‘True Things About Me’ by Deborah Kay Davies

I started reading True Things About Me only last night and yet less than twenty-four hours later I have finished it. This is not a testament to my own speed reading abilities, mainly because I do not possess any, but a testament to a punchy and utterly compulsive debut novel from a writer who deserves to win every prize she is eligible for.

First published last year, True Things About Me is Welsh writer Deborah Kay Davies' first foray into the realm of full-length fiction, though you would be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Each thrilling chapter explodes with panache, and about half way through it becomes clear that Davies is an author in complete control of her talents; short sentences and accurate allusions to modern British culture abound. 

This whole work sparkles with a sense of humour that is not so much black as obsidian. The prose is refreshingly lucid and not at all tedious, and her storytelling style packs an almighty punch. I read the book in two separate sittings, but it is certainly compelling enough to devour in just one. I would liken True Things About Me to a lovingly baked dessert, but think lemon cheesecake as opposed to strawberry tart - something shamelessly addictive that leaves a bitter aftertaste.

The novel is, after all, the tale of one woman's descent into madness. Like The Bell Jar before it, it details moments of isolation, despondency, and utter insanity. The unnamed narrator's encounter with a mysterious though clearly malevolent male in an underground car park marks the beginning of her downward spiral, and from there matters worsen as her attachment to him grow stronger. There are some scenes of stomach-churning sexual degradation and domestic violence, all of which eventually culminate in a horrifying yet bizarrely redemptive conclusion.

Simply put, True Things About Me is the kind of novel I've always wanted to read but have never been able to find. It is sharp, disturbing, and so searingly funny that I found myself guffawing aloud, much to the dismay of my fellow Starbucks patrons. As one jacket quote very rightly states, this is The Bell Jar for the twenty-first century, augmented with quintessentially British sensibilities. All of my favourite books combine horror and humour in some way, and at this Deborah Kay Davies has succeeded stunningly.

This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.tumblr.com in November 2011.