words by Jocelyn Howarth
The traditional nuclear family consists of an adult man and woman who are married, and who have at least one child between them. Over the past 100 years, this concept in British society has evolved and adapted: gay marriage was legalised in 2013 in the UK; the Divorce Reform Act of 1969 meant neither party had to prove ‘fault’ in their marriage in order to legally separate; the Children Act of 1975 prioritised prospective adopters’ abilities to meet a child’s needs rather than their marital status; and the position of women has expanded through various laws and social movements that have granted them their own financial freedom, meaning they no longer need to rely on a husband for money and a livelihood. These laws, along with many changing attitudes across generations encouraged by celebrations of Pride, a growing appreciation of diverse cultures, and the accessibility of information via the Internet and social media, have resulted in the traditional nuclear family becoming somewhat minoritised. Many people know married couples who are divorced, queer couples, single parents, and people who were adopted. Of course, the nuclear family still exists across the country, though it now takes on a range of shapes.
In Saba Sams’s debut novel Gunk, the story opens on Jules, a divorcée living in Brighton, holding a baby who is the result of a one-night stand between Leon, her ex-husband, and Nim, a 19-year-old recent hire at Leon’s nightclub. Jules is alone, the baby is crying, and Nim is nowhere to be found. What follows is a reflection on the previous nine months, from the moment Nim walked into Jules’s life to the moment she left, and the journey is one full of truth, love, and audacious decisions.
Sams’s first published work was a collection of short stories called Send Nudes, which explored the complexities and contradictions of girlhood and won the 17th BBC National Short Story Award. Filled with unconventional topics, the collection was described by The Guardian as ‘exhilarating’ with ‘spare, rhythmic prose’¹. This praise can easily be applied to Gunk as well. Rather than confronting various aspects of a woman’s experience, Gunk zooms in on one aspect in particular: motherhood.
While there is no shortage of stories about motherhood, this novel stands out for two reasons: Sams’s style and her youth. Just shy of being considered Gen Z, Sams’s perspective offers a refreshing take on the meaning of motherhood, on its physical and emotional requirements, and Gunk is littered with different types of mothers. There is Jules, our protagonist, who always wanted children but always knew she would never carry one herself. There is Nim, who carries a baby to term yet feels no affiliation with the word ‘mother’. There is Jules’s mother, who—along with Jules’s father—is so boring and normal she is hardly remarked upon, yet supports Jules and Nim in their decision to have the baby. There is Nim’s mother, who had never offered her daughter any support or protection and who Nim fled from the moment she had the means to. And then there is Leon’s mother, who loves her baby boy (otherwise known as a forty-year-old man) no matter how much of her money he wastes or how many drugs he consumes, whose unconditional love is something Jules does not quite understand until her own child is born. In Gunk, Sams defines motherhood by offering no set definition, prioritising reality over idealism and not hiding the hard parts behind the happy moments.
Sams’s style is utterly refreshing. Yes, the prose is ‘spare and rhythmic’², but it is not minimalistic. She writes frankly, with a raw honesty many might find disquieting, yet there is an overarching tenderness in the story and in Jules herself, despite her not being fully aware of it, that draws the reader in. Sams certainly leans towards visceral descriptions that other authors might shy away from: egg yolk oozing over fingers, pubic hairs sticking out of knicker linings, the metallic smell of blood lingering in the air after being scrubbed away. Every word counts, and every line evokes a scene that’s vivid in the mind’s eye, clearer than a film.
Such a style shows Sams’s comfort with discomfort, and encourages the reader to be that way too. It shines the most during the inevitable birth scene, the pre-labour and labour standing out as the most memorable parts of the book, witnessed by Jules and described so sharply the reader might as well be in the room with the characters. It is jarring and unnerving; Sams does not tell the reader how to feel. There is no rose-tinted rhetoric about the miracle of life and the blessing of labour pains, nor does she emphasise the blood and gore in an attempt to put the reader off. Regardless of gender, the reader is forced to confront their own relationship with children and childbirth.
The true strength of this novel comes from Sams’s refusal to force a point. It is a simple story, at its core, about a mature woman and a young woman and the baby that will pass between them, and Sams lets the themes speak for themselves. She challenges the meaning of the word ‘family’ without hostility and without overemphasising the point to make sure it isn’t missed. Instead, she reminds the reader at every turn that this is a story, first and foremost, about people. The characters are not turned into symbols, the inner parts of Jules’s character are explored gradually and kindly, and the humane sides of tough Nim and unreliable Leon are exposed naturally.
Gunk gently redefines the idea of pregnancy, family roles, and maternal instinct while telling a pleasant story of love, friendship, and hope. For a debut novel, the writing is impressive, the style consistent and the narrative voice strong but not overbearing. Sams hones in on one glaring aspect of womanhood—being a mother—and gently probes at the possibilities the role holds in modern society, emphasising first and foremost that there is room for family diversity. It is a short and stunning story, a strong start by Sams to what will hopefully be an extensive career of releases filled with gentle reflection and stark realities.