The Last Summer of Ada Bloom
Martine Murray
Reviewed by Lily Buday
In Martine Murray’s novel The Last Summer of Ada Bloom, a family begins to crumble in the oppressive Australian heat, weighed down and broken by secrets and the inescapable passage of time. Martha and Mike’s marriage is unraveling, and it only partially has to do with Mike’s affair. Golden boy Ben drinks up all of his mother’s approval, leaving no scraps for black sheep Tilly. Meanwhile, pensive and fey little Ada is convinced that an unsettling discovery she has made in the bush is causing a rapidly unfolding spiral of doom and death. Using a roving third-person narrator that flits from one family member to another, and with shrewd prose that moves quickly without missing a trick, Murray carefully pieces together a tale that no one character could tell on their own.
At the heart of the novel are the ideas of time and human connection. Murray reminds us that while growing up and aging are unavoidable, the rapid passing of years does not necessarily heal old wounds— particularly when there is a new generation to whom those wounds can be passed on: “There they were— back to where they started, with Tilly emptied of love and Ada swollen with secrets. It was just like the tides and it wouldn't stop. People were always filling themselves up and emptying themselves out again.” Like a tide, Murray’s writing lets itself swell with detailed observations, before releasing in short, almost biting sentences. This book is both languid and thorny, and Murray walks that tightrope expertly.