Turbulence

A lovely, wryly witty version of daily life with joyous characterisation and a perfect choice of Clay as the teenager narrator. Clay may not have a boyfriend but her singleness is a special quality: she is an early riser, the family adult, preparing coffee, and paracetamol as required, for her parents and nicely quirky grandmother before delivering newspapers. Her slightly younger brother is that particular kind of male teenager (‘a different life form; women are from Venus, men are from Battersea Dogs’ Home, as Gran once said’) and her younger sister the child in a continual tantrum. The sharp observation of people is marked by understanding – except for the new arrival: Sandor whirls in, presenting his marital problems in actorly fashion and threatening to overwhelm Clay’s family. As Sandor’s sensible son, Oz (Oscar), explains: ‘If a smaller aircraft takes off too close behind a 747 it can get caught in the wake turbulence … Dad flies on, unaware, and everything crashes behind him.’ Sandor provides the turbulence but finally Clay saunters on, mimicking the high plains drifters of the westerns she knows so well from shared watching with her father, having learnt more about her own special qualities from Oz: ‘I wasn’t a man-hater, just fussy. When I spotted a bloke who was worth the effort I’d make the effort now that I had a standard to measure him by.’ As ever, Jan Mark sets her own high standards in this book by avoiding the sensational and finding drama in the oddity of the everyday.