Rosewater by Liv Little review – hookups, hope and hard times | Fiction

Liv Little founded the pioneering media company gal-dem, an online and print platform for women and non-binary people of colour that announced its closure last month. Her debut novel, Rosewater, derives from the same ambitions, following 28-year-old queer poet Elsie, who is living in south London and navigating her chaotic work, love and family life.

The book opens with a literal bang, as bailiffs attempt to evict Elsie from her social housing flat. It’s a powerfully visceral and exposing moment. “I’m left with sixty minutes to pack up my worldly belongings and figure out whatever the fuck I’m supposed to do next,” says Elsie, before moving in with her childhood friend Juliet. From then on, her life seems to crumble at an even quicker pace.

Elsie endures the kind of experiences many young people in the capital can relate to. Her sense of uncertainty about the future is reinforced by the casual coming-and-going of lovers, homes and jobs, while the specificities of being Black and gay add another layer of complexity. The gay bar where Elsie works is shut down thanks to gentrification. Her fraught relationship with her parents becomes further strained as they vocalise their dissatisfaction with her lifestyle. Hope is always on the horizon, though. Elsie wins a poetry competition and is offered a book deal after she performs a poem that may or may not be about Juliet. “You. The rose to my water. The water to my rose,” it ends. This isn’t seminal poetry, but it’s an inspired move to include real verse, written by performance poet Kai-Isaiah Jamal, in the narrative.

But there is a stiffness to the structure of the sentences – “The sound of smashing glass jolts me violently out of sleep, interrupting the chaos of my hellish dream” – reminiscent of seeing a dancer counting their steps on stage. The dialogue is similarly overconstructed, especially in the case of Juliet, who sometimes speaks in lines from old romcoms (“I think that if you come here, kiss me and tell me how you absolutely can’t live without me …”).

Interestingly, what happens in the background feels more intriguing than the central narrative of the two friends reconnecting. I would have liked to know more about the supporting characters, such as Maggie, the older lesbian full of stories from her heyday, and Elsie’s Guyanese nan, who lives in Bristol and loves her fearlessly. Instead, Elsie and Juliet’s story is hastily shoehorned into a corny climax. What could have been a distinct tale of a queer Black woman living and loving in Peckham loses focus and perhaps confidence, swerving between cheap reveals and soap-like plot twists to cover up indecisive storytelling.

A lot could have been forgiven if the book had been packaged as young adult fiction. It has all of the components of a relatable coming-of-age tale: the social and economic landscape of job-hunting and sofa-surfing; sex scenes that are messy and authentic (Elsie’s relationship with her co-worker Bea embodies the indisputable hotness of hooking up with people you know you shouldn’t). There’s plenty that’s meaningful in this story about hope, love, poetry, family, friendship, survival and joy amid chaos. Yet despite some engaging moments, Rosewater would have thrived with fewer shock tactics and more intricacy.

Liv Little founded the pioneering media company gal-dem, an online and print platform for women and non-binary people of colour that announced its closure last month. Her debut novel, Rosewater, derives from the same ambitions, following 28-year-old queer poet Elsie, who is living in south London and navigating her chaotic work, love and family life.

The book opens with a literal bang, as bailiffs attempt to evict Elsie from her social housing flat. It’s a powerfully visceral and exposing moment. “I’m left with sixty minutes to pack up my worldly belongings and figure out whatever the fuck I’m supposed to do next,” says Elsie, before moving in with her childhood friend Juliet. From then on, her life seems to crumble at an even quicker pace.

Elsie endures the kind of experiences many young people in the capital can relate to. Her sense of uncertainty about the future is reinforced by the casual coming-and-going of lovers, homes and jobs, while the specificities of being Black and gay add another layer of complexity. The gay bar where Elsie works is shut down thanks to gentrification. Her fraught relationship with her parents becomes further strained as they vocalise their dissatisfaction with her lifestyle. Hope is always on the horizon, though. Elsie wins a poetry competition and is offered a book deal after she performs a poem that may or may not be about Juliet. “You. The rose to my water. The water to my rose,” it ends. This isn’t seminal poetry, but it’s an inspired move to include real verse, written by performance poet Kai-Isaiah Jamal, in the narrative.

But there is a stiffness to the structure of the sentences – “The sound of smashing glass jolts me violently out of sleep, interrupting the chaos of my hellish dream” – reminiscent of seeing a dancer counting their steps on stage. The dialogue is similarly overconstructed, especially in the case of Juliet, who sometimes speaks in lines from old romcoms (“I think that if you come here, kiss me and tell me how you absolutely can’t live without me …”).

Interestingly, what happens in the background feels more intriguing than the central narrative of the two friends reconnecting. I would have liked to know more about the supporting characters, such as Maggie, the older lesbian full of stories from her heyday, and Elsie’s Guyanese nan, who lives in Bristol and loves her fearlessly. Instead, Elsie and Juliet’s story is hastily shoehorned into a corny climax. What could have been a distinct tale of a queer Black woman living and loving in Peckham loses focus and perhaps confidence, swerving between cheap reveals and soap-like plot twists to cover up indecisive storytelling.

A lot could have been forgiven if the book had been packaged as young adult fiction. It has all of the components of a relatable coming-of-age tale: the social and economic landscape of job-hunting and sofa-surfing; sex scenes that are messy and authentic (Elsie’s relationship with her co-worker Bea embodies the indisputable hotness of hooking up with people you know you shouldn’t). There’s plenty that’s meaningful in this story about hope, love, poetry, family, friendship, survival and joy amid chaos. Yet despite some engaging moments, Rosewater would have thrived with fewer shock tactics and more intricacy.