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Little Gods
by Anna Richards

Release Date: 10th Apr 2009
Publisher: Picador
ISBN: 978 0 3304 6440 6
RRP: £16.99

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Love can make us all little Gods...

Little Gods is what one would call a fictional autobiography – a synopsis of a fictional character’s lifetime – a literary depository of main events, loves and losses; the centre of which, is Jean. Jean exists despite the precautions of her mother and the dilapidation of her father. She exists despite the wanton destructiveness of the era in which she was born; and in particular and of special note – despite being seen as something grotesque and fearsome. Jean is not deformed per say, nor is she consumed by any apparent mental condition, no, she is merely large. That is to say, she is larger than your average human being. Some might call her a giant, but that is not the impression one gets, but rather, the impression is of a girl and then a woman who is simply tall and well fleshed-out.

Jean’s life precedes the Second World War and post-dates it. Hidden from the world by a mother who neither loves nor is capable of feeling anything akin to compassion for her own flesh and blood; secreted into a bed too small, in a state too sullen and devoid of childhood fascinations. Jean is a prisoner of her own body and her family. School is her only outlet and from it she draws general disdain, torment and unflattering remarks – until she meets Gloria. Gloria is as disparate to Jean as gold is from dishwater; beautiful, delicate, fanciful and imaginative – Gloria has a thing about charity cases and is in no doubt that Jean fulfils that requirement perfectly. This stolen friendship will lead Jean to extraordinary events, but none as extraordinary as the survival of a direct hit of a bomb on her home. Her survival is more than physical; she survives to be reborn through the ashes of her inhibiting mother’s death.

There is much more besides, which is crammed neatly into Little Gods. There are beautiful moments of self recognition, terrible wide-eyed scenes of self-reproach, a dash of insanity and the cringing evidence symptomatic of low esteem. Everything that is seen, felt, understood or misunderstood is rapturously mulled over, caressed with the unseeing eyes of a lover and gushed over the many and numerous pages. By God, Richards can write – of that, there is little doubt! That as a debut author, she is worth watching out for in the future – there is no question... but the crying shame of it, the utter despair of it, the undeniable truth of it: is that the story is just too banal, too uninspiring, too insipid. One reaches the end and wonders - what was the point? All this malarkey about some overgrown girl who isn’t all that beautiful but capable of inspiring lust in men of certain dispositions nonetheless? It wouldn’t matter if it were not so immaculately written, with great poise, intelligence and romantic overtures. It wouldn’t matter if it were not so acutely transparent that the author has at her fingertips an almost magical art in creating a sense of wonderment and an irrepressible urgency in her need to understand and be understood. Little Gods leaves me wanting more of Richards and less of Jean.

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