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"That’s what wanting is. The looking for what you cannot have.’"

#DarkWater by #ElizabethLowry (published by riverrun, a subsidiary of Quercus Books) is uniquely difficult to explain, and, therefore, review. You almost need to read it for yourself to understand all the connections.

Hiram Carver, our protagonist, starts as an out of his depth (sorry) ships surgeon, who, at the end of his maiden voyage decided to turn his hand to curing the insane rather than going back on a ship. The novel, from here, revolves around his obsession with solving the mystery of William Borden. I could go into full details, the book has been out since 2018 so spoilers are hard to be avoided, but I can't help but feel some realisations need to happen organically.

Lowry manages to transport readers into the heart of the story, blending Dickens & Shakespeare into the mix with ease. Lowry also manages to force readers to reach for the dictionary, at least, she did me. For example; aperçu - a comment or brief reference that makes an illuminating or entertaining point.

"What an awful thing it is to be alive. Who, given the choice, would choose it?"

This novel started as a very promising work of human psyche, dark secrets, sea and love. But unfortunately it deteriorated in the second half, trying to cook and cook again the dark secrets into even darker one until the dish got overcooked. It's a pity, because the first half and the overall promise of the book is very impressive with some good observations about the starting professional field of psychology/psychiatry. Also, the authoress's writing skills are rich and well-honed.
The flirting between the two main male characters did not sit with with me well, because they both claim their love for the female character with their words, but their actions have a different feel. This might be a modern take, but it also undermines the honesty of the storytelling.

Set in 19th Century America - though parts are at sea - this follows the stories of Hiram Carver & William Borden. They first meet on board a whaling ship where Carver is the Doctor and Bordon a recently promoted but still lowly officer. We meet them again later where Carver is a Doctor in an upper class asylum and Borden a patient.
I found this book a bit of a struggle if I am perfectly honest. There is a lot of underlying meaning behind the book which I didn't always follow - or indeed want to follow. There is a lot of discussion about the metaphysical aspects of the mind and the intricacies of that within this story. This aspect of the book just wasn't for me & I found myself skipping over sections.
The actual story itself is reasonably sound and interesting. Hiram Carver seems at face value to be a young & inexperienced Doctor and very amiable. However as the book goes on we find there is much more to him than meets the eye. He can be very devious and manipulative and not beyond allowing others to take the rap for his errors. William Bordon is a complex character as are his relationships with Carver, his fiance, the cabin boy and the people around him.
I found the whole book quite turgid and it certainly didn't flow well. This is a book which isn't really designed to be read totally at face value. The reader also needs to be prepared to look deeper into the human psyche which I didn't find particularly interesting. Don't get me wrong, I am interested in psychology but the way this book tackled the human mind I didn't find that interesting.
Having read other reviews I see that readers have enjoyed this book when they have engaged with it at a deeper level than I did. I don't think this was the book for me.
I received a free copy of this book via Netgalley.

In ‘Dark Water’ Elizabeth Lowry gives us the story of two men whose strange bond is explored and extended over the course of the novel. Whilst neither are particularly likeable, they fascinate us through the portrayal of their development and disintegration. Lowry’s Gothic tale reminds us that man is not always rational and that science does not hold all the answers.
Set in the nineteenth century, the naïve Hiram Carver takes up his position as ship's doctor on the USS Orbis. Sailing south from Boston and round Cape Horn, he finds it difficult to settle into the tough, coarse, merciless world of the sailors. Descriptions of their punishments, at times difficult to stomach, remind the reader of the brutalities suffered at sea.
A member of the ship’s crew, William Borden, ‘Hero of the Providence’ (named as such because years earlier he saved the life of his Captain and others from a mutinous crew and sailed them to safety across the Pacific), is kind to the inexperienced Carver and a bond develops. So it is alarming when a violent episode on board the Orbis suggests that Borden is not the neatly packaged ‘hero’ that Carver admires. And life aboard ship feels more and more claustrophobic and out of control.
Back on dry land, Carver moves to a position at Boston's Asylum for the Insane where he next encounters Borden. This time it is no surprise that the latter is depicted as mentally ill. In this section of the novel, Lowry uses her historical medical research to give the reader an appreciation of nineteenth century developments in the study of the mind. Carver is interested in the drawing out of troubling memories as a means to confronting and curing Borden of his illness. However, things conjured do not always die of their own accord.
Vividly written and full of fascinating historical detail, both at sea and on land, this novel is a very thought-provoking read. However, there are moments when the over-use of description and details makes the plot turgid and the pace inappropriately slow. A pity.
This novel has been likened to ‘Moby Dick’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’ but the ancestral Gothic novel that most resonates with me is ‘Frankenstein’: the two protagonists are inextricably bound together and who is to judge who is the most reasonable, who is the most monstrous and who has lived to their full potential.
My thanks to NetGalley and Quercus for a copy of this novel in exchange for a fair review.

So happy to be given a whole budget to replenish our senior shelves in the school library. The books in there are far from appealing at the moment and I have been delighted to find books here that will intrigue, captivate and engross my senior students.

This is a fantastic read with characters they will be able to connect with, a pacy narrative and an ending that will provide plenty to talk about. I love Elizabeth Lowry and look forward to introducing her to some new readers.

It's great to read a book that does not feel formulaic and gives some credit to their reader's intelligence too. Young people are very fussy about the books they choose to read and in this time-precious day and age it really has to be something above and beyond the ordinary to get them to put down their devices and get their noses stuck in a book.

I think this is one book that will capture their imagination and keep them turning the pages until the end. This is definitely going onto my 'must-buy' list and I really look forward to seeing what the young people themselves think of this twisty, clever and engaging novel.

https://lynns-books.com/2018/09/27/dark-water-by-elizabeth-lowry/
Dark Water is a book I read a few weeks ago but struggled to write a review for immediately. Upon finishing this my first impression was that this is a book primarily about obsession and to be honest, having left this review whilst my thoughts composed, I think that initial impression still rings true.

I found this an engrossing and accomplished read. It’s the sort of book that I would have read years ago when I was on a journey through my dad’s bookcase. It includes shout outs to certain classics and is a book that I would recommend if you enjoy a healthy dose of food for thought served with your plot. I would point out that my tastes run more to the speculative fiction side these days but I do still enjoy a read such as Dark Waters, especially when it so successfully mimics old style gothic writing but, to be clear, there are no supernatural elements gracing these pages, no ghosts or demonic possessions in the asylum and no scary sea monsters in the sea’s depths.

The book has a classic feel both in terms of historic period and writing style. It definitely nails the gothic aspect not just in terms of the asylum that becomes the setting for a good portion of the story but also the chapters set out on the high seas. We have a central narrator, a well spoken and successful doctor who recounts his time aboard the USS Orbis with enough eloquence and mystery to tempt readers onwards at a fairly tight clip in spite of the maybe slightly wordy feel. Hiram Carver has taken a position as ship’s doctor aboard the Orbis. It’s not a particular time that he enjoyed. He never really found his sea legs and he was out of sync with the other sailors. It’s a brutal environment to be sure. Food and water is strictly rationed and maintaining control of a hardened crew is no small accomplishment. Consequently, Hiram was rather out of sorts. The harshness didn’t sit well with his own sensibilities and the only redeeming quality of those hard 9 months was his introduction to William Borden. I won’t go into the events aboard the Orbis but suffice to say things become heated and out of hand and the result seems to tie Hiram and Borden’s fates inextricably together.

Upon leaving the Orbis and after a suitable time for recovery (in the eyes of his father that is) Hiram takes a position at Boston’s Asylum for the Insane. Here he begins to flourish under the warmth of the senior doctor and finds himself becoming invaluable to both the staff and inmates. Things almost threaten to become settled for a while until Borden himself is admitted to the Asylum as an inmate and Hiram throws himself into curing his former shipmate.

Underlying this is Borden’s own story of survival when he led a small dinghy of officers across the Pacific after a mutiny aboard ship. This particular story underpins much of the story. Borden has become a hero, a legend almost and he seems to exude a mysterious quality that attracts people like moths to a flame. I won’t say that Borden’s story was a surprise particularly but I don’t think that’s really the point to be honest. For me this was more an examination of mental fragility and a recognition of the depths which people will go to in order to survive and then, having survived, whether they can continue to live with their own actions afterwards.

Like I said above Hiram becomes fixated with Borden and in fact I felt there was a repressed sexual undercurrent to their interactions and a denial of something that was forbidden. Borden has definitely succumbed to madness and yet his actions and words are reasonable. He almost has a soothing appeal to him. Hiram on the other hand comes across as an odd narrator. He tells the story well and is unabashedly truthful even when some of the events don’t particularly shine an advantageous light on him. Some of his actions are incredibly self serving or selfish, he undoubtedly changes the lives of some of those around him who he is in fact in a strong position to help favourably and frankly he’s just not always likable – and I feel this is deliberate on the part of the author. Don’t get me wrong, I kept putting his actions to one side, hoping that he would redeem himself and that things would resolve themselves happily. But, and this is the thing with obsession, he was no more capable of change than Borden was. That one was incarcerated in an asylum and one was the doctor could reasonably have been swapped, both were credible, both were haunted and both had a strange fixation on eating and starvation as a form of self punishment. The whole thing kind of put me in mind of Shelley’s Frankenstein in respect of monstrosities and monsters.

In a nutshell I found this a compelling read. It’s very dark, beautifully written and incredibly evocative. It’s not particularly fast paced or startling in its revelations. It has an old feel to it and can be a bit wordy but I thought it was very impressive, even if maybe not a book for everyone. I would certainly read more books by this author.

I received a copy through Netgalley, courtesy of the publisher, for which my thanks. The above is my own opinion.

Set in the first half of the 1800s, Dark Water is a complex, layered novel exploring the human psyche and what makes us human. Dr Hiram Carver is the narrator and after a stint on the USS Orbis as assistant surgeon, he is employed at the Asylum for the Insane in Charlestown, Boston. The Asylum allows no visitors for its patients, nor any real treatment, but rather a refuge for them. It is here that Carver again meets with William Borden who he first encountered on the Orbis but is now 'lost'. Borden comes with a heroic status after saving the captain of the USS Providence, and other officers, from a mutiny, leading them through two months at sea in a dinghy with no provisions to the safety of South America. How he accomplished this miraculous feat is at the heart of this gothic tale. Indeed the sea itself can be seen as a character and a metaphor for the mind.

Highly visual and intriguing, the novel centres on the relationship between the two men and what draws each to the other. The writing is full of symbolism, references and stunning imagery to challenge the reader and leave it open to interpretation. Considering its complexity, it's a credit to the author that it's so readable and engaging.

'Dark Water' is a powerful, nineteenth century gothic novel that draws parallels between the deepest, darkest oceans and the depths of the human mind. We follow affluent and privileged Bostonian Dr Haram Carver, as he boards the USS Orbis where he is to become assistant surgeon. On his voyage he encounters William Borden, a member of the ships crew. They then go on to meet years later when Borden is admitted to a mental asylum and is under the care of Carver who resolves to try to cure his acquaintances madness.

This is a wonderfully dark, atmospheric and claustrophobic read, and the sea voyage is certainly all of those things and more. The narrative and twisted tale it weaves are exquisitely done and created vivid imagery in my minds eye. Lowry's characterisation is also masterful - with each of the characters expertly crafted. All in all, an intelligent and visceral book that I thoroughly enjoyed. But, be warned, it gets very, very dark at times. There are many layers to the story, and I feel because of that it will appeal to many different readers. I know for certain I will remember it for a long time to come.

Many thanks to riverrun for an ARC. I was not required to post a review, and all thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.

Actually 4.5 stars.
I have to admit that this book took me a fair while to really get into but, once I was there, the time just started to run away with itself as I got more and more immersed in what I was reading. Also, while I'm admitting things, one of the key selling points of this book to me was that it is set in Boston and that is a place that I absolutely loved when I visited a few years ago on my first trip state-side.
So, we start on board a ship with our hero Hiram Carver taking up his first job as ship's doctor. And what a rude awakening that turned out to be as it was in rather difficult circumstances that he first met William Borden, a hero of the past but now struggling somewhat. This meeting and what happened thereafter forged links between the two men and, years later, they were to meet again in of all things an Insane Asylum. Carver resuming his role as Borden's doctor once again in a mission to cure Borden's madness.
Gosh, this book was dark in places. It also made me feel quite claustrophobic at times which I think was more to do with the wonderful language used more than the actual story at times. It was also a book that could be read on several levels. This first read of mine had me wanting to get to the end more than stopping and "smelling the roses" so to speak. If I re-read, and I fully intend to do so even though it is not something I usually do, I will definitely be taking my time and savouring the journey. It was also, for me anyway, quite a visual book for the most part. I don't always manage to "see" what I am reading but her the images conjured up in my head were quite vivid and indeed visceral at times and I think this also helped with my overall enjoyment of the book. It definitely brought the wonderfully crafted characters to life.
There is so much more I could say about this book, indeed I may even come back and edit this review in the future when I have completed my re-read. There are things that I have bound to have let go over my head which will only enhance things on second reading. But suffice to say that this book sucked me in and held me fast right up until the end, and probably beyond. My thanks go to the Publisher and Netgalley for the chance to read this book.

Firstly, I must say – what a stunning debut this is! So weighty in its execution, and I must commend its author on that. Elizabeth Lowry’s handle on the language throughout this book seemed to have no crest, and not once did its pace falter, or its prose cease to shine. Page after page laid out before me like the two doors of a Victorian wardrobe, with its intricately carved panels of oceanic shapes and leaves, all a deep, rich brown … and similarly, upon reading, felt like thick cuts of meat, in need of attentive chewing.

Secondly, I feel I should give a hearty thanks to the people of Quercus, for sending this book to me. It was a delight and an adventure to read, even though ‘delight’ feels like too light a word. Especially to stand beneath such a heavy narrative. At any rate, on Thursday I will be voyaging down to Waterstones, and purchasing another copy. As a reader, I greatly enjoyed this book, but as a writer I found it incredibly inspiring. This is a book I’d like to keep on my shelf, and return to when I’m in need of a reminder of the sheer force and power that good writing can muster.

“We did not refer to the fact that we were on this vessel, trapped in this demented cage, because we could not get off: because – as long as we wanted to stay alive – there was simply nowhere else to go.”

Aboard the USS Orbis as it embarks from Boston and surges south to round Cape Horn, Hiram Carver takes up his first position as ship’s doctor. Callow and anxious among the seasoned sailors, he struggles in this brutal floating world until he meets William Borden. (taken from the synopsis on the Quercus website)

I think the sections of the story that took place on the Orbis, during the early stages of the book, were some of my favourite. I was swept in by the visceral descriptions and happenings onboard – as if I, too, were on a nine-month voyage with the men of that ship.

The characters introduced are incredibly easy to visualise – thanks to the remarkable physicality that was described, seemingly with ease, by Lowry. Every character seemed real to me, in what they did and said – but it was less in their dialogue, and more in their actions. Their believability amazed me, and drew me in further. I often, as a reader, find it difficult to root myself when it comes to characters. Even when writing them, it isn’t until I’m a bulk of the way through a book that I can really see them. But I could envisage each and every one of Lowry’s characters without any difficulty at all. The way they moved, the expressions they pulled, their presence on the page … masterfully done.

“In every life, I now believe, there is one event that is the wellspring of fundamental agony and decision in us. It lies beneath the sunlit layers of the present moment, throwing its shade across the foundations of our being, forming the self to come. If grasped and brought to the surface, it can save us or destroy us.”

I could harp on all day about the prose, in true Carver fashion, but it really was exquisite. The reviews that are surfacing, much like buoys in the ocean, have spoken at length about the story’s depth and resonance. About its twists and turning points, its synthesis and antithesis … and I stand by their positive words, I do. But the prose truly amazed me, and I can’t help but reel on about it.

Even the way that the metaphorical visuals never wavered from the book’s overall tone. Details like “–my thoughts were capsized by a wave of confusion–”, that served to keep the reader fully immersed in the story – and on that vinegar-soaked boat – at all times. And I don’t think any description felt out of place or out of theme. Few books, I feel, handle this as well as Dark Water. I’ll often find myself taken off the page by their descriptions, however beautiful or evocative they may be, and I’ll need to dive back in with every subsequent sentence.

With this story? I didn’t. Instead, I felt completely immersed each time I opened a chapter and resumed reading.

I will admit, at times I did find the prose overwhelming. There were moments when they read so richly and were so multifaceted that I was almost blinded by them. But those moments were short lived, and probably spoke less about Lowry’s handle on language, and more about my – probably lacklustre in comparison – vocabulary.

“Mad? I wanted to shout. Aren’t you mad? And you? Aren’t I? We’re all mad. Here we are, piloting a wood-shaving over an abyss. Is there a better definition of madness?”

Now, I will come away (briefly) from my thoughts on the structure of the book, and talk a little about its narrative.

Truth, I feel, is one of the core themes of this book. But the madness of the mind is, too. When protagonist Hiram is taken on as assistant physician at Charlestown’s mental asylum, the story begins to open its doors and show its true colours. I will admit I was briefly disheartened the moment Hiram returned to Boston after sailing on the Orbis. I had, in my mind, prepared myself for a book set entirely onboard, and was quite happy with that self-made premonition … but alas, the heart of the story wasn’t to be found on that boat – and I soon came to love the land-dwellers world, too.

But above Truth and Madness, the thing that sits in the centre of this story, and indeed embodies all its themes, is Hiram Carver’s private obsession … William Borden.

“And as I write I fear that the shape I am giving to Will Borden is not his true shape, that it has been digested, disfigured, in the acid element of myself.”

I found their relationship, and Hiram’s dissection of it, truly gripping. Almost romantic, in a dark way. And upon finishing the book, these two men remain in my mind. As if they’re still sitting on a boat, with a fishing net between them. A lasting impression, indeed – and further proof of this book’s well-sculpted characters.

‘So. Here we are, Hiram.’ He shrugged his scalpel-like shoulders. ‘Two scarecrows in a garden.’

Dark Water feels like a classic novel – despite being a (historic) contemporary debut. Like it could have been released many, many years ago. Not because it is literally set over a century ago, but because of its strength. Its lasting impact. And I think the story itself can stand alone as its own classic, regardless of its imminent debut.

Not only is Lowry’s mastery of prose sky-high, but her awareness of pace was enthralling. You almost feel like you’re sailing along whilst you read, actually aboard a ship of your own, and then occasionally a sentence will slam down like a whirlpool and you’ll almost feel it under you. I found it an exciting feeling and was happy with the ride from start to finish. Each high and each low was perfectly graduated, and when it did plummet, it hit hard every single time. No high-point felt underwhelming, and my reactions to them remained unnumbed.

“The place felt like glass, both fragile and dangerous, as if something might shatter at any moment.”

The final moments of the book held an intensity that made my eyes water, for I couldn’t blink. I felt pulled in by a sea-storm and span out the other side. It’s been a long while since I’ve read a book that held such relentless intensity, and tender beauty, all at the same time.

Seek this book out, especially if you’re a lover of historical fiction. It’s a voyage you will not regret climbing aboard, even if Hiram Carver himself regrets every minute of it.

Powerful in its imagery and terrifying in its acute observation of obsession, few novels probe the depths of memory, the mind and the unfathomable ocean itself as well as Elizabeth Lowry’s Dark Water.

Hiram Carver, once assistant surgeon on the ship the USS Orbis and now alienist at the Asylum for the Insane in Charlestown, Boston, finds himself recollecting his memories of that strange and distressing voyage. Foremost within his thoughts is William Borden, the watchful, inscrutable Third Lieutenant, famous for saving the captain of the USS Providence from violent mutiny, and for guiding their dinghy across the ocean to safety. But such heroic deeds have bitter consequences, as Carver will soon discover: from the Orbis to the asylum, and then to Nantucket’s windy, wild shores, the ties that bind him to Borden and to the events of that fateful voyage will come to define his own actions…

Unsettling from its opening pages, Lowry’s novel excels in its exploration of the human psyche, of the relations we establish with others, and in its very depiction of the “dark water” which forms our own consciences. The descriptions offered of first the ship and then the asylum are claustrophobic and ominous, the crashing ocean outside a shattering reminder of the fragile veneers of society and sanity. Nowhere is this pretence more exposed than on the Orbis, with its distorted imitation of social hierarchy offering glimpses of the chaos lying underneath.

It is this possibility, this potential for chaos which Lowry harnesses so well in the novel, and which gives the story its gothic aspect. The image of the sea evokes this vast, nameless fear: full is the suggestion that malevolent shapes lurk not only beneath the waves, but appear on dry land, too. It is in Carver’s attempts to understand Borden, and indeed to comprehend his own instinctual need for the man, that we slowly become aware of the base hungers that lie coiled within both characters. There is the torture of the unknown, whether it be at sea or in the bottomless reaches of the mind, and the greater torment of being so wholly attracted to it.

Though it is Hiram Carver who leads us through the novel’s intriguing plot, it is perhaps William Borden who most attracts the reader’s attention. Like Carver, we are caught between his strangeness and charm, and we remain enthralled to the enduring mystery of what really happened on that small dinghy cast adrift in the Pacific.

But it is the twisting, spiralling friendship between the two men which is the novel’s greatest appeal, as is their own definition of such a relationship; the light in which Carver views Borden throws into harsh relief the disconnect separating what a person is and the roles our own selfish desires can cast them in. Part of the story’s thrill lies in Carver’s attempt to restore human sensibility to a man he sees only as a god – replete with the power to master the ocean – while it is Lowry’s sinuous prose which lends pace to the quest.

Like the very best books, Dark Water forces us as readers to guess at what lies below the surface, whether it be a character’s true motives or the truth behind supposedly heroic deeds. Confronted as we are by characters ensnared within their own delusions, we too are held captive by this beautifully-written novel; though, as the poet Dylan Thomas would have it, we “sing in our chains like the sea.”

(Thank you so much to Quercus Books and riverrun for offering me the chance to review this book; I received a free copy through NetGalley for an honest review).

When I’m reading a book, I generally have quite a clear idea of what I like and don’t like about it. However, I must admit Elizabeth Lowry’s Dark Water flummoxed me. It was a novel I lapped up, a real literary page-turner. Yet, throughout, I had this nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite convincing me. Perhaps, by the end of this review, I’ll manage to sort my thoughts out.

The marketing blurbs describe Dark Water as a Gothic novel, whilst comparing it to “Moby Dick” or “Heart of Darkness”. That is, I think, a good place to start. I must say that I was also reminded of the “sea stories” of William Hope Hodgson. Admittedly, no phantom pirates haunt these pages but there are other terrors aplenty...ooh, yes, there are! And there’s the same sense of claustrophobia which, ironically, can clutch travellers on the open sea and which both Hodgson and Lowry portray so effectively. Lovers of opera will also catch more than a briny whiff of Britten’s marine masterpieces “Billy Budd” or “Peter Grimes”: the latter, especially, in the final part of the novel.

Dark Water, however, also references what I would call the “asylum Gothic”, made popular in Victorian ‘sensation fiction’ and reprised in contemporary novels (Alison Littlewood’s recent The Crow Garden comes to mind).

The link between these two Gothic environments lies in the main characters. In the first half of the 19th Century, as a newly-qualified physician, narrator Hiram Carver joins the crew of the USS Orbis for a journey from Boston south towards Cape Horn. Aboard ship he befriends William Borden. Though barely older than Hiram, Borden already has a reputation in the seafaring world as the “Hero of the Providence”. Years before, aboard the said ship, Borden negotiated with a group of mutineers for the life of the Captain and a group of sailors, and then led them to safety across the Pacific aboard a fragile dinghy. He’s a living legend, no less. Yet, something seems to trouble the man, and a violent episode on the Orbis threatens to bring his career to a premature end.

Back on the terra firma, Hiram puts his marine adventure behind him and takes up a position at Boston’s Asylum for the Insane. And so, he tells us,

I began to exist on intimate terms with all that is pitiful, misshapen, and unresolved in the human heart

At the asylum, he meets Borden again, this time as a patient. For the sake of their previous friendship, Carver is determined to cure Borden, using a new technique which he has developed, at odds with traditional, less humane, approaches. Carver, in fact, believes that psychological illnesses can be addressed by confronting head-on submerged memories - unwelcome recollections which we tend to bury in our mental “dark water” or, in other words, the “subconscious”. But memory and truth are uncomfortable bedfellows and perhaps, raking up the past is not always a great idea.

Lowry exploits the Gothic possibilities of the plot and, for good measure, provides the reader with some impressive set-pieces which further emphasize the novel’s association with the genre. There is a particularly striking episode in which Carver visits a maimed cousin who lives in a dark mansion,

...so exactly like a house of nightmare: a crooked mausoleum hidden away in a waste land of struggling trees, marooned on scant acres of blasted grass.

The meeting takes place in a room with drawn curtains, where the host quaffs absinthe in a bid for oblivion. There are other memorable scenes set against the wintry backdrop of the bleak Nantucket coastline.

In other words, this is all so very much up my alley. So why my reservations? I guess part of my problem lies with the character of the narrator. He first struck me as an interesting and complex figure, especially in his relationships with the rest of the crew and –on land – with his overbearing father and doting sister. However, as the novel proceeds, so many contradictions surface that, for me at least, he did not remain particularly convincing. He is often weak but, when required, breathtakingly ruthless. He can be patient with his patients, yet brusque and callous with the people closest to him. He is sometimes indolent, sometimes overbearingly ambitious. He can be perceptive and sharp, yet incredibly naive. He’s conflicted about his sexuality. As a psychological study, he’s just too good to be true.

And then there’s Borden. He’s described as a sort of demigod, a supernatural figure. Now I do appreciate that we’re perceiving borden from Carver’s perspective, but the “elevated” language in which he’s consistently presented becomes rather over the top.

This brings me precisely to the distinctive aspect of Dark Water which, I suspect, will also be its most divisive one. Throughout the book, there are several extended metaphors which invite a symbolic or mythical interpretation of the novel. There are, of course, the pervasive ‘marine’ metaphors, not least the evocative image of the “dark water” of our minds. But there are also recurring references to “food”, “hunger”, “thinness” and “leanness”. Hiram’s superior at the asylum nicknames him Cassius because, like the eponymous character in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, he has a “lean and hungry look”. Hunger, or the lack of it, is often indicative of a character’s state of mind.

From there it’s but a brief step to imagery of a religious, theological, dare I say ‘sacramental’ nature. Suffice it to mention, without revealing too much, that certain key episodes in the plot are imbued with ritualistic significance, although it’s not clear whether Lowry’s intention is merely to harness the power of religious associations or to present us with a grotesque parody of holy ceremonies. For me, “Dark Water” worked brilliantly enough as a dark historical novel with psychological undercurrents. This ‘mythical’ element was hardly necessary. But I’m just as sure that others will find that it is precisely this added layer of meaning which gives this novel the edge over other neo-Victorian novels. Anyone with even a passing interest in the Gothic should read this.

It's unusual in commercial fiction to find an author who is as adept as Lowry proves herself to be at not just using but sustaining a systematic use of symbolism and figurative language. Here the sea and issues of hunger and need are used in a metaphysical way to think about life and death, survival and conscience. And if that makes this sound pretentious, it's not, because she successfully wraps all these issues up in a neo-Gothic narrative that alternates between an asylum and life on board a C19th ship.

Lowry's writing is excellent and she has the knack of capturing character with economy and wit: someone, for example, is described 'as if he'd swallowed an encyclopaedia of inanities'! There are gestures towards [book:Moby-Dick|153747] when the Starbuck family are mentioned in passing, and when a character inherits a whale-oil business; with intimations of [book:The Rime of the Ancient Mariner|732562] ('you've chosen this death in life', the albatross, issues of conscience and reparation) as well.

This didn't quite tip over into a 5-star book for me because in places it feels a bit too long and could have been tautened up. Also, as C21st readers we're less innocent than the C19th characters and so the central revelations were unsurprising to me, slightly anti-climactic.

Nevertheless, this is an accomplished piece of writing that's also a page-turner of a read.