In the early chapters, the novel struggles for a sense of direction. It seems clear that the two narrative threads will coalesce, but it is not obvious exactly how this will occur. For much of the book, the two families remain separate; what draws them together in the end is a natural disaster caused by erosion to the coastline.

As the book finds its rhythm, Fitzpatrick slips effortlessly between her characters’ perspectives and skilfully inhabits their thoughts. At one point, for example, upon having to explain herself to her parents, Rosie’s throat feels ‘laced up like a school shoe’. The young, precocious, and introverted Sam is also beautifully depicted, as is his anxiety about the state of his parents’ relationship.

The pleasure in reading The Break derives from the frequently elegant ways in which Fitzpatrick describes her world. The wind on the verandah, she tells us, was ‘seeking out instruments to play’. And later, ‘The sky juggled the sun and the moon.’ The book is a nuanced study of characters, relationships, and landscape. It is not so much about what happens, as it is about how the characters respond to their circumstances.

Quiet, refined, and captivating, The Break explores the emotional fissures that open up inside and between people, and, ultimately, how those rifts are healed.