Book Review: Ripeness by Sarah Moss
From the moment I opened Ripeness, I was drawn in by the meticulous storytelling of Sarah Moss, a writer whose works often linger in my mind long after I’ve closed the book. Having read much of her back catalogue, I approached this latest offering with both excitement and a hint of trepidation. Moss has a way of enveloping readers in her unique blend of observation and emotional depth, but I’ve previously grappled with the sprawling nature of her longer works. Ripeness is no exception—it’s a journey through complex themes and character developments that left me feeling both captivated and slightly unsettled.
At the heart of Ripeness is Edith, a 17-year-old girl in the 1960s, and her later self, a divorced woman navigating her identity in modern-day Ireland. With a background steeped in the experiences of a Holocaust refugee, Edith’s story unwinds over two timelines filled with moments of vulnerability, societal scrutiny, and a search for belonging. Her brief sojourn in Italy to assist her ballet dancer sister adds rich layers to the narrative, exploring the intersections of family, ambition, and sacrifice.
Moss’s writing shines through in her keen observations. The precision and lyricism with which she describes landscapes and emotions are truly remarkable. Her ability to traverse the half-tones of her characters brings a certain authenticity; however, that same brilliance sometimes falters under the weight of the novel’s ambitious scope. The themes—ranging from migration and refugee experiences to toxic cultural dynamics—often felt like a mixed bag, too many at once. While each topic is worthy of exploration, the overabundance can make it challenging for readers to grasp the overarching narrative.
One notable aspect of Edith’s voice is her critique of societal issues such as refugee experiences and the convoluted politics surrounding them. For all the fascinating ideas she navigates, I often found myself grappling with the character’s complex motivations. At times, her comments felt like the musings of an educated yet somewhat self-satisfied woman, leaving me questioning whether I was meant to sympathize with her. The narrative hints at a larger commentary on her privilege and perspective, yet it sometimes blurts out rather than internalizes those reflections, leading to an uneasy reading experience.
The pacing also deserves a mention. Moss seems intent on creating a deliberate, slow rhythm in Edith’s 1960s narrative, yet this can feel unnecessarily drawn out. The slow burn didn’t quite translate for me as an enriching attempt at depth; instead, it sometimes detracted from the emotional punches that could have landed stronger if given more immediate momentum.
Despite these critiques, Ripeness is undeniably thought-provoking. It invites conversations about belonging, identity, and ambivalence, particularly in relation to the ongoing global discussions surrounding migration and nationalism. Moss’s exploration is undeniably important, but it may have benefited from a more focused lens.
I would recommend Ripeness to readers who appreciate intricate prose and discussions around identity and social issues, especially those familiar with the nuances of Sarah Moss’s writing. While I loved the beauty of her language, I found my engagement with the core messages far more layered and complex. The experience was illuminating but left me yearning for clarity in some of its bolder claims.
In the end, Ripeness is a testament to Moss’s extraordinary skill, but as with many fruits, it seems to carry both sweetness and a hint of bitterness. Whether you’ll savor its intricacies or find yourself grappling with its ambitions, I can guarantee that it will leave a lingering impact long after you turn the last page.
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