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When Tom Seymour, a child psychologist, plunges into a river to save a young man from drowning, he unwittingly reopens a chapter from his past he'd hoped to forget. For Tom already knows Danny Miller. When Danny was ten Tom helped imprison him for the killing of an old woman. Now out of prison with a new identity, Danny has some questions - questions he thinks only Tom can answer.
Reluctantly, Tom is drawn back into Danny's old world - a place where the border between good and evil, innocence and guilt is blurred and confused. But when Danny's demands on Tom become extreme, Tom wonders whether he has crossed a line of his own - and in crossing it, can he ever go back?
'What Pat Barker has to say of society's attitude to children is spot on.'
Financial Times
'Barker...is second to none at writing about the tragedy of life as it affects ordinary people, making her novels readable without ever underselling the subject.'
Hello Magazine
'Pat Barker once again shows how she warrants her international success and popularity. Border Crossing is a thrilling, gripping novel that will leave you in a fearful trance throughout, thanks to Barker's mesmeric style of writing.'
Punch
'Unflinching yet sensitive, this is a dark story, expertly told.'
Daily Mail
'...A tremendous piece of writing'
The Independent on Sunday
'Barker's talent for gently sifting through the hidden depths of the human psyche is awesome, and the edgy quality that ripples under the surface of her prose makes this fascinating and chilling.'
Nova
'It's a bold book, courageous about our culture's craven obsession with violent children, mercilessly acute about the ways we all stand by, judging without feeling, hating without fearing, sacrificing without loving, the children crossing the borders into the dark places of the mind.'
Evening Standard
'This is a deeply intelligent and skilfully constructed novel that could scarcely be more timely.'
The Times
'This is Doctor Seymour,' Mary said, 'Who rescued you. I don't suppose you...' Her voice died away, as she registered the atmosphere in the room. 'Well,' she said, after a slight pause. 'I'll leave it to you then.' At the door she turned. 'Coat in the locker, Tom, when you're ready.
'Thanks,' he said, shifting his gaze in time to see the door close. The boy was hauling himself up the bed as if it was his first impulse to escape. His colour hadn't returned. 'You don't recognise me, do you?' he said. 'I suppose I ought to find that reassuring.'
'You were covered in mud.'
'No, I mean before.' His voice was hoarse. 'When I was ten. Do you remember, you-' Oh my God, Tom thought. He sat down heavily on the chair beside the bed. 'Danny Miller.'
'That's right.'
Saying the name changed his perception of the face. Now, second by second, under the sharp bones and planes of the adult face, a child's rounded, pre-pubescent features rose to the surface, and broke through, like a long-submerged body. 'I'm sorry,' Tom said. 'I didn't even know you were out.'
'It was kept pretty quiet, as you can imagine. And...' He nodded towards the door. 'Yes, of course. New name.'
'Ian was the governor's second name. Wilkinson was the chaplain's mother's maiden name.' His voice was expressionless.
'How long have you been out?'
'Ten months.'
'I won't ask how it's going.'
Danny - he couldn't think of him as Ian - looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing. A second later he was pressing his throat. 'Tube.'
'It'll be sore for a few days.'
When Danny could speak again, he said, 'What do you reckon the chances are of this happening?'
'Of our meeting like this? A million to one.'
'Makes you think, doesn't it?'
It certainly did. Tom was already wondering whether this was a genuine coincidence, or a dramatic gesture gone badly, almost fatally, wrong. Dramatic gestures of that kind are not uncommon, and they very frequently do go wrong, because the people making them usually have spectacularly flawed judgement. But to believe the meeting had been intended, he'd have to believe that Danny, for some undisclosed reason, had located him, and then, instead of ringing the doorbell, had decided to introduce himself by jumping into the river. It made no sense.
'You know, when something like this happens,' Danny said, 'it makes you realise things aren't just random. There is a purpose.'
Yes, possibly, Tom thought. But whose? 'It doesn't make me think that.'
'You know that chaplain I just mentioned? He used to say coincidence is the crack in human affairs that lets God or the Devil in.'
Tom smiled. 'I think what we need to let into human affairs is a bit more rationality.' A pause. They seemed to have got in very deep, very quickly. Almost as if he'd read Tom's thoughts, Danny said, 'At least we're not talking about the weather while you eat all the grapes.'
There were no grapes. No visitors. Nothing. Looking round the bleak, bare room, Tom knew it was impossible just to take his coat and go. 'When do they say you'll be out?'
'Tomorrow.'
'Will you go home?'
'No, I'm in a bedsit. I'm a student.'
'What're you reading?'
'English.'
'Do you have somebody you can talk to?'
A shrug. 'My probation officer. Martha Pitt.'
'Oh yes, I know Martha. Shall I give her a ring and tell her you're here?'
'No, don't bother, it's the weekend. She has enough trouble with me. She was trailing over the Pennines last weekend to come and get me. I ran away to prison.'
'You went back to prison?'
'Yeah, I know. Sounds mad, doesn't it?'
'What happened?'
'They told me to bugger off. And then the governor rang Martha, and she came and got me.'
'Was that when you-'
'Decided to go for a swim? No' He looked away. 'I don't know. Perhaps it was. It certainly didn't help.'
Tom thought for a moment. 'You know, you could come and talk to me, if you think it would be useful. Nothing formal. Just a chat.'
Danny smiled. 'About old times?'
'Whatever.'
The smile faded. 'Yes I would like to.'
Pat Barker, critically acclaimed author of the Regeneration Trilogy returns to more contemporary subjects in her latest novel, Border Crossing. She talks exclusively to Penguin.co.uk about her reasons for writing, Middlesborough housewives and Jane Fonda.
You studied history at university, and then worked as a teacher. What made you start writing fiction?
I started writing fiction when I was ten or eleven. I loved reading stories so it seemed a natural progression to start writing them. I didn't begin writing seriously for publication until after the birth of my first child and then it took me a long time to get published.
You're probably best known - so far, at any rate - for The Regeneration Trilogy, which is set during the First World War and shortly afterwards. With Border Crossing, your latest novel, you return to a wholly modern setting. What do you think are the relative merits and pitfalls of historical and contemporary novels?
There are periodic protests by critics about the preponderance of historical novels on the Booker short list, and demands that writers should be more involved with the contemporary scene. I think this is largely a false distinction. Fiction is always about 'then' simply because a novel takes two or three years to write and a year to publish. So you can either write about the distant past or the recent past. The good thing about historical fiction is that you're likely to choose a time which has gone on fascinating succeeding generations, each of which will have asked their own questions about it. The pitfall about writing about the recent past is that nothing is more dead than yesterday or more irrelevant than last year's news.
You clearly do extensive research for your novels: what kind of research did you do for Border Crossing?
Compared with the trilogy very little research was involved in writing Border Crossing. I read a couple of psychiatric texts about personality disorders and the various ways of treating them. Despite this, or because of it, Danny Miller has no diagnosis. In the end I didn't want to attach a label to him.
You have often seemed interested in the psychologically disturbed. Why do you think you find those kinds of mental states so interesting to write about?
I think of my characters as normal people under immense pressure rather than as sufferers from mental illness. Why the immense pressure? Because you need to crack the shell to find out what's inside it.
In the course of your career as a novelist you have shifted, broadly speaking, from writing about women to writing about men. Why is that?
The questions that interest me at the moment, which are essentially questions about the causes of violence both for individuals and societies, seem to produce narratives that almost inevitably have male protagonists. Men commit more violence than women (both state authorized and criminal violence) and they are also more frequently its victims - a fact which is often lost sight of.
Two of your novels, Union Street and Regeneration, have been made into films. (Stanley and Iris and Regeneration.) Were you closely involved in these productions? What do you think of the films?
Stanley and Iris - the film version of my first novel Union Street - was a joke, in the sense that my heroine - a fifteen stone Middlesbrough housewife - was played by Jane Fonda, a woman who is famous for being slim. At the time a lot of journalists expected me to say I was angry but in fact I wasn't. My film agent, after watching the movie, said, 'We-ell, that's Hollywood!'. I can't think of a better comment.
I was much more involved with Regeneration, visiting the set and reading the script. I thought they did a good job. I became fascinated by the challenge of telling stories in another medium - but without being tempted to try it myself.
Which of your novels are you most proud of, and why?
I don't know whether proud is the right word. Of all my books I'm fondest of Regeneration, but that may be because I enjoyed the research so much.
You've said in the past that writing makes you 'miserable' and should only be done by those who have no other option. What do you like to do when you aren't writing?
I'm not miserable all the time when I'm writing - only when it's going wrong. Unfortunately, in the course of producing multiple drafts, things go wrong a fair bit of the time.
When not writing I enjoy all the obvious things: family, friends, wine, open fires, purring cats, the pot of snowdrops on my desk as I type this, clean, white linen sheets, lying beside a swimming pool somewhere sunnier than Durham... In addition, I enjoy swimming, long walks, modelling in clay and wildlife gardening.
Finally, what advice would you give to a writer starting out on his or her career?
The best advice I can give to writers is to persevere if you really have to do it, but remember that writing isn't easy, and that promotion (the other half of the job these days) isn't glamorous. Be true to yourself, and to what you, uniquely, have to say. Don't give the market what you think it wants, because you don't know what it wants. All anybody knows is what the market wanted last year - and that's a dangerous guide.
Man Booker Prize for Fiction
Whitbread Book of the Year Award
James Tait Black Memorial Prize
Yorkshire Post Book of the Year
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