TIDES

After losing a child, a woman attempts to start anew in a coastal town.

After her baby is stillborn—and unable to bear living in the apartment directly above her brother and his newborn son, whose cries remind her daily of her loss—37-year-old Mara has only one goal: “to slip into a blind spot, to run out on her life.” She heads for a seaside town where she knows no one, determined to live as ruinously as possible. She drinks as much as she can, eats as little as possible, and sleeps sometimes on the beach, sometimes in strangers’ beds. With her financial resources dwindling, Mara takes a job in a wine shop and begins living surreptitiously in the store’s attic room. Her boss, Simon, is suffering too: His wife has left him, taking their young daughter. As Mara begins to warm to Simon, her character and her past begin to take shape: her childhood in Quebec with a difficult mother, an absent father, and a loyal younger brother; her relationship with her husband. Told in image-heavy, crystalline fragments of prose, sometimes only one or two sentences to a page, Freeman’s novel reads like a shattered mirror gradually being pieced together, though the reflection, as in real life, never comes perfectly clear. For much of the novel’s first half, Freeman keeps Mara as a cipher, less a character and more simply a vessel for grief and self-destructive impulses. But as Mara’s character sharpens into focus, the narrative restraint gives way in pieces like a sudden calving of ice. What is left is a portrait of a woman’s psyche pared to the core, to unsettling effect. As the narrator says of Mara: “She knows: if there is a mistake to be made, she will make it.”

An intense and lyrical debut.