In her magnetic second book “Private Rites”, Julia Armfield portrays an unsettling world following a cataclysmic flood. Amid swathes of drowned land and a crumbling society, arcane rituals emerge. In the troubling context, a standout figure is architect Stephen Carmichael, acclaimed for his edifices that isolate occupants from the chaotic outer world, facilitating refuge to those with sufficient wealth. The narrative illustrates the diverging paths of his three daughters, Isla, Irene, and Agnes, as they confront his death and an unfair inheritance, referring to themselves mirthfully as “King Lear and his dyke daughters”.
Despite the continuous downpour and escalating water levels, word of mass suicides, starvation, and the migration of populations, ordinary life goes on. Public transport has been replaced by boats, and Agnes continues her barista role, etching designs into lattes. What distinguishes Armfield’s portrayal of doomsday is its ordinariness; she focuses less on societal issues and more on psychological aspects, offering private revelations such as the complexities of love asking too much of those perceived as unlovable.
Armfield deftly illustrates each sister’s unique anxieties, alongside the stifling dynamic amongst them. Although the world is coming to an end, the sisters are more concerned with their interpersonal discord. “Private Rites” offers a probing look at human self-absorption in all its subtleties; as a sign of privilege, a hindrance to empathy and an unanticipated signal of optimism. Generally, the characters believe in focusing on their individual lives rather than making comparisons to worse circumstances elsewhere.
Armfield’s approach is audacious, intertwining elements of Shakespearean drama, Christian allegory, and folkloric narratives to form a contemporary myth themed on queer love and climate change. Its structural style echoes Virginia Woolf’s “The Waves”, with its multiple perspectives and misty maritime imagery. The tone of the novel fluctuates, often venturing into horror, leading Agnes to ponder the appropriateness of the genre at one point. Despite the significant risks, the courageous endeavour and vision of Armfield’s radiant and profoundly uncanny book is undeniably commendable.