Love Forms by Claire Adams: thoughts
a tender and devastating novel about a mother's enduring love
We join Dawn, a young teenager, bundled up into a car driven under the cover of darkness, moved to another car, then to a strange house where she waits until she is bundled again into a boat. That boat is taking her from Trinidad to Venzuela. Why?
Adams’ novel starts with high drama. It is fast paced, tense and scary. Where is this young girl being dragged to and why does she seem to be going willingly?
Quickly it becomes apparent that Dawn is being moved to a place in Venezuela where she can quietly give birth to a baby who she will leave behind as she returns home and back to her childhood.
The novel then quietens and slows down. Dawn is now divorced, in her 50s, and has two grown-up children. Adams draws out, in meticulous detail, seemingly mundane moments of Dawn’s life:
“I washed up the few plates by hand, rather than bother with the dishwasher. I set the plates and pots and glasses in the rack to dry, and I squeezed out a cloth and wiped all the counters, and the part of the dining table where we’d eaten”
This detailed, quiet and contemplative narrative is punctuated with scenes of great emotional intensity as Dawn searches for the child she gave up whilst also reconciling with herself with the possibility that the search may never come to fruition. It’s this balance that keeps the reader constantly engaged.
This story, whilst short, is incredibly heavy. A beautifully tender novel about a mother’s enduring love and yearning for the child she lost.
My fifth read from the Booker longlist and, quite possibly, my favourite so far.
Booker 2025 Longlist Reviews:
