The Rain Before It Falls

The Rain Before It Falls by Jonathan Coe

I'm not quite sure why, but for as long as I can remember, I've always associated books with colors. A bright, cheerful book would be a yellow; a scary book a black; a calm, peaceful book a blue. This book, from the get-go, was a grey, or washed out brown. Not much excitement to it; not much happiness. To be honest, when I got to page 30, it took me a while to pick the book back up again and continue. It was kind of depressing, and reminded me of a rainy day. At page 30, I wasn't really "into it." Thankfully, since it was a book I was reading for book club, I knew I had to finish. So I picked up where I left off and continued on. And I must say, I began to get sucked in and developed a higher appreciation for the book that I had possessed before. When the book ended, I still felt it was a washed out brown, but I was glad I read it. It made me think about things in new ways, and I felt it was beneficial to my soul... dark and gloomy though it was. And I loved reading about how "the rain before it falls" came to be.

From Publisher's Weekly:

Starred Review. In the latest from acclaimed London novelist Coe (The Rotter's Club), the story of two cousins' friendship is keyed to a hatred that is handed down from mother to daughter across generations, as in a Greek tragedy. Evacuated from London to her aunt and uncle's Shropshire farm, Rosamond bonds with her older cousin, Beatrix, who is emotionally abused by her mother. Beatrix grows up to abuse her daughter, Thea (in one unforgettable scene, Beatrix takes a knife and flies after Thea after Thea has ruined a blouse), with repercussions that reach the next generation. All of this is narrated in retrospect by an elderly Rosamond into a tape recorder: she is recording the family's history for Imogene, Beatrix's granddaughter, who is blind, and whom Rosamond hasn't seen in 20 years. As the story progresses, it becomes clear that Rosamond's fundamental flaw and limit is her decency, a quality Coe weaves beautifully into the Shropshire and London settings—along with violence. Through relatively narrow lives on a narrow isle, Coe articulates a fierce, emotional current whose sweep catches the reader and doesn't let go until the very end.