Catherine Edmunds

"The Sand in the Painting" is available from all online bookstores.

 

An Impressionist seascape fascinates student Emma on a visit to an art gallery.  Grains of sand are caught forever in the painting - trapped - just as she is in her claustrophobic relationship with antiques dealer John.  The next two weeks will decide their future, as Emma is increasingly drawn towards the enigmatic Toby.  Only Evan knows Toby's secret, and how it will fundamentally affect any relationship with Emma.  He is torn between patient confidentiality and his duty to his friend, complicated by his own frustrated desires.  An unexpected stay at a seaside cottage brings matters to a head.  Meanwhile, John's life is slowly falling apart.  The outrageous Renée can sense the impending crisis, but knows from past experience how hard it is to help John.  Each one of them must learn to face their individual failings and deal with them - to come to terms with their own sand in the painting.

At eleven o’clock on the dot Toby appeared, effortlessly weaving his way through the traffic to reach our summer table on the pavement.  These few precious weeks of cloudless blue enabled us to pretend we were part of French café society; on the boulevards of Paris rather than a town square in the north of England, complete with discarded pizza boxes and burger wrappers. 

As he approached, I tried to remind myself that it is necessary to breathe, but the attempt to be both alluring and invisible at the same time made that difficult.  He was cheerful as ever. 

 

"Tough crowd!"

 

Tough was the last thing I felt.  Vulnerable, besotted… they were closer; all those dreadful words that I’d never thought could possibly apply to me.  I stared with great concentration at the yellow and cream parasols over the tables, as it occurred to me that I should probably add pathetic to the list.

 

Renée looked up in response to Toby’s greeting, but John ignored him.  He dismisses any comment of Toby’s out of hand, and acts as if Renée isn’t there.  She answered Toby in typically sultry tones.

 

"You think we're tough now, you should see us when we're awake." 

 

How does Renée do that?  How does she manage to make bland replies, yet invest them with such blatant sexuality?  If I tried, especially at eleven o’clock in the morning, I’d appear ridiculous.  I often wish I had Renée’s poise and self-confidence. 

 

Toby grinned, ordered himself a large latte, and settled comfortably into one of the designer chairs that looked as if they should be impossible to sit in, but were actually surprisingly comfortable.

 

I was over-heating as I cast around for something to say that wouldn’t appear too idiotic or embarrassing.  When I’m around Toby I feel twelve years old and in danger of imminent conflagration.  I told myself to act my age and say something sensible – or witty, preferably – but at least to speak, for goodness sake...   

...Oh come off it, Emma.  What’s that supposed to mean, for heavens’ sake.  And John, please don’t encourage her.  He, naturally, appeared to think this was a wonderful comment for Emma to make.  It wasn’t; it was tripe.  She didn’t know how to pronounce ‘paradigmatic’, and I doubted very much if she knew what it meant either.  I didn’t have a clue either; but at least I wouldn’t have attempted to interject such a word into conversation. 

 

Emma had a lot to learn.  I began to understand exactly why it was that John was getting so much of a kick out of ‘tutoring’ her.  But perhaps I had misjudged Emma’s comment, perhaps she knew what she was doing after all, because Toby now entered the conversation.  He’d no idea what he was talking about either, and was trying to impress.  I’m good at that game too, so joined in.  One more preposterous ‘look at me, aren’t I clever’ comment wouldn’t make much difference to this pointless conversation.

 

"I think you should take a look at the Pre-Raphaelite Brethren, Gothic architecture and literature, and the advance of Imperialism." 

 

Now those happen to be subjects that I genuinely can talk about (at a pinch).  I’d read up on all that stuff ages ago in order to impress John and had become quite an accomplished culture vulture.  There’d been no way I was going to be caught out with him. 

 

Emma had a lost look on her face, and I immediately regretted my words. 

 

"I'm just taking quotes from this article - don't actually know what I'm talking about here," she whimpered. 

 

Toby made another completely irrelevant remark and then treated us to an open sunny smile that almost made me forgive him his occasional imbecility.  This conversation was going nowhere, however, so I was relieved to see Evan walking towards us, even though I knew – we all did – more or less what he was going to say.  At least he was a distraction.  I turned and greeted him, whilst idly musing on the possible antiquity of his corduroy jacket and the original colour of his trousers...

 

Review by Kay Green                                            

This is a startling and intriguing book.  The framework is a familiar one -- to tell the story of a group of friends as a series of overlapping tableaux, changing viewpoints with each new chapter.  Previous examples I've read have been promising at the start, but became tedious or repetitive at some point.  The Sand in the Painting gave completely the opposite experience.  I was a bit dubious when I saw what was ahead, and a bit impatient when I saw that chapter 3 would reiterate things I'd seen in chapters 1 and 2 -- but by then I'd been drawn in.  My doubts forgotten, I was hooked and the book maintained its grip right to the last page.

'What was she thinking of?' we so often cry, and, 'What on earth do they talk about when they're together?!' On its lighter level, this book exploits that predatory curiosity: The reader finishes each chapter at a gallop, burning with the desire to open the next and find out what the other one was really thinking, and what he said to her when they left the room.

But there is more.  Author Catherine Edmunds has presented complex, believable characters in a well-realized setting and created -- what? -- something between an intelligent romance and a suspense novel.  I found myself continually having to change my mind about which characters I was in sympathy with, because I met each one as you do in life:  First as someone on the edge throwing in comments, then as the friend, spouse or colleague of someone I cared about -- and then suddenly as themselves, with all their motivations and perceptions laid out before me.  It's an object lesson in empathy.

The Sand in the Painting, rather like the seed in the oyster shell, is the irritation which stimulates greatness and terror, and the factor which makes human affairs so unpredictable and so creative.  With impressive craftsmanship and control, Edmunds develops small actions and reactions between her characters and consistently produces surprising and yet believable revelations right up to the final pages.  I approached the last page feeling -- briefly -- that a trite happy ending might be coming along.  Well, as Richard Bach once pointed out, if you're still alive, your story can't be finished.  And this book demonstrates that.  We get a happy ending -- but one in which the snags and seeds of future challenges leave the reader busily writing the sequel even as the book is put down.

Have you ever walked out of a conversation smugly sure that you understand everyone present better than they understand themselves?  Have you ever wisely and capably treated someone in an emotional state or with a mental condition in 'the right way'?  Have you ever washed your hands of a clichéd situation, knowing exactly how it will come out?  Well, I guarantee you won't get through this novel without kicking yourself more than once for your blindness and assumptions.

What struck me as the most original feature of this book was the way the complexity of the social interactions it portrays builds up progressively without ever withdrawing to an impersonal, gods-eye-view.  The result is that towards the end, when all the friends you now know so well converge in one place, you are so aware of the tender wounds in each of their beings, so mindful of what self-obsessed little despots human beings can be, that the rash chanciness of a roomful of friends hoping to survive a coffee and a chat is terrifying.

If you are interested in people, if you want to understand human communication and perception, I wholeheartedly recommend this book.  But don't read it on the train.  If you get past the first chapter you will almost certainly miss your stop and have to finish the book in the terminus.

Review by Louis P. Burns

This is a delightful tale about the lives and loves of a group of friends that took this reader down a nostalgic path and re-awakened my own self-discovery. Frequently, while reading The Sand In The Painting, I reflected upon past relationships and the hopes, joys, pains and wonders of simply being alive. I found myself relating to all of the characters in one way or another and the entire story an absolute pleasure to read.

Songs, old and new popped into my mind while reading The Sand In The Painting and in all honesty I can see the full potential of this book being adapted to screenplay.

Catherine Edmunds has a natural talent for designing believable characters, strong settings and a powerful mastery of the complexities and inner workings of the 'human condition'.

I guarantee, you will find yourselves while reading The Sand In The Painting.
_________________
Louis P. Burns
Upstate Renegade Productions

Amazon Review

City Folk unravelled with a maestro's touch, February 5, 2006

Reviewer: A reader from Australia

This is a cool novel. It explores the lives of a handful of characters, and sees the world through their eyes. Their desires, their foibles, their dreams: all come together in this spellbinding read. I couldnt put it down. It's different. It's modern. It's good.