The author of the seasonal quartet projects her exceptional state-of-the-nation storytelling on to a dystopian tale of a brutal Britain run by totalitarian forces

There is, inevitably, a sense of loss that Ali Smith’s seasonal quartet (lengthened into five books by 2022’s Companion Piece) is now over. These novels, as close to livestreamed literature as the technology would allow, were each masterful works of deeply moral writing; together, they built into something like a handbook for life in the 21st century. Gliff, her follow-up, takes the logical next step from these up-to-the-minute novels and is set in a dystopian near future. The story is narrated by Bri, a characteristically precocious and logomaniacal Smith avatar, non-binary and in their early teens when the novel opens. Bri and their sister, Rose, find themselves alone and unwelcome in a more-or-less identifiable Britain when a family emergency calls their mother away.

Bri and Rose are “Unverifiables” – a subclass in a culture that has taken the hostile environment to dreadful extremes. It’s not clear whether they are excluded on grounds of nationality, race or because, as a result of a headstrong and idealistic mother, they have not submitted to the model of surveillance capitalism that dominates the country. Their mother thinks smartphones are “liabilities”: “a device that means you see everything through it.” The government has imposed a system whereby the homes of Unverifiables are painted around with red lines, then bulldozed. Bri and Rose are on the run from a force that is both faceless, terrifying and banal in its relentless bureaucracy.