Book review: Sight Unseen, by Sandra Ireland

Sight Unseen is described on the cover of my copy as a thriller but I’m not sure that it is. It is certainly a good read, with rounded, engaging characters, enough mystery to keep you guessing and some fascinating insights into Scotland’s past. It just feels a little gentler than a standard thriller, but it’s none the worse for it. The main character, Sarah Sutherland, has featured in other novels by Sandra Ireland but this feels like a standalone.

Sarah wanted to be an archaeologist but left her studies to have a baby. Now a single mum in her forties, her daughter has left home to travel, and sensible, organised Sarah is a retail manager in a supermarket, with caring responsibilities for her widowed father.

It is a stage in life with which many of Ireland’s readers will identify. Of her daily visits to her increasingly fragile dad she says: “Since Mum died, I feel like I’ve worn a rut between our two houses, pounding out my grief on the pavements as if I’m on one of those walking pilgrimages you can tackle abroad. The Camino de Santiago with added rain … I didn’t ask to be left with my dad. I had plans. A life of my own.”

She is unhappily single, feeling the grief of an empty nest and the worry, guilt and frustration of caring for an elderly relative.

She retains a fascination with the past, however, and by night, she dons gothic make-up, a floaty black dress and a cloak to lead tourists on historical tours round her fictional North-east town of Kilgour. Here she can indulge in her greatest passion, retelling the story of a previous occupant of the old weaver’s cottage where she now lives: Alie Gowdie, the Kilgour Witch, executed for sorcery.

Ireland has clearly done her research when it comes to the 17th century’s attitudes towards suspected witchcraft, petty accusations and score settling, and Sarah’s passionate rendering of the tragic tale enraptures the reader as much as the fictional tourists – with the odd amusing distraction: “Some joker can’t resist howling out of the window, ‘Forgotten your broomstick, hen?’”

Half the chapters are told from the point of view of John, Sarah’s father, who is 90, partially sighted and possibly hallucinating figures in his house. There’s a potential love interest for Sarah, too. A preposterously (in her eyes) unsuitable match, Grant is a charming rogue in his twenties and whether or not she should trust him is another tantalising thread.

When old diaries from the fire and brimstone reverend who put Alie Gowdie to death are discovered in the town’s museum, Sarah embarks on an investigation into the case and Ireland skillfully weaves all the threads of plot together towards the denouement. Age-old cruelties are uncovered, along with some modern ones, but although the novel deals with very sensitive subjects, it is never gory.

Sight Unseen won’t leave you gasping with dread, but Ireland writes with a light touch, the characters and the dialogue are believable, and for anyone interested in witchcraft in 17th century Scotland, there is a lot to learn.

Sight Unseen, by Sandra Ireland, Polygon, £8.99

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