‘Noman’s Land’
— Reneé Bibby
Unerringly, I return to narratives that are rooted in place, when the revelation of place is equal parts revelation of character. I’m also fond of narratives that break from linear time, zipping through years to rest on sharp, key moments of character’s lives. Victoria Campbell’s ‘Noman’s Land’ has both—the sparkle of a wonderfully rendered scene, and the brisk efficiency of a story distilled to the most potent moments. The only extravagance in her story is the language, the “veins in her papery hands glow Caribbean blue” and the “smell of honeysuckle rising through rolled-down windows.” The richness of language is necessary—vital to offset the bleak unravelling of a life after tragedy, and the heartbreaking contrast of life before tragedy; by contrasting the style and form, Campbell avoids the potential pitfalls of schlock and shock. Campbell’s story isn’t uplifting, but it is so well written you’ll forgive it for breaking your heart.