The Breakers by Claudie Gallay

Villages at the end of the earth share a degree of uniformity in that through their inhospitable settings and eccentric communities, they have an ability to offer solace and redemption to those haunted by or needing to escape the world.

In The Breakers, Gallay has stuck to the template, but managed to create a distinct version: French, rough hewn from an interminable and unforgiving sea, a place where the wind ‘tears the wings off butterflies’ and where the village is built from the wood of infinite shipwrecks. It's a fairly straightforward mystery, but as the plot demystifies, Gallay etches a solitude and disconnectedness into each character and each sentence. Yet despite its aloof, abandoned-lighthouse-like tone, the story has heart.

There is an appealing complexity in the relationships, rather than the individual characters, of the odd and curious village community. The hostility of the narrative works, but when Gallay tries to bridge the reader to characters through unnecessary 'real' moments, it only serves to annoy. Unnecessary love stories underwhelm: you can't warm to this story but you may find satisfaction. Be warned, when the most real character is an unforgiving sea, the reader is obliged to swim in troubled waters. [Renée Rowland]