Cut Out by Michele Roberts - #TuesdayTeaser

Hello and welcome to this week's Tuesday Teaser. The place where we take a sneaky peek at a book that has caught my eye.

This week we are looking at Cut Out by Michele Roberts.

Michele requires no introduction. She is the author of twelve highly acclaimed novels, including The Looking Glass and Daughters of the House which won the WHSmith Literary Award, and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Her memoir, Paper Houses, was BBC Radio 4's Book of the Week in June 2007. She has also published poetry and short stories, most recently, Mud. 

Half-English and half-French, Michèle Roberts lives in London and in the Mayenne, France. She is Emeritus Professor of Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia.

The Blurb

Denis is searching for his mother’s past, knowing she had secrets. 

In Nice, he finds her friends, Monique and Clemence. In the 1950's, they were Matisse’s assistants when he was old and ill, pinning up his coloured paper shapes, putting the great cut out works together.

 Monique inspired his great designs in the chapel at Vence; Clemence, in pursuit of love, was caught in an affair that led to violence and disaster. So they have their own intense and colourful past – but they hold the key to Denis’s past too. He’s about to face the greatest challenge of his life.

In the Beginning...

Young women in church, Nice - Clemence

Sunlight glittered on the gravel underfoot, glossed the lip of the well. Berthe and I crunched across the courtyard and perched on the low stone parapet flanking the entrance to the chapel. Ten minutes to go. Berthe unfolded a black lace mantilla, draped it over her hairdo. Ridged curls held by lacquer smelling of burnt sugar. I'd snitched a headscarf from my mother, a yellow cotton square patterned with blue paisley. I knotted it loosely under my chin. Berth said: I'm dying for a quick cigarette. Got any on you, Clem? Sorry, I said, I thought you'd given up. When did you start again?

Oh, she said, I don't smoke really. Just now and then.

She wore green rayon, carried a bag to match. I was wearing a white dress with polka dots that my mother had run up for me, and peep-toe cork-soled slingbacks that I'd re-painted the night before, to make them look less shabby. After a stroll together along the boulevards, Berthe and I had got to work back in our rented room in the old town, using nail varnish, Berthe painted one and I did the other. Choking smell of pear drops and carnations. Next we fixed up Berthe's wedges, coating them with tennis-shoe whitener. We propped the sandals on the windowsill to dry. I had no other shoes with me, and no money for drinks, so I stayed in, and Berthe kept me company. We spent the evening barefoot, sitting by the open window, looking down into the little square.

I have been wanting to read this novel for a while, and now I am even more keen. Have you read this book? Would you recommend it?