Those who die like cattle

An ex-farmer whose brother has died fighting in Iraq is the man at the centre of Graham Swift’s new book, a state-of-the-nation novel on a small canvas.

An ex-farmer whose brother has died fighting in Iraq is the man at the centre of Graham Swift’s new book, a state-of-the-nation novel on a small canvas. Jack runs a caravan park on the Isle of Wight, having sold his centuries-old Devon farm to a banker in need of a bolt-hole. His parents are dead, and more than a decade has passed since he’s last been in touch with Tom, nine years his junior. Now Tom’s gone too, blown up by an IED, and Jack’s preparing to return to Devon for the funeral; it’s the first time he’ll have been back since selling up.

The novel slowly unravels the weft of Jack’s life as his mind roams over the past four decades. Topics aired include his pleasures and regrets during 12 years of marriage (post-coital cups of tea, childlessness), the death of the dog he had as a kid, and his lifelong ambivalence about Tom, who didn’t take leave from the army when their widowed dad died. As the sort of bungler who has trouble fitting a duvet cover, Jack always felt inferior to his brother, an all-rounder smart enough (or so it seemed) not to waste his life on a farm brought to its knees by foot-and-mouth and BSE.

Sometimes the third-person narration departs from Jack to enter someone else’s head, which tends to feel like a mistake. The power of the story depends on the pathos of Jack’s disquiet about matters such as whether or not Tom slept with his wife. It loses urgency when Swift shows this and other fears to be groundless simply by flitting to another perspective.