Simon McDonald

As much as I adored this—and I did love it, tremendously—I’m not sure it’s destined for the Booker shortlist. Why? Because it’s so tender and understated, and fellow long-listed books like Audition by Katie Kitamura and Endling by Maria Reva have a dash of unconventionality that I reckon might pip the titles I’ve most enjoyed.

(But what would I know, right? I’m over here reading the new Dan Brown).

Love Forms is the story of Dawn, a Trinidanian woman who, when pregnant at the age of 16, was dispatched by her parents to Venezuela for four months, where she birthed a daughter, who she gave up for adoption before promptly returning to Trinidad to resume her life like nothing ever happened.

Forty years later—a whole lifetime; marriage, a career, two kids, a divorce—and that page from Dawn’s past remains shrouded in shame; unspoken of by the very few people aware of it; obliterated from their family history. But of course, Dawn has never forgotten, and the shame she feels is not rooted in the birth of the child, but rather the alacrity with which she gave up her daughter.

Her need to know what transpired that day, and where her daughter is now, has swelled in the intervening years. She has tried everything, from online forums to DNA tests, and she’s no closer to the truth. When a woman in Italy gets in touch, Dawn feels that familiar surge of hope—is this her daughter?

Claire Adam vividly depicts the emotional turmoil of Dawn’s search for answers and her neverending brooding over what might have been. The decision to relinquish her child left an indelible mark, and Love Forms serves as a poignant exploration of her peculiar half-state between perpetual grief and intermittent optimism. There’s not much plot here, and yet, it’s such an emotionally satisfying and absorbing story, and filled with insights into Trinidadian history and culture.