets stretching back 90 years.

In the fall of 1929, writes Cumming (The Vanishing Velázquez: A 19th-Century Bookseller’s Obsession with a Lost Masterpiece, 2016), a 3-year-old girl “was playing by herself with a new tin spade” on a Lincolnshire beach, her mother at her side—until, for a moment, the girl dropped out of her sight and was coaxed away by someone watching nearby, “so fast that she couldn’t have got anywhere near the water.” The girl, who would become the author’s mother, the artist Betty Elston, did not drown; she turned up a few days later. Cumming probes her memory and investigates family albums in an attempt to determine what happened. What she turns up is a secret betrayal on the part of her grandfather to which her grandmother must have surrendered, thinking it “her Christian duty” but likely having had no choice but to do so. The facts of the story and their resolution command attention, but in the end, they’re less interesting than the author’s process of thinking about them. As she looks at photo albums with the eye of a scholarly detective, she discerns patterns of gaps and absences, sees eyes averted, a countenance “reluctant or evasive,” and reads between the lines. Those photographs from the past connect generations in a one-way conversation even as present-day readers, saturated in color, look at monochrome photographs as if the world of their subjects were colorless too: “The mind knows this is false,” writes Cumming, “but the optic nerve is fooled into finding these figures less real, immediate, vital. Monochrome turns the present into the past; makes the past look even more distant.” Her nuanced, pensive account restores reality and vitality to figures from out of the past, making them meaningful while uncovering their secrets.

A satisfying mystery that could have been grist for Agatha Christie’s mill.