From the category archives:

The Story of My Face

“I’m waiting for the right person and the right place. When those come together, fit like a key into a lock, then the other person will know it too.”

The Story of My Face

“A marvellously well-crafted book, subtle and measured yet with the powerful tug of deep and dangerous water…” Sarah Waters.
The Story of my Face is the story of Natalie Baron, a teenage girl adrift in the world and looking for someone or something to latch on to. Her seemingly innocent involvement with Barbara Hern and her family, followers of an extreme protestant sect, leads to the revelation of a long-kept secret and a devastating series of events which change not only her face but also the course of her life. The Story of My Face is both a stunning psychological thriller and the archaeology of an accident which shaped a life.

The Story of my Face was long-listed for the 2002 Orange Prize and is currently in development as a feature film with True West Films.

McArthur & Co are re-issuing The Story of My Face in  April 2012. Order from Munro’s Books

The Story of My Face – comments, reviews, reader’s guides, etc.

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Comments and Reviews

Story of My Face image

Praise for The Story of My Face: “One of the most compelling, unsettling novels I’ve read in ages, which should appeal to fans of classy thrillers and literary fiction alike.” Sarah Waters (Author of Fingersmith) Independent On SundayBooks of the Year. “Natalie’s character is a triumph.. It’s rare to find a book that can not [...]

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About Face

watchingitmelt

The Story of My Face was both easy and difficult to write. It was easy in that Natalie, the main character/narrator, and her story, came to me very forcefully early on in the writing process. I didn’t have too many of the usual writerly doubts. Natalie, albeit vulnerable and needy, has a streak of steely [...]

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Excerpt from The Story of My Face

Story of My Face inage

I’m thirteen. I’m wearing my school uniform and I carry a green duffle bag, first properly, with the cord across my chest, then in my hand, grazing the ground, then clasped with both arms to my midriff. It’s a spring afternoon and I’m walking in the Avenues, where bright green borders of grass separate the [...]

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