The Fell: A Novel

By Sarah Moss

“A slim, tense page-turner . . . I gulped The Fell down in one sitting.”
—Emma Donoghue, author of The Pull of the Stars

From the award-winning author of Ghost Wall and Summerwater, Sarah Moss's The Fell is a riveting novel of mutual responsibility, personal freedom, and the ever-nearness of disaster.

At dusk on a November evening, a woman slips through her garden gate and turns up the hill. Kate is in the middle of a two-week mandatory quarantine period, a true lockdown, but she can’t take it anymore—the closeness of the air in her small house, the confinement. And anyway, the moor will be deserted at this time. Nobody need ever know she’s stepped out.

Kate planned only a quick walk—a stretch of the legs, a breath of fresh air—on paths she knows too well. But somehow she falls. Injured, unable to move, she sees that her short, furtive stroll will become a mountain rescue operation, maybe even a missing person case.

Sarah Moss’s The Fell is a story of mutual responsibility, personal freedom, and compassion. Suspenseful, witty, and wise, it asks probing questions about how close so many live to the edge and about who we are in the world, who we are to our neighbors, and who we become when the world demands we shut ourselves away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780374606053

Sarah Moss

Sarah Moss is the author of the novels The Fell, Summerwater, and Ghost Wall, among other books. Her works have been named among the best books of the year in The Guardian, The Times (London), Elle, and the Financial Times, and have been selected as a New York Times Book Review Editor’s Choice. She was educated at the University of Oxford and now teaches at University College Dublin.

Book preview

nerve endings

I THINK IT’S ready, Ellie says. Her hair, pale, silky, swings over her face as she peers into the oven. You get the plates, Dad. You’ll need the oven gloves, Rob hears himself say, and she sighs, as he knew she would. No, really, I thought it would be more fun to get like sixth-degree burns and spend the next four hours screaming in agony in the waiting room at A and E. Fourth degree, he says, there’s nothing after that.

Fourth-degree burns go through skin and underlying tissue to muscle and bone, and are usually painless because the nerve endings are destroyed. You wouldn’t get them from picking up an oven tray. He doesn’t say that. Also, even under current conditions a child with fourth- or even third-degree burns would be seen immediately, though however bad the injury he’d drive her to hospital because ambulance response times are buggered. He doesn’t say that either. The oven gloves need a wash. Will you have my mushrooms and give me your olives, Ellie says, sliding the pizza perfectly competently from the tray to the plate, using the oven gloves to put the tray into the sink where it hisses a little. He likes olives. Of course I will, love, he says. It’s his weekend for giving her whatever she wants, except that they’ve only just swapped toppings, he’s only about to take the first bite, when his phone goes, and he knows before he looks, because it always happens when you don’t want it to – as well as sometimes when you do – which call it is, and he knows he could say no, you can always say no, and he knows he won’t, because you never do, not unless you’ve drunk too much to drive which he hasn’t because he never does, not these days. She looks at him, at the phone vibrating on the counter, threatening to jump, and he walks away from her as he picks it up.

the fourteen days

MATT STANDS BACK to the wall, on the corner, safety off and fingers on the trigger. He won’t see nightfall but he’s going to take Jake down with him if no one else. That fucker. The air around him sucks in, a change in pressure that’s also a sound, and then the bridge at the end of the street implodes gracefully, as if a black hole opened in the river below and pulled it in. Dust boils into the dimming sky. It’s never fully light here. You can never see far enough. There are no shadows to warn you of what’s coming – and here he is, right now; Matt takes aim, waits until the crosshairs are on his friend’s chest, pisses a stream of ammo into Jake as he feels his own strength fade.

He sits back, rolls his shoulders. The light’s changed. He really needs to pee. He’s hungry. He reaches for his phone and messages Jake. Later, yeah? Gotta go. He picks up the phone and on second thoughts leaves it on his desk. It doesn’t have to be in the same room as him, not all the time. He’s not dependent. There’s something weird going on with his neck when he stands up. He winces, stretches until stuff clunks.

It’s when he comes downstairs that he realises he’s the only one in the house. The cat’s sitting on the stairs, waiting, the way that she does when there’s nothing going on. He’s always thought it would be useful at school, to be able to switch yourself off like that, to be either so deep in thought that the total lack of event in your immediate environment is hardly noticeable or so dim that it doesn’t bother you, not that being dim seems to help people tolerate school. When he used to leave in the mornings he often wanted to swap with the cat, spend the day dozing and eating and trotting off to menace other cats in the garden, let the cat sit through assembly and Maths, see how long it takes anyone to notice. There’s a stillness in the house he hasn’t known for weeks, a sense of space that used to be normal after school or if Mum was out in the evening, the place to himself to play his music and fry eggs and cheese sandwiches and sometimes boxes of frozen burgers from the village shop without her on at him to open the windows and wash up before he’s even eaten and she doesn’t understand how he can not think about the cows and the workers in the abattoir who all get PTSD because you would, wouldn’t you, killing animals all day, not to mention if people didn’t eat meat we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place and can’t he at least put the extractor fan on. Hope rises for a moment, that he can maybe at least make a toastie and put some music on, not that he can’t do those things when she’s around but he could do them better, more peacefully, if she’s out, though of course she can’t be out, not even for a walk, not for another six days, seven hours and twenty minutes. Give or take. The fourteen days, he heard her ask on the phone, what time does it end, is it noon or midnight or from when I last saw my colleague, which would have been about five o’clock on Thursday? She’ll be in the garden, must have managed to go out there and get on with something instead of wandering in and out the way she has the last few days, starting what she calls tidying up only the effect is more like messing up and five minutes later stopping to water the plants or put the wash on but not finishing anything and then she can’t find the watering can because she left it on the windowsill, and she put the laundry in the machine two days ago but didn’t start it so now they’re out of towels and she can’t have a bath, which is what she used to do to relax when she was all wound up after a gig or tired after a long shift at the café. Use a dirty one, he said, having never really seen why towels that by definition have been used only to dry newly washed skin can be dirty. You don’t have a bath and then use a dirty towel, she said, and anyway we don’t have money to waste on the hot water, it doesn’t matter. He started the machine – they’re low on washing powder – and decided he’ll just deal with the laundry himself for now. He saw her out by the shed before breakfast yesterday, skipping, like with an actual skipping rope, one he vaguely remembers from years ago with blue-painted smiley-face handles, still in her pyjamas and no socks with her trainers, hair and – other things – bouncing, and she kept getting it wrong, tangling and tripping, until she threw the rope across the patio and thumped her own head with her fists. He knew when the call came that he’d be fine, two weeks of lie-ins and gaming, no sweat, not as if the weather this time of year makes you want to go out anyway even if there was anywhere to go, and he knew it would be harder for her but you don’t expect, he didn’t expect, to see your mum basically losing it, hours spent pacing from the front gate through the house to the bottom of the garden and back, followed by the cat who is interested by people coming in and going out and apparently gratified to have the process on repeat. Try an on-line workout, he said, I’ll help you move the coffee table. You could make bread, couldn’t you, or try knitting again. I know, she kept saying, I know, I should, I just can’t bear – I don’t think I’ve ever spent a whole day inside in my life. You must have done, he said, you’ve been ill, haven’t you? What about when I was born? But neither of them can remember her being ill, not enough to stay in bed, and she says that actually she spent most of her labour with him under an apple tree in the garden of Dad’s parents’ house, that it was helpful to hang on to the branches. Yeah, he said, ew, thanks Mum, so do some more gardening, you know you’re allowed in the garden as long as you don’t come within two metres of the neighbours and they won’t be out there this time of year. I know, she said, I’m making a fuss, I just find this really hard, I knew I would. Not, he thought, as hard as getting sick, not as hard as Deepak’s dad who was in Intensive Care for three weeks or the grandparents of kids in his class who’ve died this year or his Maths teacher who’s back at work but can’t get enough breath for a sentence half the time, compared to that doing the garden instead of going up the fells is actually quite manageable, so how about he games and she does yoga in the garden and they hope neither of them starts with the fever and loss of taste and smell. He takes the mustard from the fridge, opens the jar to make sure he can still smell it, which he can even though there’s barely a scrape left. He’s going to make that toastie, and if she comes in and starts on about washing up and not eating everything when they can’t get to the shops he’ll just make one for her, quarter it on a plate with a sliced apple the way she likes, say nothing. There are crumbs underfoot, he can feel them sticking to his socks. He’ll even sweep the floor, once he’s eaten. He butters the last few slices of bread, finds there isn’t really enough cheese either but it’ll have to do, sets the pan to warm and goes up to get his phone for something to look at while he eats.

He starts his music, hearing it properly and not through his crappy cheap earbuds for the first time in days, though come to think of it Mum hasn’t been playing her own stuff either. He turns it up and then remembers that Samira next door is working nights and turns it down again. The cat sits on the counter and watches as he puts his plate in the dishwasher, singing along, drinks the last of the milk out of the carton and rinses it and puts it in the recycling, plastic lid and cardboard separated the way Mum likes. He might, he thinks, even wash the frying pan, while the music plays, but he leaves it in the sink for now, where there’s a puddle of tea leaves over the plug. It’s not as if Mum’s perfect herself, she must know the tea leaves don’t go down the drain and actually you don’t want them to, which doesn’t mean you want them sitting there, someone’s going to have to deal with it, aren’t they? He taps the strainer into the compost bin, which is overflowing with tea and onion skins and apple cores because it always is. He’s not going to deal with that now either – if she’s in the garden he’s all for leaving her there in peace – but he does fold the laundry he hung yesterday on the rack positioned against the radiator even though Mum still hasn’t turned the heating on. Let’s see if we can hold out even into

Reviews for The Fell

[wiserwisegirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A satisfying quick read. This page turner is written mostly in a stream of consciousness voice. Sarah Moss successfully reveals the inner character of three neighbors. The trio participates in an uncomfortable self examination during the pandemic in the unforgiving setting of lockdown on The Fell. I found myself continuing to think about the symbol of the Raven messenger long after the book was finished. The bird looked over the lost protagonist and helped her sort through a lifetime of bad decisions - from her past. Her young adult son was left alone at home to wonder if he'd ever see his mother again. His internal struggles are with his own present life more than any worries about his missing parent. The neighbor seems to be worried and guilty about what she should be doing to help the currently motherless boy - yet the circumstances seem to put a lot of doubts on a healthy future for her beyond her finances. American English readers will enjoy how the culturally different British language spices up the story. I was provided with an advance copy from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

[missizicks · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I fancied reading a book set during the pandemic. Curious about whether using our collective recent experience as a setting could sustain a novel, I borrowed this slight volume from the library.There are some interesting observations on human nature, but it felt like a first draft to me, and none of the many things the author seemed to be trying to do were well executed. Which is a shame because she can write, and this has enough about it to be a page turner.It's set on a night during Lockdown 2 in November 2020. It uses inner monologue to convey the narrative. Some of the characters are only there so that the author can use this device. Few of the characters are likeable. The main character is supposed to be self isolating but, used to spending whole days out walking on the fells, decides to head onto the moor at night, with unsurprisingly dire consequences.The Fell offers up Pandemic Panic in the Peak District, but wasn't quite the book for me.

[viviennestrauss · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I basically read this from beginning to end - a real page turner and it felt good to read a fast book after a couple of longer ones. Definitely plan on reading more by this author.A great depiction of "early days" of the pandemic.

[thornton37814 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Laid off from her job and uncertain of her finances, Kate's exposure to a virus requires she quarantine for two weeks. Ten days into the quarantine, she can take it no more and decides to go for a walk along the moors. She thinks no one else will see her. She falls and suddenly she envisions her son Matt being left alone but fears legal consequences of her failure to abide by quarantine guidelines facing her when rescuers locate her. In the meantime, Matt cannot find his mother and realizes she broke the quarantine and will face consequences for him. Some sections feature a neighbor named Alice and a rescuer named Rob. The writing style clearly makes this book "literary fiction"--the type critics love but which divides casual readers on whether it is brilliant or a dull read. For me, it took a few chapters to get into the flow, but then it read quickly.

[bumblybee-190414 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I received this book for free from the publisher via Goodreads Giveaways. Sarah Moss can be hit or miss for me. I frequently find that I leave her books confused and feeling stupid, like I was supposed to catch a bunch of things that somehow eluded me while reading. I can handle dense prose, but I can't say I care for big lofty emotional points that I'm meant to pick up and often don't. That wasn't my problem here. Moss is incredibly heavy-handed with the point she's trying to make, making it hard to ignore that her hot take on the pandemic and lockdowns is in fact a cold take. Choosing a middle-road to very clear situations like a pandemic is the antithesis of what I want in a book. An author can introduce nuance in a situation while still advocating for safety measures. Hell, I honestly think I would have felt more toward the story than I did if Kate or one of the other characters were more vehemently anti-PPE, anti-lockdown, etc. As it is, the story is bland and leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth, and not in the good way after a thought-provoking read.The only character I really felt for was Matt, Kate's son. He didn't really seem to have much agency, both because he was a teenager and because of the lockdown. I could have done without the Alice sections altogether, quite frankly, and Rob at least provided a different perspective on things that was refreshing.I do wonder what this little novel might have been if it were a short story instead. There are several sections that I would have removed, and others that I would have replaced with perhaps different scenes. But this is the story we have, and Moss's insistence on delivering a certain message through the book makes this one fall short of her other work.

[ridgewaygirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The pandemic has strained Kate's precarious finances to the breaking point. She and her teenage son are home quarantining when she impulsively breaks the quarantine to go hiking alone one evening on the fell without telling anyone. Moss always writes well and this book is no exception. It was, however, a little heavy-handed, which surprised me as Moss has always been nuanced in how she writes about charged issues. This novel was still enjoyable, with some lovely characters and the sense of people doing their best to do the right thing, but it's not a book I'll return to.

[tangledthread · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This short, dense book explores the consequences of a pandemic lock down on 4 characters in Britain in November 2020. The chapters alternate between four characters: Kate a 40 something single mother who was barely making ends meet before being furloughed from her cafe job due to the pandemic. Matt, her 17 year old son. Alice, her retired neighbor who is financially secure and considered medically fragile due to her recent cancer treatment. And Rob, a member of the Mountain Rescue service.The chapters alternate between these characters and are written as an interior monologue by each. Kate and Matt are stuck in their home for a two week quarantine. Kate is an avid rambler who is used to going up into the hills to clear her head. On day 10 of the quarantine she has reached her limit of isolating at home and decides in the late afternoon to head out for quick walk on the fells. She is well equipped for the environment, but leaves her phone at home and doesn't tell anyone where she is going.Her son, Matt, is estranged from his father and discovers that his Mum is not in the garden or the house as darkness descends outdoors. He suspects that she is out on the fells.Alice sees Kate leaving with her walking gear and wonders what is going on. A widow, she is getting ready to enjoy the warmth of her bed with an electric blanket and a good book when Mathew knocks on her door. After confirming that Kate is missing, she calls the police and activates a rescue service.Rob is a divorced father, enjoying his custody weekend with his teen daughter, when he is called out on the rescue mission for Kate.Through the chapters we learn each character's thoughts about the impact the virus and the lock down on has their lives, and their fears and hopes for the future. Each has serious thoughts about their own mortality. And there is an over arching theme of consequences for decisions that we all make every day. The book is short, but very dense which is characteristic of Moss' most recent books. I can't wait to see what she writes next.

[lauralkeet · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Kate and her son Matt in isolation after she was exposed to covid, and ten days into the required fourteen, Kate is going a bit nuts. She was recently furloughed from her job at a cafe, so she is quite anxious about her finances. Normally she would be spending much more time outdoors, but would now face a stiff fine for venturing beyond her garden. And yet she reaches a point where she can’t take it anymore, and does just that, hiking a nearby trail up to a moor. A neighbor observes her leaving, but she too is stuck indoors because of a health condition. As daylight wanes, Matt becomes increasingly concerned about Kate’s absence, but is afraid to call for help. By this point the reader knows that Kate has been injured and it’s unclear how (or even if) she will get home. The narrative rotates between several voices, each with a partial view of the situation, and their own personal issues to deal with. The feeling of quarantine-induced isolation is palpable, even suffocating. The Fell is a fine example of Sarah Moss’ unique talent for packing a huge amount of suspense into very few pages, while also developing complex and interesting characters.

[nicx27 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The Fell is the story of the Covid lockdown and its far-reaching effects on three people. Kate and her teenage son, Matt, are in quarantine, confined to the house after contact with somebody with the virus. Feeling well during this time only heightens Kate's feelings of being a prisoner in her own home, unable to get out onto the hills near her home. Unable to cope with the oppression any longer, she makes a decision: she will go out anyway. It's quiet out there, nobody will see her. She needs this for her sanity.The other main character is Alice, Kate and Matt's next door neighbour, and in Matt's hour of need she is there for him, despite her own status as vulnerable and shielding from the virus at home. I felt the different statuses of the characters portrayed so well those months of staying at home, never knowing when or if freedom would come.This is a short book but so much of life is between the covers. Sarah Moss has an unusual and unique way of writing. It's a stream of consciousness from the point of view of each character, delving deep into their psyche, their inner feelings, and hitting on everybody's feelings about the difficulties of lockdown, albeit in varying degrees. She hits the nail on the head, from Kate's struggles to Alice's loneliness. I must admit that I didn't always find the writing style easy; I think it needs a lot more concentration because you can't easily pick out dialogue, for instance.Moss writes searing and perceptive narratives which get to the heart of the situation she is writing about. As Kate is stuck on the fell in the dark, injured, mountain rescue are sent to look for her and we follow their rescue operation along with Kate's increasingly scrambled and pain-induced thoughts, Matt's worry about his mum's whereabouts, and Alice's sheltered life on the other side of the wall.What I enjoy most of all about Moss's writing are her descriptions of the minutiae of life, the everyday details. She does it incredibly well. The Fell focuses on just a few hours on a November evening, and is an intense and thoughtful read.