Beautifully written and moving. A novella about a mother caring for her newborn baby against a backdrop of global catastrophe.

I liked the book although I felt confused while I was reading. The prose is not something I'm used to read, I would like to read more information about the characters, few more deep thoughts. They have no names and they are represented by letters of the alphabet like O, R, Z... I'm not a mother but as I can see, Megan Hunter portrays the mother/child relationship pretty good. I believe I got the point, the main character has became a mother in a dystopian world and she's struggling with all the problems they are going to and also for having a life to take care of. She has loads of insecurity and worries and she keep strong for her son. The writing is like a poem, you can read quickly and still enjoy every single word.

'The window is completely black, the darkness total. We are the only people here. The truth: we've always felt like this.'

I picked up Megan Hunter's The End We Start From late last night when I could not sleep. In the space of an hour, I devoured it in one sitting. Her sparse yet lyrical story of a mother and child surviving a newly perilous world simply blew we away.

Like many others, I have read many books from the apocalyptic genre. Often these stories are a cautionary tale filled with backstories and complicated catastrophic disasters. The End We Start From strips the genre back to its bare essentials.

Our focus throughout is the relationship between mother and child. From the beginning, we are given the impression that this is the only world that really matters ans what follows is a novel that becomes a beautiful ode to motherhood.

We never know the mother, or in fact any other character, by name. We meet her just as 'the moment of birth looms ahead...like the loss of virginity did, as death does.' She brings Z into a dangerous world, but despite this he grows into a bouncing baby boy interested only in breast milk and achieving milestones.

Z is undoubtedly the shining light of hope throughout the novel. He is only reason why his mother accepts each setback and continues to live on. The 'optimistic colours of nappy packaging' and his playful gurgles add colour to a world slowly slipping into darkness.

'I can see people by the roadside, walking in groups. Like mass hitchhiking with no lifts. Some have children balanced on their shoulders. Some are limping.'

During these early days of parenthood, the world's oceans inexplicably and quickly begin to rise at an unprecedented level. The author portrays this flood as a biblical reckoning. Passages from Genesis are sprinkled amongst the text to provide a context and backdrop to the events.

As homes are destroyed and communications disrupted, eventually 'the cupboards reveal themselves more by the day: their wooden backs, the greying corners we never used to see.' Family members are sent to scavenge for food and never return. Violence erupts. Refugee camps are established. While the world closes around our characters, more and more Z and his mother take centre stage.

'We are told not to panic, the most panic-inducing instruction known to man.'
Less is definitely more when it comes to considering The End We Start From. Hunter superbly uses this approach to great effect. It allows the reader's imagination to fill in the gaps carefully placed by the author. It builds a prolonged tension that I have not enjoyed since I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road. But best of all, it ensures that everyone will walk away from this novel with a different reading experience. From a debut novelist, these are fantastic attributes to have attached to your first novel. What a read. I look forward to future works from this talented author.

'Then we say the secret: there is no skill. There is only another person, smaller than you'
Would I recommend this book to a friend?

Yes, yes, yes! Because of its short length and high quality, this book is ideal for reading, passing on and discussing with your bookworm friends. Very few books can be read in such a short time yet leave such a long lasting impression. The End We Start From is an instant classic.

When I started reading this book I didn't know what to expect. I quickly got into it and ended up reading it in one sitting. The situation the leading character finds herself in is one that you imagine you'd never find yourself in however is much more realisic than a zombie apocalypse so it really makes you think.
I enjoyed reading this and to be honest wanted to find out so much more by the end!
A beautifully written book which is an easy word yet thought provoking.

Thank you to netgalley and the publishers for sending me a copy.

It feels fortuitous that I picked a remote location to read Megan Hunter's extraordinary debut novel “The End We Start From.” Over the long Easter weekend I stayed at the Living Architecture property A House for Essex designed by Grayson Perry. This is a remote building filled with art and surrounded by fields of yellow rapeseed plants alongside the coast; it’d make an ideal spot to be holed up in if an apocalypse were ever to happen like it does in Hunter’s book. In this brief powerful novel London is flooded at the same time its narrator gives birth to her first child. She and her husband flee to stay with his parents on higher ground, but society quickly unravels in a nightmarish way. However, for the narrator life has just begun as she discovers the reality of motherhood caring for her baby son named Z. The novel gives an extraordinary sense of the way life alters both internally and externally as she struggles to survive.

The characters in this novel are known only by their initials which adds to the creepy sense of anonymity – as if without the language and structure of society people become nothing but faceless groups to be shepherded into temporary camps. Not only do these refugees from the devastated capital become faceless to the government, but friends, family and lovers become estranged and lose each other. The initials also give a sense of how insulated the narrator’s life becomes as her whole world becomes about this child while the civilization around her swiftly collapses. People go missing. Food becomes scarce. Rogue groups seek out isolated havens. Her life is concentrated solely on keeping her new son alive and nurturing him through this crisis.

This is a short book and tumultuous changes taking place over a long period of time are conveyed in brief passages. It’s commendable the way Hunter uses language so sparely with just enough detail to spark the reader’s imagination; a few lines are all it takes to convey a horribly tense dynamic surrounding the central character and her baby. The prose are so stripped down they almost turn poetic. Passages about the world’s end taken from different religious texts are interspersed throughout the narrative. This gives a curious sense of timelessness to the catastrophic proceedings and the feeling of cyclical change. It conveys a sense how the world is always coming to the end, but it’s also rejuvenated through change and new life.

Apocalyptic stories are common fodder for fiction as a way of exploring the unease we feel about the future of our society. Emily St. John Mandel did this so powerfully in her novel “Station Eleven” which (among other things) contemplates the way culture might morph and persist even after a devastating global illness. In “The End We Start From” Hunter flips a refugee crisis on its head so it’s the citizens of a wealthy world city that must flee for the hills seeking shelter. But it doesn’t do this in a polemical way. Rather it strips life down to philosophically enquire what makes us who we are when the people in our lives and place we live in are swept away. At one point she remarks how “Home is another word that has lost itself. I try to make it into something, to wrap its sounds around a shape. All I get is the opening of my mouth and its closing, the way my lips press together at the end. Home.” The story asks us to consider how resilient we would be if forced into an uncertain peripatetic life, but also how strong our sense of self is when transitioning between being a wife and mother, a husband and father or being a citizen and nomad. These are weighty and pertinent things to think about with such uncertain times ahead for all of us.

I liked the idea of this post-flood book. The style is interesting, as we follow one new mother into this post-natal and post flood world. While overall, the novella is a complete work, it left me wanting more. Not so much in length as in depth. It felt shallow and never hit the emotions I would have expected. Perhaps the terse style of the author just isn't my cup of tea. Still, worth a read if you like fresh voices.

This was a pretty interesting book. It was short and that bugged me a little bit. I felt more story could have been told. But I realized by the end, that it just works. The way it was told was very different more than anything I have ever read.

A confusing stream of consciousness,with some beautiful writing, but overall I found the lack of structure distracting, and felt like the book just scratched the surface of the story I wanted to read.

I found the book was much too short, it seemed to cram too much into too little but yet left out so much too. The language was beautiful but less flowery script and more information would have suited me.

Tiresome plot did not agree with minimalist descriptions. The author should have done a better job at world building and making characters relatable.

A poetic tale of motherhood and survival, beautifully written and atmospheric.

I had a hard time getting into this book. I really dislike this type of writing, where everything is clipped phrases. Since I did not finish the book, I do not intend to publish a review.

I read this all the way through, because it's a quick read, but it's not my cup of tea.

This was not a book I would normally read, a style I'm not familiar with but one that I did enjoy reading.. The book is in a style that I'm not used to so at first it threw me but you easily get into the flow of what is happening. It is reminiscent of The Road but you seem to know even less about the surroundings and what is actually going on. It lends itself to opening up your imagination to what has happened and what sort of life these people lead. However, the overwhelming feeling of the story is one of love. It is thought provoking and a very quick read.

A sparsely told tale of disaster and new motherhood, and how some things remain the same while eveything else falls apart. An unnamed new mother gives birth to Z, a boy, just as a flood devastates London and beyond. She, Z and her husband R flee to scotland, to R's parents until that situation goes horribly wrong too. They become refugees, fleeing with barely the clothes they stood up in. R runs further, leaving his wife and child in a camp, and somehow they must try to survive. The book is written all in the moment so there is very little context or explanation for the floods and crisis. Our narrator cannot think of the big picture, her world is centred around her baby boy, in a strange echo of many new mothers today. And Z's development is much as babies today - bringing a consistency and relatability to the story.

This is unsettling, fascinating and moving.

This book could be a prequel to American War by Akkad. It opens with a birth and with London flooding. The mother, who narrates, must struggle with motherhood and with raising her child under apocalyptic circumstances. It is told in short diary-like entries, written in very poetic language. Word count is short but the prose is impactful.
Well-written and I liked it, though it felt a bit short for my taste.
I received an ARC from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

This is a post apocalyptic story about and new mother and son trying to survive. As the waters around her rise, she documents her life. Going from place to place and meeting those that help her and her son along the way.

It is written like a poetic diary. The characters have letter names, as if writing out the full name wasn't needed for her to remember the people. The book is a short 160 pages that I read in less than two hours and I want more. It was such a quick read, like a "cliff notes" version of a larger novel. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as it was an interesting way to write but I could see how others might find it a little flat and lacking in details.

There was a lot of talk about breastfeeding which brought back so many wonderful memories of nursing my own children but if you have never nursed a child that aspect might be lost on you.

Overall it was a good read. I would recommend it if someone was looking for a quick read.

This was good, this was very good, in fact so good I read in one sitting!
It is a short novel, a mere 140 pages but it certainly packs a punch.
It is the story of a woman who gives birth in a dystopian London, where floods are threatening to engulf the city and many parts of the country. With her partner H they are forced to flee living in the car before arriving at a refugee camp. When H , himself leaves Mother and baby Z are forced to flee again this time to a remote Scottish Island, totally removed from the flood, fire and conflict engulfing the mainland.
The characters have no names but are represented by letters of the alphabet, there are no obvious conversations, just thoughts on the life in which they find themselves.
Hunter beautifully portrays the mother/ child relationship, the milestones of the first year, the first step Z takes representative of a new beginning, a new life.
The writing is sparse, and economical written in short paragraphs, each word, each sentence, conveying so much intensity and meaning.
I do not usually like dystopian novels but this was one was so good, so immersive, yet poignant and frightening It reminded me of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, but not quite as harrowing or graphic. Not a novel everyone will enjoy but for me an utterly brilliant debut.

"The End We Start From" is a dystopian novella narrated by a woman who gave birth to her first child amidst a catastrophe that caused London to completely flood, displacing all of its residents. I'm a big fan of this genre so I was predetermined to enjoy this short novel. I appreciate dystopian fiction that considers the unique vulnerability of women in a world after society and law and order have broken down. Hunter adds to that the challenges of being a new mother.

While I enjoyed it, the book is so brief that it lacks something. The sparse writing style appears intentional and, in a way, works well with the context of disaster and isolation. There's something about the writing and the brevity of the book that makes the story feel incomplete, however. I wanted to know more about the origins of the disaster and where the husband was and what he experienced during much of the story. It is enjoyable, unique, and worth reading, but not at the top of my list for books in the dystopian genre.

The first thing to say about The End We Start From is it’s not a standard book of fictional prose.

The story is told through beautifully-crafted sentences, isolated like islands on the page. Shots of consciousness, captured like polaroids. Each scene is built from just a handful of these, and there are two or three scenes per page. A flip through this slight book’s pages might suggest it’s poetry rather than prose, and each word feels suitably thoughtful and crafted. With its beautiful artwork too, it’s an exquisite object, filled with exquisite words. One to indulge in the hardback format, treasure, and re-read time and again.

Because The End We Start From works on many layers and takes its time to sink in; it’s a book to mull over, and learn from, rather than be swept away by. On the most immediate and personal level, it’s about new motherhood. It opens with the words: “I am hours from giving birth...” and charts, with wonderful intimacy and freshness, the experience of sharing your world with an entirely dependent human for the first time. But baby Z is born at a time of catastrophe and chaos: the second level in the book is the story of London submerged under rising waters and its citizens becoming refugees; of what happens to people when resources are suddenly limited and how to survive that. And scattered through all of this, is another layer of story again - creation and destruction myths drawn from myths and religions worldwide, dropped through the text in italics. These three layers sit alongside each other with equal resonance, sometimes throwing one another into contrast.

For me the most effective element by far was the portrayal of motherhood, I have rarely read anything so bracingly familiar. The narrator is so immersed in her experience as a new mother it completely overshadows the chaos around her. Cut off from everything and everyone familiar, and stripped of the modern accessories of parenthood - the lemon-painted nursery underwater and the “complicated Baby Play System...all its attachments floating free,” - she reverts to the fleshy and primal. Their relationship is one of nipple and skin and interdependency. She reflects: “I have started to think of myself as a bear, with my young clinging to my neck.”

But this strand is also packed with a knowing humor, from the throwaway - “I am a geriatric primigravida, but I don’t look it,” - to her description of labour, “Between the waves of disembowelling wrench the world is shining. I feel like Aldous Huxley on mescaline.”

Some aspects of parenting are different in this new world: sleeping through the night - because no one sleeps through the night anymore, some things the same: her guilt - when his very first roll rolls him right off the bed, “I am a terrible mother, I think, nestling his unbroken body into my own,” her fear - “The scenarios for his death are the most vivid day-dreams I have ever had.” It’s strangely validating to see the everyday obsessions of parenthood so beautifully written. And these quiet, private moments happen amidst /because of /despite the global chaos of the overriding story.

While the details of motherhood are magnified, the intense action of what is happening around her is muted, pushed into the background. What has actually happened is an unspoken question: climate change is unmentioned but ever present. Some facts are offered: waters have risen and much of London is swallowed - “A list of boroughs, like the shipping forecast,” - people flee, they fight for food, for survival. The world is chaos, but the drama of the book is presented through the narrator's detachment, there is no dialogue, and even when she’s obviously not emotionally detached, she is instead resigned to the inevitable horror, “And yes I scream and hold their clothes and tell them not to go. And yes they go.”

This distance is enhanced by the naming of characters by their initial, rather than name. Her partner is R, her friend, O. But stripped of names these characters’ stories are freed to become universal, their reactions are the inevitable reactions to this dystopian future. The astute details of the motherhood observations serve this purpose too; they are universal in their precision, while the wider story becomes universal in its distance. And so The End We Start From fast becomes a parable, a tale of what might happen to us, a warning. Like the third layer of myths running through the book in italics, we’re left to question how this very familiar world could so easily slip into a new destruction myth.