In a landscape where fairytales are associated with magic and comfort, Lucy Rose’s contemporary folktale The Lamb harks back to the brutal stories of the Brothers Grimm while carving out its own seat as an original body horror.
Though Rose’s debut novel explores themes of hunger, The Lamb is not a story which settles the stomach of its readers. Set in a neglected house in Cumbria, Rose opens the story with an unforgettable line: “On my fourth birthday, I plucked severed fingers from down the drain”. Here, the reader is immersed in the world of young narrator Margot and her beloved Mama in a modern setting which provides little to draw comfort from. This is not the idyllic Lake District setting that is so often associated with England’s North West, rather it is a landscape of untamed wilderness and isolation. Only a single road running nearby hints to the possibility of civilisation in an otherwise unconnected land. Margot’s house is enveloped in an eerie and horrific atmosphere, one where hikers disappear nearby without a trace. However, there is no mystery as to why this occurs because the reader is confronted with Margot and Mama’s cannibalistic lifestyle.
It is established that Mama has taught her daughter to see the devouring of humans as an inevitable act, though one that is still somewhat imbued with love. Here, the innocence of Margot as a child is contrasted with her curiosity and hunger surrounding human flesh. The wanderers who unfortunately end up on the family dinner table are referred to as “strays” throughout, with Mama taking on the primary role of luring, seducing, drugging, and butchering them. Rose distinguishes the grisly habit against more recognisable and human feelings of loneliness and longing, which are presented in both Margot and Mama. However, this changes when a woman named Eden enters their home and becomes a willing partner in Mama’s unusual lifestyle. Consequently, Margot must battle for the love and attention of a mother far more interested in indulging in bodily pleasures with her new lover.
Rose is able to masterfully intertwine the dreamy elements of folktales with an unflinching realism, all whilst describing in gruesome detail the blood and guts which surround Margot. Whilst the young girl’s skewed perspective of her life is presented in heightened language, the author grounds it when Margot catches the attention of the sympathetic driver on her school bus. Here, the heavy weight of the cannibalistic lifestyle is depicted and the reader realises that Margot is not her mother’s apprentice, but rather another of her victims. As the story develops, Margot begins to realise that she has her own hunger and desires that Mama is unable and unwilling to fulfil, revealing her growing courage to tackle the unquestioned horrors in her home. Cravings of friendship and love become even stronger as Margot rebels against Mama’s apathy and increasingly uncontrollable hunger.
The narrative becomes darker and poetic as it progresses towards a nightmarish conclusion, simmering away like one of Eden’s stocks until it bubbles over. In other novels, the use of simplified language could hinder the story. Yet, Rose uses it to her strength in illustrating monstrous womanhood and desire as the perspective is anchored to Margot as a young girl. This constructs tension between various hungers on display, showing how they choke the relationship between mother and daughter until blood seeps out.
The Lamb is a novel which sinks its teeth into the coming-of-age genre, depicting a story which consumes its readers as much as they consume it.
Words by Jess Bradbury
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