Not sick, just lost

Baume’s new novel, which comes just over a year after her acclaimed debut, Spill Simmer Falter Wither, is a meandering look at the so-called “lost” generation. Frankie is a young woman battling with depression and, to put it simply, life.

A young artist who has given up on an unsuccessful attempt to live in Dublin, she moves to her dead grandmother’s cottage on “turbine hill” in the midst of nature. While there, she photographs the circle of life, snapping pictures of dead animals she comes across, photos which, incongruously at first, appear nestled among the text of the novel.

She has the common gripes of a 25 year-old of the Millennial generation: loss of direction, loneliness, misunderstanding. She knows she is depressed, but even doubts whether she is succeeding at that. When her mother offers to take her to a hairdresser after she slashes her hair with a pair of sewing scissors, she is dedicated to following the rules of her mental malaise. “I’m not supposed to care what it looks like,” she insists. “That’s the point.”

Baume’s writing is lyrical and immensely readable. The story goes nowhere, but that is not really the point.

It’s hard to warm to Frankie, who has the trademark irritating neediness of a narcissistic twenty-something. Her depression prevents her from knowing what she wants – whether it is to be noticed or ignored. Baume’s portrait of a conflicted young woman is heart-wrenchingly real on every page, as are Frankie’s observations on the futility of everyday existence.

At times, reading A Line Made by Walking feels a little like having one of those incredibly frustrating conversations with your most self-obsessed friend – or worse, accidentally finding yourself forced to spend the day with Lena Dunham. None the less, I felt I knew Frankie. And with that, I was drawn into her world.