Review of Nonesuch by Francis Spufford

The horrors of WWI, while brought home to Britain in body bags, nevertheless occurred on continental ground. The country remained almost entirely intact, the artillery blasts and machine gun fire happening in France, Belgium, and other places. It was WWII that brought war home. In an effort to subdue the Brits, Hitler launched unending waves of attacks—rockets, bombs, and fighter jets. Those who survived were inevitably faced with soul searching possible only when mortality is at stake. In dynamic, colorful, dramatic, and comedic fashion, Francis Spufford's Nonesuch (2026) digs into the life of one such mortal.

Nonesuch is the story of Iris Hawkins, her romantic adventures as Britain emerges from the Great Depression, and the arrival of Hitler's bombers over London rooftops. She's a free-spirited young woman who enjoys a night out (or seven) with handsome young men, typing her way through a menial clerk's job at a stockbroker's by day. But her routine takes a turn when she has an encounter with the uncanny after a one-night stand. And then everyone's lives in London take a turn when the luftwaffe start dropping bombs.

Nonesuch is technically a London Blitz novel. Spufford incorporates scenes describing what it would have been like as Hitler did his best to squash the British fighting spirit. But it is not a historical novel. Nonesuch is not an author's summary: here is what I learned researching this novel. Instead, Spufford focuses on Iris and her internal conflicts as exacerbated and enhanced by wartime Britain—the angels and devils on her shoulders bickering ever louder. There is more than one touch of the fantastic, operating primarily in the metaphorical. Spufford does leave this open-ended enough, however, such that the reader can decide for themselves how to map them.

As such, the success of Nonesuch hinges explicitly on the rendering of Iris. Too cartoony or simplistic, and the novel falls flat. Too deep into her stream of psyche and the novel bogs down. Spufford plays his hand to perfection. Iris comes across as a real, breathing young woman the reader can imagine. She's both lively and troubled, naive yet intelligent, strong and weak, uncertain yet confident—all at organic, appropriate times.

Regardless, I hesitate calling Nonesuch a bildungsroman; it's clear Iris underwent development before the reader is introduced to her. Rather, one might say the circumstances and events of Nonesuch take Iris to the next level, and given the historical background, is more roman a clef. Through the war and personal struggles, she is forced to confront certain realities and decide in what direction to take her life. It perhaps goes without saying the denouement of the novel sees Iris finding a “third way”—not the happy or sad ending, but the ending right for her and the novel.

Stylistically, Spufford definitively achieves something in Nonesuch few writers do: the rarefied air of David Mitchell diction. Spufford is not able to maintain the effort end-to-end, but there are clear, visible, sustained swathes of prose that soar—lateral reference, esoteria, and meanings between the lines which are between other lines. The final quarter of the novel could have done with a bit more of that pizzazz, but what's on offer beforehand is more than enough for readers who enjoy colorful, tight prose.

In the end, Nonesuch is a high quality historical novel that puts character front and center. Iris comes off the page and into the reader's heart and mind as the London blitz burns around her. Spufford dabbles a little in science vs. magic given the... uncanny experiences Iris has. But substance retains its relevancy. There is something definitively personal about Iris' life and the choices the situation forces her to make.