Twelve-year-old Freya spends time with her preoccupied mother in Cornwall when she encounters teenage twins. "The only thing better than being aware of a secret," they advise her, "is having one of your own." In the days that come after, they violate her, then entomb her breathing, combination of anxiety and irritation flitting across their faces as they eventually free her from her improvised coffin.
This might have stood as the shocking focal point of a novel, but it's merely a single of many awful events in The Elements, which assembles four novellas – issued distinctly between 2023 and 2025 – in which characters navigate previous suffering and try to achieve peace in the present moment.
The book's release has been overshadowed by the presence of Earth, the subsequent novella, on the longlist for a significant LGBTQ+ writing prize. In August, the majority other nominees dropped out in dissent at the author's debated views – and this year's prize has now been cancelled.
Conversation of LGBTQ+ matters is not present from The Elements, although the author touches on plenty of big issues. LGBTQ+ discrimination, the impact of conventional and digital platforms, parental neglect and assault are all examined.
Pain is accumulated upon trauma as damaged survivors seem doomed to encounter each other continuously for forever
Relationships abound. We first meet Evan as a boy trying to flee the island of Water. His trial's jury contains the Freya who shows up again in Fire. Aaron, the father from Air, collaborates with Freya and has a child with Willow's daughter. Minor characters from one account reappear in cottages, pubs or legal settings in another.
These plot threads may sound tangled, but the author understands how to drive a narrative – his previous acclaimed Holocaust drama has sold millions, and he has been rendered into numerous languages. His businesslike prose shines with thriller-ish hooks: "in the end, a doctor in the burns unit should understand more than to toy with fire"; "the initial action I do when I arrive on the island is change my name".
Characters are sketched in succinct, impactful lines: the empathetic Nigerian priest, the troubled pub landlord, the daughter at war with her mother. Some scenes echo with tragic power or insightful humour: a boy is punched by his father after urinating at a football match; a narrow-minded island mother and her Dublin-raised neighbour trade insults over cups of weak tea.
The author's ability of bringing you completely into each narrative gives the comeback of a character or plot strand from an previous story a genuine thrill, for the initial several times at least. Yet the aggregate effect of it all is desensitizing, and at times almost comic: pain is accumulated upon suffering, chance on coincidence in a bleak farce in which damaged survivors seem fated to encounter each other again and again for forever.
If this sounds not exactly life and resembling purgatory, that is part of the author's thesis. These damaged people are weighed down by the crimes they have endured, caught in patterns of thought and behavior that stir and descend and may in turn harm others. The author has talked about the influence of his individual experiences of mistreatment and he portrays with understanding the way his cast traverse this perilous landscape, reaching out for treatments – solitude, frigid water immersion, reconciliation or refreshing honesty – that might bring illumination.
The book's "elemental" framing isn't extremely informative, while the rapid pace means the exploration of social issues or online networks is primarily surface-level. But while The Elements is a flawed work, it's also a thoroughly readable, trauma-oriented epic: a appreciated rebuttal to the usual fixation on detectives and criminals. The author demonstrates how trauma can run through lives and generations, and how years and care can soften its aftereffects.
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