
Blurb
Introducing an outstanding new voice in literary fiction: a sensual, sharp, and utterly compelling campus novel about grief, reinvention, and the ripple effects of telling lies
If I ever woke up with an ungodly dread — that I could change it all now, turn around, and confess — I ignored it. I had never been good, and there was no point in trying now.
On a small liberal arts campus in upstate New York, Charlotte begins her final year with a lie. Her father died over the summer, she says. Heart attack. Very sudden.
Charlotte had never been close with her classmates but as she repeats her tale, their expressions soften into kindness. And so she learns there are things worth lying for: attention, affection, and, as she embarks on a relationship with fellow student Katarina, even love. All she needs to do is keep control of the threads that hold her lie – and her life – together.
But six thousand miles away, alone in the grey two-up-two-down Staffordshire terrace she grew up in, her father is very much alive, watching television and drinking beer. Charlotte has always kept difficult truths at arm’s length, but his resolve to visit his distant daughter might just be the one thing she can’t control.
Review
I was lucky enough to receive a proof copy of Blank Canvas in exchange for an honest review – many thanks to the publisher and to the lovely Squadpod.
I really like the bold premise of this book: a lie that takes hold and can’t be undone, told by a protagonist who at first doesn’t give a shit about consequences or emotionally manipulating people – in fact, she doesn’t give a shit about anything much at all. So who cares if she lies to her fellow students and says that her Dad is dead – they’re in America, her family is from the UK, no one will ever know…
Charlotte’s detached, almost emotionless narration is oddly mesmerising right from start, and of course we wonder why she’s decided to spin this tragic yarn, but the story really takes off when she accidentally falls in love (or something like it) with Katarina, and suddenly she’s in too deep to confess to her lie. Suddenly, the consequences matter. It’s a simple but stunningly effective transition, and the book does such a good job of evoking the awful power of our actions, the way our mistakes shape our development, both positively and negatively, and the frankly brutal period of self-discovery that takes place in our early 20s. This novel goes straight for the jugular – it’s stark and shocking and never shies away from the cruel complexities of human nature – but it does also have a heart, and I surprised myself by how much I felt for these fierce, lost characters trying to figure out who they are.
There’s a location shift to Italy that somehow softens the story, at least at first – the idyllic descriptions have an almost Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead-esque quality, a sun-soaked interlude before Charlotte’s house of cards comes crashing down. It’s a really clever tone-change, and it adds another dimension to an already nuanced story. It takes the book beyond ‘campus novel’ territory and gives a glimpse of how rich and wide this author’s skillset is.
The prose is sharp and fresh throughout the novel; the writing gets under your skin and pulls you into the story in a way that makes for a compelling reading experience. I devoured this book in a few delicious gulps, not wanting to tear myself away from the tantalising spikes of Charlotte’s narrative. Blank Canvas reminded me of books by writers such as Chloe Ashby (particularly her first novel, Wet Paint), and Madeleine Gray, but it also feels excitingly original. I’d definitely read more by this author, and I’m looking forward to seeing what comes next!
Blank Canvas by Grace Murray is published by Penguin Fig Tree and is available to purchase here.

















