THREE ROOMS

A young woman seeks a foothold in the ugly, precarious world of post-Brexit England.

As this distinctive debut novel opens, the unnamed 20-something narrator is moving into a rooming house in Oxford, a “repository for postdoctoral research assistants at the university” and formerly the home of 19th-century critic Walter Pater (so says the blue plaque by the front door). She’s come here after almost a year of spotty freelance work and occasional help from her parents, but she yearns for more than just a furnished room: “the end goal I wanted, through any job necessary, was to be able to afford a flat, not just a room, and then to settle in it and invite friends to dinner.” In the book’s second part, however, we find she has moved even further from her objective—living in London, subletting a couch from the friend of a friend for 80 pounds per month, and working as a copy editor at a Tatler-like society magazine. All the while, the narrator notices and reflects on everything: university and office life; racism and anti-immigrant sentiment (readers learn, rather offhandedly, that she is a person of color); the rise of Boris Johnson to prime minister; the hulking remains of Grenfell Tower, where 72 largely immigrant residents were killed by fire. A prismatic portrait of British life and millennial angst emerges, with echoes of Zadie Smith and Sally Rooney, but the presiding spirit of the novel is Virginia Woolf, whose A Room of One’s Own provides the epigraph and the inspiration.

Scintillating prose and sly social observation make this novel a tart pleasure.