What is time? It has been defined as the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole. It is, of course, a measurement or a way to compartmentalise one’s day, week, or mortality. Yet, it’s the former definition that Emily Tsokos Purtill’s debut novel, Matia, so meticulously explores.
As explorations go, it is necessarily intricate and very much anchored in Joyce Carol Oates’ claim that the regional voice is the universal voice. With some handy and necessary markers in the form of a family tree and two Greek glossaries to begin proceedings, we are then led into the world of Sia, her daughter, Koula, her granddaughter, Athena, and her great-granddaughter, Clara.
Sia carries four prophecies and four pieces of protective jewellery, or Matia, for each generation. And yet, when it comes to intergenerational trauma, immigration and the female experience, past and present, it’s clear there’s a bigger story here at every turn. The macro made micro, over and over, in search of hope, not so much the end of a story as a beginning.
Tsokos Purtill writes patiently and carefully throughout, giving the novel an assured tone. As debuts go, it’s pretty much everything an intelligent reader would want. It’s ambitious and deeply indebted to honouring and acknowledging the individuals in the story and this greater Greek community, replete with all its beliefs and traditions. However, pretending that this is its most significant accomplishment is underselling the challenge of weaving together different points of view, locations, and time scapes. While it’s initially challenging to track these shifts— and here, the chapter headings are a reader’s best friend— by novel’s end, the effect is not so much reading a book as finding threads having spontaneously converged to form fabric. It’s, at times, a richly-rewarding book and a consistently engaging layering of meaning, memory and family legacy.