They bond over a shared interest in black history and wallow together in boozy, disaffected idleness. She dismisses her fellow residents as “a medley of the most woebegone drips I have ever encountered”, and befriends a local weirdo called Erskine-Lily, whose flamboyant attire identifies him as a kindred spirit. Mathilda hates the residency: her penchant for all things gaudy and florid clashes with the institution’s minimalist sensibility. Mathilda applies for a place on a conceptual arts residency in a small European town because Drumm had once lived there, and is accepted after winging a telephone interview. “Consequently, I dined on oysters chips and Cointreau – a very strange combination, but not at all awful.” While on a work placement at a gallery, Mathilda – who is black, working-class and gay – comes across an old photograph of a forgotten black Scottish modernist poet called Hermia Drumm, and becomes fixated. Ordering food in a restaurant, she selects at random from the menu “with theatrical languor”. Like many a young wannabe, Mathilda Adamarola cultivates affectations in order to emulate her heroes. T he narrator of Shola von Reinhold’s debut novel is obsessed with various eccentric literary socialites from the 1920s – figures such as Stephen Tennant, Nancy Cunard and Edith Sitwell.
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