When it comes to a great nostalgic British novel, in The Whalebone Theatre Joanna Quinn leaves no stone unturned. Big country house! Aristos! Stiff upper lip but also artistic bohemia! Shakespeare! WW2! Land girls! Blitz! Gutsy spies in occupied France outwitting the Nazis! With so many patriotic hot buttons you could be cynical, but what can I tell ya? It works in spades.
The novel splits into two halves: pre-war country-house childhood-adult relation aristo-family-down-on-its-luck and WW2 / spying / France. The lead and heart of the novel is orphan Cristabel: stocky, idealistic, ambitious. When a whale washes up on the beach near her uncle’s crumbling manor house where she lives, she claims it for her own. Age does nothing to dim her determination, whether that’s directing amateur Shakespeare productions within the ribcage of the whale or undermining Nazis. A large supporting cast with several other point-of-view characters round this book out to a rich and thoroughly entertaining tapestry. Quinn readily leads us into tragedy, but always alongside the sort of lively character, humour and world-building that keeps you swallowed up.
Whether you call it a safe bet or a sure-fire winner, The Whalebone Theatre welcomes you in. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll read just-one-more page. Beautiful work.
Room of Joy 