I find something very moving about stories of intergenerational friendships. Novels such as “Autumn” by Ali Smith and “The Offing” by Benjamin Myers describe profound connections between individuals who are at very different stages of life but establish a rapport that obliterates traditional social divides based on age, gender or sexuality. Sarah Winman has explored such a relationship before in her novel “A Year of Marvellous Ways” where an eccentric ninety-year-old woman and a soldier who just returned from fighting in France form an unlikely bond. In her new novel “Still Life” a similar dynamic is established at the beginning of the story when Evelyn Skinner, a 60-something art historian and Ulysses Temper, a young British soldier meet in Tuscany during wartime. This fleeting but profound encounter sticks with them both over the years. When he returns to England Ulysses discovers his early love affair and marriage to free-spirited Peg has inalterably changed during the time he's been away at war. Meanwhile, Evelyn fights for the preservation of art while musing upon the early years of her life when she fell in love with Florence and a woman who taught her more than Italian. We follow their lives over the decades from the mid-40s to the late 70s as their lives separately develop and society changes.

While I found the interactions between Ulysses and Evelyn (and, later on, between Peg's daughter Alys and Evelyn) touching, I felt somewhat ambivalent about the way the narrative keeps them separated and then draws them together again through coincidence. There was something artificial and controlled about this device which makes a game of how they come close to encountering each other on numerous occasions before finally reuniting. Similarly, there's a whimsical nature to Winman's style of characterisation which kept me at a bit of a distance from many of the personalities in this story and meant I never fully believed in them. This was especially true when it came to a blue-feathered parrot named Claude who likes to quote Shakespeare and performs near-fantastical feats. I wanted to love them yet never found myself completely falling for them. This was dismaying because I love to read about unconventional personalities in historical novels which bring colour to a history which too often feels black and white. People who break social boundaries and live their own truth aren't often memorialised so I appreciate how stories like this try to forge connections across time.

One of the most dramatic and striking sections of the book concerns the 1966 flood of the Arno in Florence. This is brought vividly to life as people hastened to preserve themselves and the vast treasures of art the city holds. It also reinforced the moving sentiment of the book concerning how life and culture can be so quickly obliterated due to war or natural disasters. However, I felt the most successful and poignant section of the novel is the final part which suddenly switches back to the beginning of the century when a young Evelyn first arrives in Florence. Here we see the details of a past she anecdotally recalled at the novel's start concerning the sentimental importance of a pressed flower and her fleeting interactions with the writer E.M. Forster. After following Evelyn as an endearingly eccentric older lady throughout the bulk of the novel to suddenly see her as a naïve love-struck expat who discovers herself in a foreign city was very moving and beautifully rendered. It was a very good way to end this predominantly enjoyable novel that breathes new life into the past.

It’s been some time since I’ve been instantly beguiled by writing as beautiful as Sarah Winman’s. There is a lush, enchanting way she uses language that lulled me and drew me into this strange other world she creates. A ninety year old woman named Marvellous Ways lives in a near-deserted town in Cornwall. She goes for nude swims every day and tells tales of how her mother was a mermaid. This all sounds very whimsical, but as the novel progresses it shows how it is grounded in a much more serious reality. It’s 1947 and the country is still recovering from two world wars: “The triumph of two years ago hadn’t gained access to wallets or purses or homes. People were poor and the city was crumbling.” A soldier named Francis Drake returns from France with a letter from a dying soldier that he promised to deliver. Marvellous and Drake strike up an unlikely friendship which feels something like the pairing in the film Harold and Maude. They tell each other stories, riffle through the past and establish a warm kinship.

One of the most fascinating characters is named Missy Hall, the romantic love of Drake’s life. She remained in London throughout the war and her perspective of surviving through the blitz is strange and new. She developed a deep friendship with a woman named Jeanie. Together they find liberation through the upheaval in society and explore new sexual experiences in the dark corners of bomb shelters. There is a blunt handling of the emotional repercussions of sexual encounters: “Shame’s shame no matter what perfume you spray on it.” When the war ends its back to reality and Missy finds it hard to readjust or slip into the pre-war relationship she started with Drake. It’s a shame she doesn’t appear throughout the entire novel.

The central character is, of course, Marvellous herself whose radical perspective frequently disarmed me. She’s someone who prizes the stripped-down simplicity of the world over heedless progress: “Some things are best left untouched, she said. Tides rise and tides fall. That is perfection enough.” She communes with inanimate objects which sounds fanciful but comes across as a deep, meaningful conversation she’s having with herself more than the world around her. Over the course of the novel, we learn about the three great loves of her life. Her first lover was a woman, but rather than dwelling upon trying to define sexuality its refreshing how she moves from that to relationships with men without ponderous reflection or attributing any meaning to it. She’s also someone dealing with dementia and her struggle with the loss of memory is meaningfully related.

From the cover, this isn’t the kind of book I’d normally pick up because the title and artwork make it seem frivolous. I was drawn to it more because of the endorsement from Patrick Gale whose writing I adore and respect. But there is something very interesting and meaningful going on in this novel. There are times when Winman’s writing does get too florid. While she’s mostly good at simultaneously giving the hard facts of reality alongside ornate musings upon life, there is a short section of wartime France which feels too fleeting and scantily-written to give the impact it needed. However, overall I was charmed by this novel and intrigued by Winman’s unique perspective of the world. “A Year of Marvellous Ways” is a refreshing read whose story I completely sank into.