Book review: Ms Hempel Chronicles

Published on Sunday 17 January 2010 11:02

MS HEMPEL CHRONICLES Sarah Shun-lien Bynum Atlantic Books, £12.99

IF THERE'S a literary equivalent of "You had me at 'Hello'," then it certainly applies to Sarah Bynum who, in the opening paragraphs of Ms Hempel Chronicles – her second book, but the first published in the UK – grabs hold of the reader's heart. The last debut that impressed me so instantaneously, making me slightly soppy about the characters and slightly envious of the writer's skill, is also the one it reminds me of, Lorrie Moore's Self Help.

Structured as linked short stories, each perfectly complete, yet perfectly amplifying its neighbours, Chronicles moves forward in the working life of a teacher who is barely a decade older than her middle-school pupils. It also moves backwards, laying bare key moments in the childhood of the smart kid turned punk teen, who winds up becoming the cool young teacher everyone remembers fondly: the teacher who refuses to react when her pupils sculpt a penis in the sand on a beach field trip; who assigns them Tobias Wolf's This Boy's Life, to the consternation of their parents; who occasionally gets chalk "on the tips of her breasts" when writing on the blackboard.

Back, then, to the lively opening of "Talent", which sets the pace with its dizzying outpouring of vital information. We learn that Ms Hempel's students are putting on a talent show, but "to her own secret disappointment, she would not be appearing". These are kids sophisticated enough to make collages paying homage to Martha Graham, but young enough to execute them in blue glitter. Kids changing so rapidly that their bodies often "fly off in strange directions, seemingly of their own accord". Ms Hempel, herself, hasn't quite outgrown the awkward, gangly phase, hence her ability to observe her young charges with penetrating insight, compassion, and above all, love.

The action is minimal and mundane. Most of the truly momentous events – an affair, a broken engagement, a parent's death – occur off stage, and are remembered or merely alluded to. That should be off-putting, perhaps, but it's in keeping with the overall gentleness of tone. For all its witty acerbity – some of Bynum's observations are as piquant and refreshing as a squeeze of lemon – this is everyday life illuminated in a soft, flattering light.

Bynum triumphs by making Ms Hempel's pupils funny, complicated, multi-dimensional people, reminding us that the child is father to the man. I wonder if there's anyone who, on finishing this wonderful, all-too-short novel, doesn't feel nostalgic for their own school days?

&#149 This article first appeared in Scotland on Sunday, 17 January, 2010