Twelve-year-old Freya is visiting her self-absorbed mother in Cornwall when she meets 14-year-old twins. "Nothing better than being aware of a secret," they advise her, "comes from possessing one of your own." In the days that come after, they sexually assault her, then entomb her breathing, combination of anxiety and annoyance passing across their faces as they eventually free her from her improvised coffin.
This may have functioned as the shocking focal point of a novel, but it's just one of many terrible events in The Elements, which gathers four novellas – issued distinctly between 2023 and 2025 – in which characters navigate past trauma and try to discover peace in the current moment.
The book's release has been clouded by the inclusion of Earth, the second novella, on the candidate list for a notable LGBTQ+ writing prize. In August, nearly all other contenders pulled out in protest at the author's debated views – and this year's prize has now been cancelled.
Discussion of gender identity issues is not present from The Elements, although the author touches on plenty of big issues. Anti-gay prejudice, the effect of mainstream and online outlets, family disregard and abuse are all explored.
Suffering is piled on pain as wounded survivors seem destined to bump into each other again and again for eternity
Connections abound. We initially encounter Evan as a boy trying to flee the island of Water. His trial's jury contains the Freya who returns in Fire. Aaron, the father from Air, partners with Freya and has a child with Willow's daughter. Minor characters from one story resurface in homes, bars or courtrooms in another.
These plot threads may sound tangled, but the author is skilled at how to power a narrative – his earlier successful Holocaust drama has sold many copies, and he has been translated into dozens languages. His straightforward prose bristles with gripping hooks: "in the end, a doctor in the burns unit should know better than to toy with fire"; "the first thing I do when I reach the island is change my name".
Characters are portrayed in succinct, impactful lines: the compassionate Nigerian priest, the troubled pub landlord, the daughter at war with her mother. Some scenes ring with sad power or perceptive humour: a boy is struck by his father after having an accident at a football match; a narrow-minded island mother and her Dublin-raised neighbour exchange barbs over cups of watery tea.
The author's talent of carrying you fully into each narrative gives the return of a character or plot strand from an previous story a authentic excitement, for the first few times at least. Yet the aggregate effect of it all is dulling, and at times practically comic: trauma is accumulated upon trauma, accident on chance in a grim farce in which hurt survivors seem doomed to encounter each other continuously for forever.
If this sounds not exactly life and more like uncertainty, that is element of the author's point. These wounded people are burdened by the crimes they have suffered, trapped in patterns of thought and behavior that churn and plunge and may in turn hurt others. The author has talked about the influence of his own experiences of harm and he describes with understanding the way his ensemble negotiate this risky landscape, extending for treatments – isolation, icy sea dips, reconciliation or invigorating honesty – that might provide clarity.
The book's "elemental" structure isn't terribly informative, while the brisk pace means the discussion of gender dynamics or social media is mostly shallow. But while The Elements is a defective work, it's also a entirely engaging, victim-focused saga: a appreciated rebuttal to the typical obsession on detectives and perpetrators. The author illustrates how pain can affect lives and generations, and how duration and tenderness can silence its aftereffects.
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