Pseudotooth had me from its first sentence. It’s one of those books that, in a few words, tells you a lot about the novel to follow: “And of course, the weather turned Dickensian.” This reference to Dickens prepares us for a story filled with characters who’ve lost or been rejected by parents. And boy will I get to that later. The novel that follows is gorgeously written.
The real literary influence here isn’t Dickens, but William Blake, who’s quoted throughout the novel; Blake is a fitting choice, given the main character’s name is Aisling, a reference to an Irish form of poetry known as “vision poetry”. In the wake of a traumatic experience with her mother’s latest boyfriend, Aisling has been suffering from pseudoseizures, alongside blackouts and hallucinations. The book repeatedly makes the point of letting us know that she is only a few months from legal adulthood, which stands in stark contrast to the fact she is treated as an inconvenient child; as an alternative to an institution, her mother sends her into the countryside and the care of her aunt. There, Aisling spends her time writing fiction in her journal about Feodor, the delinquent son of a Russian immigrant, and exploring her aunt’s old vicarage.
The other world this novel sets itself in reveals itself slowly; it’s not so much magical as ghostly or, perhaps appropriately for a novel so preoccupied with Blake, visionary. There’s a gradual bleeding over of the other world instead of a crossing into it. It starts with apparitions: Aisling sees a man doing handstands in the garden, then another man walking around the house. When Aisling eventually wakes up in a deserted house, she assumes she’s broken with reality altogether. Aisling is taken in by an ad-hoc family of outcasts (enter stand-in parent figure), and meets Feodor in the flesh. Outside the perimeter of this idealistic house in which she convalesces, is a placed ruled by “Our Friend”.
What’s refreshing about Pseudotooth is that Aisling isn’t a “chosen one”. Don’t get me wrong, I adore, adore this trope; heck, I even wrote a book with it. But it was a nice change to see a character who didn’t get swept up in revolution or “Big Events”. This is a default template, so much so, that we sometimes forget that it’s not an essential characteristic of fantasy. In fact, not only does Holloway avoid the trope with Aisling, she subverts it with Feodor. After learning about the esteemed place Our Friend managed to obtain, Feodor thought he could be a hero; instead, he caused a disaster. He warns Aisling off following his steps by saying: “Look, I know what it’s like to think you’re the molten centre of the universe, but there’s a history here, and people moulded by it.” And right here is what I adore about Pseudotooth: the other world does not revolve around Aisling. It is more than a backdrop for her story, but rather a distinct entity unto itself with a history and characters whose lives have gone on and will continue to do so whether or not she is there. Although the status quo shifts in this world when she arrives, Aisling isn’t an instigator, but rather a witness. Her story isn’t about changing the world, but about understanding her own life.
Now for the tricky stuff. Given the subjects it deals with, Pseudotooth is in constant danger of becoming one of those stories valorising mental illness, connecting it to creativity or suggesting it actually enables some sort of unique and valuable insight. As someone with Bipolar Disorder, this, unsurprisingly, starts to grate after awhile. I’ll admit, there are times when I think my illness has provided me with a unique insight, but at what cost? I remember reading a lot of books and watching TV shows (here’s looking at you, Thirteen Reasons Why) that romanticised mental illness, while I was simultaneously watching it wreck havoc on my own life. There’s no beautiful shot of a single tear streaming down your face when you’re going through that shit; it’s messy and destructive. Ultimately, though, Pseudotooth comes down on the right side of the line, even if it teeters precariously around the time Aisling flushes her meds. Please, please do not do this, even if your doctor is as incompetent as Aisling’s. Find a new doctor.
Now, let’s get to that pesky parental issue. Aside from having an absentee father (ah, that classic mythological beast), Aisling has got a nasty piece of work for a mother. A self absorbed, childlike woman, Beverley can’t wait to be rid of her daughter to go spend time with the aforementioned new boyfriend, Malcolm. I understand having a child with a mental illness must be incomparably difficult and heartbreaking. But Beverley seems less concerned with Aisling than how her illness is a “burden” on her own life. Having had Aisling at the age of seventeen, she has never truly been able to live out her “glory days”, and that’s something keenly felt by Beverley. But Beverley’s absentee parenting is not the crime she’s truly on trial for. No, that would be dismissing her daughter’s rape, committed by Malcolm, and accusing Aisling of making it up because she doesn’t want to share her mother with anyone else. This sick rationalisation of the situation by Beverley so that she can continue living as she wishes is unfortunately not uncommon both in artistic representations of rape and real life. In fact, as is the case with Aisling, it is this failing on a trusted one’s behalf that intensifies the trauma. Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery is actually an excellent read for anyone who wants to know more about the subject. Small aside: Herman is an American psychiatrist and the professor of clinical psychiatry at Harvard Medical School. She has been extremely influential on the treatment and recovery process of trauma and is an all around powerhouse of a woman. Her book is incredibly insightful. Aside over.
Alright, so far so good. Why the three stars then? While the concept of the novel had me hooked, as did the first half of it, I honestly felt mind numbingly bored by the end. Even while being aware of the merits of the novel, I found that I was dissatisfied with where is led itself, and wish I could take a crack at the original idea myself, just so I’d have a more gratifying ending. It was a severe Game of Thrones Season 8 moment when I finished reading. However, I do understand that, in not giving us closure, Holloway is making a poignant comment about mental health; it’s never over. We learn to cope and manage, but seldom if ever do we “recover” as one might from a broken leg. Yet, as this blog is all about personal taste rather than awarding stars based on the intelligence of the craft (sorry Verity), I’m afraid I’ll have to deduct two stars! That being said, I think I should also say that my rating system will be a bit harsh. A three is still a good score! It was a good read, but it didn’t blow my socks off. Socks firmly on by the end of the book. Sure, they slipped down a bit halfway through the book, but they slithered their way back up too.
A book review feels incomplete without some kind of thematic summation, so I’ll say that Pseudotooth is less about mental or psychosomatic illnesses than it is about how people define and categorise the people who have them. Aisling’s mother thinks she is weak or faking it, Aisling’s aunt thinks she’s morally deficient, Aisling’s uncle thinks she needs to be protected from the world, while Our Friend thinks the world needs to be protected from Aisling. But Aisling’s story is about coming to understand she doesn’t have to accept anyone’s definitions. Her pseudoseizures aren’t part of her identity; the may affect her but they don’t define her.