Charlotte Wood’s “Stone Yard Devotional” is a quiet earthquake of a novel, its tremors reverberating long after you’ve turned the final page. Recently longlisted for the 2024 Booker Prize, this haunting exploration of grief, forgiveness, and female friendship creeps up on you with the stealth of a mouse in the night – which, incidentally, features prominently in the book’s unsettling narrative.
Set in the stark, unforgiving landscape of the Australian outback, Wood’s novel follows an unnamed narrator who retreats to a small religious community, seeking refuge from a life that’s left her burnt out and adrift. It’s a premise ripe for self-discovery, sure, but Wood isn’t interested in tidy epiphanies or Instagram-ready personal transformations. Instead, she offers us something far messier, more visceral, and infinitely more compelling.
Into the Wilderness
From the moment our protagonist arrives at the abbey, you can feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her—and on you, the reader. Wood’s prose is spare and precise, mirroring the austere environment of the religious community. There’s a meditative quality to her writing that draws you in, lulling you into a false sense of security before delivering gut-punch revelations.
The narrator’s initial days at the abbey are marked by a kind of numb detachment. She goes through the motions of daily life—attending services, helping with chores – but there’s a palpable sense that she’s holding something back, keeping some essential part of herself walled off. It’s in these quiet moments that Wood’s talent for capturing the intricacies of human psychology really shines. Without resorting to heavy-handed exposition, she conveys volumes about her character’s state of mind through small, telling details: the way she obsessively counts eggs gathered from the henhouse, her reluctance to make eye contact with the other sisters.
As someone who’s struggled with burnout myself, I found the narrator’s fumbling attempts to find peace achingly familiar. There’s a moment early on where she describes lying on the floor of her spartan room, staring at a small wooden crucifix and thinking about “all [her] urgent, passing desires,” and I swear, I felt that in my bones. Wood has a knack for capturing those universal human experiences in a way that feels intensely personal.
Plague and Punishment
Just as our narrator starts to settle into the rhythm of abbey life, the first of three “visitations” arrives: a mouse plague of biblical proportions. Now, I’m not particularly squeamish, but Wood’s descriptions of the ever-growing mouse infestation had me squirming in my seat. The constant scritching of tiny claws, the nauseating stench, the sheer overwhelming number of rodents—it’s viscerally unpleasant in a way that gets under your skin.
But the plague is more than just a gross-out device. It serves as a potent metaphor for the things we try to keep at bay—guilt, trauma, uncomfortable truths – only to have them multiply in the darkness, eventually overwhelming us. The sisters’ increasingly desperate attempts to control the infestation mirror the narrator’s own struggle to maintain her carefully constructed emotional defenses.
There’s a particularly harrowing scene where the narrator discovers mice have invaded the piano in the common room, building a nest out of the felt from its hammers. It’s a moment of violation that feels almost obscene, and Wood’s restrained prose only amplifies the horror of it. You can practically hear the discordant notes as the narrator plinks at the ruined keys.
Bones of Contention
Just as the mouse situation reaches a fever pitch, the second visitation arrives: the skeletal remains of a nun who disappeared decades ago, presumed murdered. This plot thread could easily veer into murder-mystery territory, but Wood keeps the focus squarely on the emotional reverberations of this long-buried tragedy.
The return of Sister Jenny’s bones dredges up old conflicts and unresolved grief among the nuns, particularly for Sister Bonaventure. Wood deftly navigates the complex dynamics of this small, insular community, revealing the deep wells of hurt and resentment that can fester even in a place ostensibly dedicated to peace and forgiveness.
There’s a raw, unflinching quality to Wood’s portrayal of female friendships here. She doesn’t shy away from the petty jealousies, the unspoken competitions, the way women can wound each other in uniquely devastating ways. But she also captures the fierce loyalty and profound understanding that can exist between women who’ve shared a life together.
As someone who’s had my fair share of complicated female friendships, I found myself nodding along in recognition more than once. There’s a scene where two of the older nuns are bickering over some long-ago slight, and it felt so true to life – the way old hurts can calcify over time, becoming almost comfortable in their familiarity.
Ghosts of the Past
The third and final visitation comes in the form of Helen Parry, a firebrand activist nun with a connection to the narrator’s past. Helen’s arrival is like a match dropped into a powder keg, forcing our protagonist to confront the very things she came to the abbey to escape.
Wood handles this section with incredible nuance. She resists the urge to offer easy answers or tidy resolutions, instead allowing the messy, complicated emotions to play out in all their contradictory glory. There’s a scene where the narrator and Helen are running together, and the unspoken tension between them is so palpable you could cut it with a knife. It’s a masterclass in writing subtext.
As the narrator is forced to reckon with her past actions and long-buried guilt, Wood raises profound questions about forgiveness—both of others and of ourselves. Can we ever truly atone for the harm we’ve caused? Is redemption possible, or are some sins too great to overcome? She doesn’t offer pat answers, but the journey itself is deeply affecting.
A Voice in the Wilderness
“Stone Yard Devotional” cements Charlotte Wood’s reputation as one of Australia’s most fearless and insightful writers. Fans of her previous work, particularly the award-winning “The Weekend,” will recognize her sharp eye for human foibles and her ability to find moments of dark humor in even the bleakest situations. But this novel feels like a step forward in terms of emotional depth and thematic ambition.
Wood’s prose is a thing of austere beauty, perfectly suited to the stark landscape she’s depicting. She has a poet’s gift for metaphor – at one point, she describes the plains as “bare as rubbed suede,” and I swear I could feel the texture under my fingertips. But she never lets the language overshadow the emotional core of the story.
If I had to quibble, there are moments where the pacing drags slightly, particularly in the middle section as we wait for the third visitation to arrive. And readers looking for a more plot-driven narrative might find the meditative quality of the book frustrating at times. But for those willing to surrender to Wood’s rhythms, the payoff is immense.
In terms of comparable works, “Stone Yard Devotional” brought to mind Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead” in its exploration of faith and forgiveness, albeit with a distinctly Australian flavor. There are also shades of Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” in its portrayal of women living under religious strictures, though Wood’s nuns have chosen their cloistered life.
A Devotional for the Doubters
Ultimately, “Stone Yard Devotional” is a book that lingers with you, its questions and images resurfacing at unexpected moments. It’s a novel about faith, but not necessarily in the religious sense. Rather, it’s about having faith in our own capacity for growth and change, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable guilt or grief.
Wood doesn’t offer easy comfort or platitudes. Instead, she presents us with a raw, unflinching look at what it means to truly reckon with oneself. It’s not always a comfortable read, but it’s an undeniably powerful one.
As I closed the book, I found myself thinking about my own “stone yards”—those barren places in my life where growth seems impossible. And yet, like the narrator tending to her stubborn vegetable patch, maybe there’s value in the act of cultivation itself, regardless of the outcome.
“Stone Yard Devotional” is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the transformative power of facing our deepest fears. It’s a quiet novel that roars with truth, and its Booker Prize longlisting is well-deserved recognition for a writer at the height of her powers. Charlotte Wood has delivered a modern Australian classic, as timeless and unforgiving as the landscape it depicts.