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The Accidental

The Accidental

3.2 6
by Ali Smith

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Filled with Ali Smith's trademark wordplay and inventive storytelling, here is the dizzyingly entertaining, wickedly humorous story of a mysterious stranger whose sudden appearance during a family’s summer holiday transforms four variously unhappy people. Each of the Smartsparents Eve and Michael, son Magnus, and the youngest, daughter Astrid


Filled with Ali Smith's trademark wordplay and inventive storytelling, here is the dizzyingly entertaining, wickedly humorous story of a mysterious stranger whose sudden appearance during a family’s summer holiday transforms four variously unhappy people. Each of the Smartsparents Eve and Michael, son Magnus, and the youngest, daughter Astridencounter Amber in his or her own solipsistic way, but somehow her presence allows them to see their lives (and their life together) in a new light. Smith’s narrative freedom and exhilarating facility with language propel the novel to its startling, wonderfully enigmatic conclusion.

Editorial Reviews

Laura Miller
The awkwardness of the novel's moralizing is all the more disconcerting given its fine, lustrous texture on the page. Smith is a wizard at observing and memorializing the ebb and flow of the everyday mind—Astrid musing that "hurtling sounds like a little hurt being, like earthling, like something aliens from another planet would land on earth and call human beings who have been a little bit hurt." The close-up is Smith's forte. Her long shots need a little work.
—The New York Times Book Review
Jeff Turrentine
In winning the prestigious Whitbread, the Scottish-born, 43-year-old Smith beat out the likes of Salman Rushdie and Nick Hornby. Good for the judges. Smith is a dazzling talent, fearlessly lassoing different styles and ideas and playfully manipulating them. Though The Accidental is not a conventionally funny novel, readers may find themselves laughing -- in surprise and delight -- at the way Smith takes a literary trope and riffs on it until she's turned it inside out, the way a great jazz musician might. (When Amber obliquely tells the story of her childhood through the recitation of scenes from classic movies, the tour-de-force passage gets at the unique symbology of cinema in a way that eludes even our most erudite film critics.)
— THe Washington Post
The New Yorker
Smith’s book, which has just won Britain’s Whitbread Novel Award, concerns an attractive stranger who shows up on the doorstep of an unhappy family and is unquestioningly taken in. The visitor, armed with a perfect combination of candor, free-spiritedness, and rough love, proceeds to manipulate each of her hosts. Just as abruptly, and, perhaps, predictably, she disappears. We never learn much about her—her only purpose, it seems, was to jolt the family members out of their respective messes—and her righteous self-assurance can get tiresome. But the novel is saved by its skillful and touching rendering of the mental state of each family member. Smith’s well-honed, even obsessive prose gives a feeling of eavesdropping on her characters’ innermost thoughts.
Michiko Kakutani
Astrid's trippy, half-hostile, half-vulnerable take on the world; the terror, guilt and self-hatred Magnus feels after a practical joke on one of his schoolmates goes horribly awry; Michael's preening professorial detachment and air of entitlement; and Eve's paralyzing worries about her family and her newly successful writing career — all are rendered with knowing authority and poise, and served up in wonderfully supple, jazzy prose. Ms. Smith can do suicidal teenage angst and middle-aged ennui, a 12-year-old's sardonic innocence and an aging Lothario's randy daydreams with equal aplomb. And in riffing on the stream of consciousness form, pioneered by such high-brow litterateurs as Joyce and Woolf, she manages to make it as accessible and up to the minute (if vastly more entertaining) as talk radio or an Internet chat room.
— The New York Times
Publishers Weekly
Heather O'Neill plays Amber, a mysterious stranger who wangles her way into the lives of a vacationing English family spending the summer in a remote cottage. O'Neill reads with studious detachment and a persistent air of mischief, as if the entire story is a particularly juicy practical joke. Given Amber's predilection for wreaking havoc in her new adopted family's comfortably misguided lives, the emotion is supremely apropos. O'Neill is joined by a cast of performers, including Ruth Moore as the perpetually harried, perpetually preoccupied Eve, who spends all her time dreaming of the characters of the latest historical novel she's writing, and Stina Nielsen as Astrid, a 12-year-old with a frightening imagination and a propensity for recording the world on her video camera. The bulk of the book, though, is read by O'Neill, who provides a suitably nuanced reading, at times placid, at times flashing an air of free-floating menace. It is her work, above all, that brings Smith's novel to fully fleshed existence. Simultaneous release with the Pantheon hardcover (Reviews, Oct. 31). (Jan.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Amber looks so innocent when she arrives barefoot at the Norfolk summer cottage of Eve Smart and her family, but her presence causes major disruption-even after she's sent packing. With a six-city tour. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Dazzling wordplay and abundant imagination invigorate a tale of lives interrupted. Highly touted Brit Smith (Hotel World, 2002, etc.) is an original whose choppy perspectives and internal riffs take some getting used to. This third novel, her second to be shortlisted for the Booker Prize, reveals its hand slowly as it switches among Alhambra, a recurrent character, and the separate trajectories of the Smart family, on holiday in Norfolk. Astrid, 12 and bored, sees life at one remove through the viewfinder of her camera; her brother Magnus, implicated in a bullying that led to a school mate's death, is borderline suicidal; their mother, Eve, a writer, is blocked; and their stepfather, Michael, an academic, is a compulsive philanderer. Each of these lives is thrown onto a different track by the arrival of mysterious, mercurial Amber, who is probably not telling the truth when she says she became a vagrant after killing a child in a car accident. Amber is lovely, fierce and unpredictable. She throws Astrid's camera away and seduces Magnus. Indifferent towards Michael's physical charms, she reveals to him the waning of his sexual allure. After Amber kisses Eve, she is thrown out of the house, and takes her revenge by stripping the Smarts' London home of everything, including faucets and doorknobs. But even bigger things are ahead. Inventive, intelligent, playful, Smith has a pin-sharp ear for her characters' voices. Underneath the glittering surface lies a darker debate about truth and consequences, as well as a magnificent history of the cinema. It's not so much about the story as it is about the virtuosity of the telling.
From the Publisher

“Astonishing. . . . Vivid and affecting. . . . Wonderfully supple, jazzy.” –The New York Times

“Persistently sparkling pages...of startling and clarifying emotional power. . . . It casts a spell.” —The Atlantic Monthly

“Completely captivating. . . . Thoroughly charming and melodic. . . .Devilishly lovely.” —The Boston Globe

“Beautifully executed. . . . A few pages [in] and you begin to remember how much fun it is to put yourself in the hands of a skilled, majestically confident writer. . . . Delightful.”

The New York Observer

“Brims with wit, humor, and energy.” —The Christian Science Monitor

Product Details

Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
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Random House
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Read an Excerpt

The beginning

of things -- when is it exactly?

Astrid Smart wants to know. (Astrid Smart. Astrid Berenski. Astrid Smart. Astrid Berenski.) 5.04 a.m. on the substandard clock radio. Because why do people always say the day starts now? Really it starts in the middle of the night at a fraction of a second past midnight. But it's not supposed to have begun until the dawn, really the dark is still last night and it isn't morning till the light, though actually it was morning as soon as it was even a fraction of a second past twelve i.e. that experiment where you divide something down and down like the distance between the ground and a ball that's been bounced on it so that it can be proved, Magnus says, that the ball never actually touches the ground. Which is junk because of course it touches the ground, otherwise how would it bounce, it wouldn't have anything to bounce off, but it can actually be proved by science that it doesn't.

Astrid is taping dawns. There is nothing else to do here. The village is a dump. Post office, vandalized Indian restaurant, chip shop, little shop place that's never open, place for ducks to cross the road. Ducks actually have their own roadsign! There is a sofa warehouse called Sofa So Good. It is dismal. There is a church. The church has its own roadsign too. Nothing happens here except a church and some ducks, and this house is an ultimate dump. It is substandard. Nothing is going to happen here all substandard summer.

She now has nine dawns one after the other on the mini dv tape in her Sony digital. Thursday 10 July 2003, Friday II July 2003, Saturday 12, Sunday 13, Monday 14, Tuesday 15, Wednesday 16, Thursday 17 and today Friday 18. But it is hard to know what moment exactly dawn is. All there is when you look at it on the camera screen is the view of outside getting more visible. So does this mean that the beginning is something to do with being able to see? That the day begins as soon as you wake up and open your eyes? So when Magnus finally wakes up in the afternoon and they can hear him moving about in the room that's his in this dump of a substandard house, does that mean the day is still beginning? Is the beginning different for everyone? Or do beginnings just keep stretching on forwards and forwards all day? Or maybe it is back and back they stretch. Because every time you open your eyes there was a time before that when you closed them then a different time before that when you opened them, all the way back, through all the sleeping and the waking and the ordinary things like blinking, to the first time you ever open your eyes, which is probably round about the moment you are born.

Astrid kicks her trainers off on to the floor. She slides back across the horrible bed. Or possibly the beginning is even further back than that, when you are in the womb or whatever it's called. Possibly the real beginning is when you are just forming into a person and for the first time the soft stuff that makes your eyes is actually made, formed, inside the hard stuff that becomes your head i.e. your skull.

She fingers the curve of bone above her left eye. Eyes fit the space they are in, exactly like they were made for each other, the space and the eye. Like the play she saw with the man in it whose eyes were gouged out, the people on the stage turned him so the audience couldn't see, then they gouged out his eyes then whirled the chair round and he had his hands up at his face and he took them away, his hands were full of red stuff, it was all round his eye sockets. It was insane. It was jelly or something similar. It was his daughters who did it or his sons. It was one of Michael's tragedies. It was quite good though. Yes, exactly, because at a theatre the curtain goes up and you know it's the beginning because, obviously, the curtain's gone up. But the way the lights go down, the audience goes quiet, and right after the curtain goes up, then the air, if you're sitting near the stage, you can actually smell a different other air with bits of dust and stuff in it moving. Like when Michael and her mother made her go to the other tragedy that was completely insane about the woman who loses it and kills her children, but before she does she sends them, two boys, really small boys, off the stage, they actually come down into the audience and walk through it, the mother has given them poisoned clothes etc. to give to the princess their father is marrying instead of her and they go to a house or a palace somewhere behind the audience, this doesn't happen on the stage, it doesn't happen anywhere except in the story i.e. in your head but even though you know it doesn't, you know it's just a play, even so, somewhere behind you the princess is still putting on the poisoned things and dying a horrible death. Her eyes melt in their sockets and she comes out in a rash like if terrorists dropped spores on the Tube. Her lungs melt and

Astrid yawns. She is hungry.

She is starving, actually.

It is literally hours till anything like breakfast even if she wanted to eat anything in this unhygienic dump.

She could go back to sleep. But typical and ironic, she is completely awake. It is completely light outside now; you can see for miles. Except there is nothing to see here; trees and fields and that kind of thing.

5.16 a.m. on the substandard clock radio.

She is really awake.

She could get up and go and film the vandalism. She is definitely going to do it today. She will go to the restaurant later and ask the Indian man if it is okay to. Or maybe she will just film it without him knowing in case he says no. If she went right now there would be nobody there and she could just do it. If anybody happened to be up and around at this time of the morning (nobody will, there is nobody awake for miles but her, but if there were, say there were) they would just think oh, look, there is a twelve-year-old girl playing with a dv camera. They would probably notice what a good model the camera is, that's if they knew anything about cameras. She would tell them if they asked that she is a visitor for the summer (true) filming the scenery (true) or that it is for a school project (could be true) about different buildings and their uses (quite good). And then maybe there will be vital evidence on her mini dv tape when she gets home and at some point in the investigation into the vandalism someone in authority will remember and say oh that twelve-year-old girl was there with a camera, maybe she recorded something really what is the word crucial to our enquiries, and they will come and knock on the door, but what if they aren't still here for the summer, what if they've already gone home, some investigations take quite a long time, well then the authorities will trace her back home with their computers by looking up Michael's name or by asking the people who own this substandard house and, because of her, things will finally be put right and a mystery like who is responsible for the vandalism at the Curry Palace will actually be solved.

This is a quintessential place. Her mother keeps saying so, she says it every evening. There don't seem to be many other people here on holiday regardless of how quintessential it is, maybe because it's not actually holiday time yet, officially. People in the village do a lot of staring even when Astrid isn't doing anything, is just walking about. Even when she isn't using her camera. But it is nice weather. She is lucky not to be at school. The sun has come out on most of the dawns she has recorded. This is what a good summer is like. In the past, before she was born, the summers were better, they were perpetual beautiful summers from May to October in the past apparently. The past is a different century. She herself will probably be the one to live longest into the new century out of all the people here in this house right now, her mother, Magnus, herself, Michael. They are all more part of the old century than she is. But then again her whole life, mostly, was lived in the old century. But then again their whole lives were too, and percentage-wise she has already lived 25 percent of hers in the new (if you start at 2001 and allow for the next six months of this year now to have already happened). She herself is 25 per cent new, 75 per cent old. Magnus has lived three out of seventeen in it so comes out at. Astrid works it out. Magnus is 17ish per cent new, 83 per cent old. She is 8 per cent more in the new than Magnus. Her mother and Michael are way out there on a much much more significantly small percentage in the new, a much much more significantly large percentage in the old. She will work it out later. She can't be bothered now.

She shifts on the substandard bed. The substandard bed creaks loudly. After the creak she can hear the silence in the rest of the house. They are all asleep. Nobody knows she is awake. Nobody is any the wiser. Any the wiser sounds like a character from ancient history. Astrid in the year 1003 BC (Before Celebrity) goes to the woods where Any the Wiser, who is really royalty and a king but who has unexpectedly chosen to be a Nobody and to live the simple life, lives in a hut, no, a cave, and answers the questions that the people of the commonweal come for miles around to ask him (most probably a him since if it was a her she'd have to be in a convent or burnt). People who want to know answers to things have to knock on the door of the cave, well, the rock outside, she picks up a rock and knocks it against another rock, this lets Any the Wiser know that someone is waiting. I brought an offering, Astrid calls into the dark of the cave. She has brought an offering of croissants. You probably can't get good croissants in the woods, like you can't get them out here. Both Michael and her mother have been complaining about no croissants since they got to this substandard village which is typical and ironic since they're the ones who wanted to come here and have made her and Magnus come and made her even more weird and unlike everybody is supposed to be than she already is, though with any luck by the time school starts again in September Lorna Rose and Zelda Howe and Rebecca Callow will have forgotten about her being taken out of school early two months before.

Astrid concentrates them out of her head. She is at the door of a cave. She is carrying croissants. Any the Wiser is delighted. He nods at Astrid to come forward.

He glints at her through the darkness of the cave; he is old and wise; he has a fatherly look in his eye. Answer my question, oh revered sage and oracle, Astrid begins.

But that's all she can say because she doesn't have a question. She doesn't know what to ask him about, or for. She can't think of a question, not one she's allowed to say inside herself in actual words to herself, never mind out loud to a complete stranger, even a stranger she's made up.

(Astrid Smart. Astrid Berenski.)

She sits up. She picks up her camera, turns it over in her hand. She shuts its screen away, ejects the beginnings tape, slides it into its little case and puts it on the table. She clips the non-beginnings tape into the camera instead. She lies on her back then shifts over on to her front. By the end of their time here she will have sixty-one beginnings, depending on if they go home on the Friday, the Saturday or the Sunday. Sixty-one minus nine, i.e. still at least fifty-two more to go. Astrid sighs. Her sigh sounds too loud. There is no noise of traffic here. It is probably the fact that there is no noise that is keeping her so awake. She is completely awake. In a minute she will go and film the vandalism. She closes her eyes. She is on the inside of a hazelnut; she fits against the shell perfectly, as if she was born in it. Her head has it as a helmet. It fits the curve of her knees. It is completely enclosed. It is a complete room. It is completely safe. Nobody else can get inside it. Then she worries about what she will do about breathing, since the nut is completely sealed. She begins to worry about how she is doing any breathing now. There is obviously a finite amount of air, if any, inside a hazelnut. Then she begins to worry that Lorna Rose and Zelda Howe and Rebecca, if they were ever to find out she had ever had a thought like that she was inside a hazelnut, would think she was even more laughable and a mental case. Lorna Rose and Zelda Howe are playing a game of tennis on a public court in a park. Astrid walks past with Rebecca. Rebecca and Astrid are still friends. Lorna Rose runs across to the fence and tells Astrid and Rebecca they should come and play on the court next to the one she and Zelda Howe are playing on, and then the winners of each game will play each other to find who out of the four of them is the best. Astrid looks at the court she and Rebecca are supposed to play on. Its surface is all pieces of broken glass. She is about to say no but Rebecca says yes. But look at the glass, Astrid says because it is insane. Coward, Zelda Howe says. We knew you wouldn't do it. They have put the broken glass there on purpose as a test. If you want to play on broken glass you're an idiot, Astrid tells Rebecca. Rebecca goes into the court and crunches about on the broken glass.

From the Trade Paperback edition.

Meet the Author

Ali Smith is the author of many works of fiction, including the novel Hotel World, which was short-listed for both the Orange Prize and the Booker Prize and won the Encore Award and the Scottish Arts Council Book of the Year Award, and The Accidental, which won the Whitbread Award and was short-listed for the Man Booker Prize and the Orange Prize. Her most recent novel, How to be both, was a Man Booker Prize finalist and winner of the Bailey Women’s Prize for Fiction, the Goldsmiths Prize, the Costa Novel Award, and the Saltire Literary Book of the Year Award. Born in Inverness, Scotland, Smith lives in Cambridge, England.

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Accidental 3.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 6 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
NYBeachgal More than 1 year ago
Though I absolutely adored Ali Smith's short story collection entitled _The First Person_, I was very disappointed in _The Accidental_, which was the first novel of hers that I've read. The ending made very little sense to me, but neither did most of the actual story! I found the book frustrating and, often, annoying. The characters were deep and believable, and many of the issues she brings up are very topical and could be fascinating, but there are so many disjointed, confusing, and totally unbelievable situations and storylines that the book just fall apart. Smith's an excellent short-story writer but I believe she shouldn't write novels without an editor who will pare everything down and get rid of unnecessary information. About 2/3 of the time, this novel read like someone's stream of consciousness practice for a basic creative writing course. Shame!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
After all the hype and awards this book has received, I couldnt wait to start this. I have tried for weeks to attempt to read this and simply put, I couldnt stand it. the flow of the book is atrocious and the main character Ambers thoughts/actions seem almost schizophrenic and impossible to follow-do find yourself thinking are these ramblings happening now or it in all in her mind? I read at least two books a week and this by far has been the worst let down. The book rambles, and has no flow to the story line. If you must try it for yourself, check it out at the library-dont waste your money!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Outstanding performances by a superb ensemble cast add luster to this intriguing, richly imagined story of a family on tender hooks, stripped of pretense following the arrival of an unexpected visitor. The Smarts, a family whose home is London, have rented a cottage for the summer. They're surprised late one afternoon by a knock on the door - it is a beautiful, barefoot thirty-something woman who calls herself Amber. By dint of charm and determination she enters the home, and remains for much longer than dinner. She's a sham, yet she manages to turn the entire family on its collective ears. Actress Heather O'Neill is by turning winning and wanton, especially effective in the monologues that give some insight into what occupies Amber's mind. Simon Prebble, he of the easy-on-the-ears tenor voice and British accent, is the perfect choice for Michael, the rather haughty head of the household. A professor, he is self-absorbed to the point that he misses the throes of those closest to him. Michael can be so remote that all he knows of Amber is that she had car trouble. Eve, his wife, is almost driven to distraction with worry about the completion and success of her latest literary effort. It's her belief that Amber is one of Michael's former lovers who has followed them here, perhaps to make trouble between husband and wife. Actress Ruth Moore reflects Eve's simmering emotions with chaste diction. There are two young ones in the Smart household. Magnus, as performed by Jeff Woodman, is almost a basket case due to guilt and fear. An ill-conceived prank of his has backfired, and he suffers for it. He's 17, on the brink of manhood, yet terrified of becoming adult. Astrid, is a 12-year-old half-child, half-woman who is by turns acerbic and angelic. She is ably read by Stina Nielsen. As presented by these talented performers 'The Accidental' is theater t its best. Treat yourself! - Gail Cooke