In at the Deep End is a remarkable book which tackles a taboo subject in the lesbian community: abusive relationships. I’ve been out for a decade now, and in that time I’ve been blessed to know immense joy, love, kinship, passion, and creativity through sapphic women. But I’m also friends with women who have experienced physical, sexual, emotional, and financial abuse from female partners. Which is why I am profoundly grateful to Kate Davies for tackling this issue with real care and empathy in her debut novel.
Julia, a civil servant in her twenties, hasn’t had sex for two years. And she’s not that bothered about the dry spell. Julia has never understood what all the fuss was about. Or been a big fan of penises in general. But an encounter with a confident lesbian at a party leads Julia to reassess her sexuality, realising that she’s only interested in women. Delighted to have found what’s missing, Julia throws herself into London’s lesbian scene, joining an LGBT swing dance group and throwing herself into a relationship with Sam – a charismatic artist extremely confident in her sexuality.
Sam sweeps Julia off her feet. Yet their romance is far from perfect, even with all those big feelings. Julia wants a monogamous, committed relationship. Whereas Sam is not only polyamorous, but very much into sadomasochism and extreme kink. Only after Julia has slept with her and become emotionally invested does Sam disclose having a long-term girlfriend in France. Though her friends and parents are concerned by the relationship, Julia has never known a love like this – and is determined to hold onto Sam, no matter how much of herself she loses in the process.
Though In at the Deep End deals with some incredibly difficult themes, it’s a thoroughly entertaining novel. The conversational first person style of Julia’s narrative makes it easy to read. And the darker moments are balanced out with wry, observational humour. Davies is an incredible wit. Her social commentary is consistently insightful and amusing, never in the least bit preachy – though In at the Deep End is unafraid to delve into the politics of abuse.
I’ve never read a sapphic novel where abuse between an F/F couple has been put so fully under the microscope. Having grown up starved for meaningful lesbian representation, I fully understand why so many authors gravitate towards positive representation – stories which challenge misgivings about our community while reflecting the beauty and joy of sapphic life. And even now, when mainstream media continues to position death or suffering as a likely outcome of lesbian life, it’s a radical act for sapphic authors to give their characters a Happily Ever After.
That being said, while Happily Ever After and Happy For Now are an essential plot beat for romance, they’re not the only lesbian stories in real life – nor the only ones worth telling. There’s a world of difference between a TV show written by a straight white man killing off a lesbian character as soon as she finds happiness (I’m looking at you, Joss Whedon) and an #OwnVoices lesbian novel offering a nuanced portrait of abuse that is fully contextualised alongside healthy sapphic relationships and community.
Julia makes friends who show her the ropes (quite literally when figuring out the harness accompanying a strap-on) and model healthy lesbian relationships. Which makes the red flags in her own romance with Sam all the more obvious to the reader, even as Julia writes off her own concerns. Sam gets angry when Julia doesn’t answer her phone immediately; guilts Julia into breaking plans with friends; and becomes increasingly controlling, even telling Julia what to eat and taking choices out of her hands.
Sam is suspicious of Julia’s friends, and especially her therapist. Their relationship shifts from Sam teaching Julia about the joys of lesbian sex into Sam dictating what kind of sex Julia should have – often with little regard for what Julia actually wants. In at the Deep End is a painful read, because the reader knows long before Julia’s prepared to admit it to herself that Sam is abusive.
And In at the Deep End is one of the best depictions of abuse – sapphic or otherwise – that I’ve ever encountered. Because Sam isn’t depicted as a monster. She’s shown to be charming, sexy, romantic, and boundlessly creative. Sam has good qualities and, like all manipulators, ratchets them up to 100 every time her bad behaviour comes close to driving Julia away.
Admittedly, there’s one part of this book I struggled with. Julia’s white. And Sam’s ethnicity is never made explicit, but her description matches the appearance of a light-skinned Black woman, possibly biracial:
“She was probably in her late twenties, tall and angular, with golden skin and short, dark hair, curly on top and shaved at the sides.”
– Kate Davies, In at the Deep End
And the power dynamics of relationships where one participant is white and the other is not are weighted in favour of the white partner. In much the same way that, within heterosexual unions, men benefit from a gendered power imbalance. Race and gender are hierarchies baked into the foundation of our society – which has consequences for interpersonal relationships, even romantic ones.
Black women are massively underrepresented in sapphic fiction, and there are very few depictions of interracial lesbian love in books issued by mainstream publishing houses. If more pluralistic representation were available, perhaps I’d have no problem with Sam’s characterisation.
But given police in this country are much less likely to believe a Black woman is a victim of domestic abuse compared to white women, perceiving us as aggressors even when we’re being victimised, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with a white author making a Black woman the abuser here.
And whereas there were other sapphic characters making it clear abuse didn’t define lesbian community, Sam was one of only three characters whose description makes it clear they’re Black. Another is Julia’s workshy colleague at the civil service. Despite masturbating in the toilets while she’s on the clock, taking sick days because of personal drama, and her own frequent tardiness, Julia describes Uzo as having “the least ambition of anyone I’d ever met.” And given the prevalence of stereotypes about Black people as inherently violent and lazy, I wasn’t always comfortable with Sam or Uzo’s characterisation.
In at the Deep End is colourblind – by which I mean, beyond that brief description of Sam’s physical appearance, her ethnicity has no bearing on her experiences. There’s no real purpose to making Sam (as opposed to any of the other characters) a woman of colour, unless it’s intended to further Sam’s exotic appeal to Julia. After all, Julia has never experienced a lesbian relationship or polyamory or kink until this relationship. It could be argued that Sam’s Blackness further highlights the differences between the world she introduces Julia to, and Julia’s everyday life, which is whiter and more conservative.
Still, In at the Deep End is an outstanding novel and fully deserving winner of the Polari Prize. The tight pacing, smooth style, and high stakes mean there is never a dull moment. It’s frank and playful about sex.
Plus, Julia is a very compelling protagonist. Her arc feels real and urgent. Julia’s optimism and excitement are entirely characteristic of a newly-out lesbian, which makes her vulnerability to Sam’s charms totally convincing. Importantly, Julia isn’t perfect – nor should she have to be for the reader to recognise her as the victim of abuse. She’s messy, at times chaotic, and painfully human. It would take a heart of stone to read this novel and feel untouched by her story.
Even someone with no previous understanding of the issues explored could not come away from In at the Deep End with the impression that abuse is the norm within lesbian relationships. However, the novel acknowledges this specific reality for what it is: a problem within our community as well as wider society. And just as positive lesbian representation triggers moments of personal revelation for readers, so too does this story about abuse. Perhaps some women will read this novel, recognise Sam’s red flags in their own partners, and reassess their own relationships. Such is the power of fiction.
Lou Morgan 