Claire Adam’s sophomore novel Love Forms arrives four years after her celebrated debut Golden Child, and it immediately establishes itself as a profound meditation on the enduring consequences of decisions made in youth. Where her first novel explored the complexities of family life in contemporary Trinidad, Love Forms takes a more expansive geographical and temporal approach, following fifty-eight-year-old Dawn Bishop as she grapples with a secret that has shaped four decades of her existence.
The novel opens with Dawn living alone in a cramped terraced house in Brockley, London, working at a lettings agency—a far cry from the privileged life she once knew as part of Trinidad’s wealthy Bishop family. Her sons, Finlay and Oscar, have grown up and moved on with their lives, and her recent divorce has left her questioning not just her immediate future, but the fundamental choices that brought her to this point. The missing piece that haunts her is a daughter she gave birth to at sixteen in Venezuela, a child she was forced to give up for adoption in 1980.
A Masterclass in Narrative Structure
Adam demonstrates remarkable technical prowess in her handling of time and memory. Rather than employing a linear chronological structure, she weaves between past and present with the natural fluidity of recollection itself. The narrative unfolds through Dawn’s perspective in a way that mirrors how trauma and regret actually function in human consciousness—surfacing unexpectedly, triggered by seemingly mundane moments, and carrying the full emotional weight of lived experience.
The author’s background growing up in Trinidad proves invaluable here. Her depiction of 1980s Trinidad during the oil boom years feels authentic and lived-in, capturing both the prosperity and the social constraints that would have made Dawn’s teenage pregnancy scandalous enough to require such drastic measures. The contrast between the Trinidad of Dawn’s youth—where her family’s wealth could arrange a secret journey to Venezuela—and the crime-ridden, economically struggling Trinidad she encounters as an adult adds layers of complexity to her homecoming scenes.
The Geography of Memory and Loss
One of the novel’s most compelling aspects is how Adam uses physical geography to mirror emotional terrain. Dawn’s search for her daughter takes her literally across the Caribbean—from London back to Trinidad, then to Venezuela, and through various online forums connecting birth mothers with adoptees. But these physical journeys serve as metaphors for the more challenging internal voyage toward self-acceptance and understanding.
The Venezuela sections are particularly powerful, especially when Dawn finally returns to the now-ruined house where she gave birth. Adam’s description of this pilgrimage—traveling in a rickety six-seater plane with her brother Warren to visit a location that exists now only in fragments—achieves genuine emotional resonance. The physical decay of the place where such a pivotal moment occurred serves as a poignant reminder of how time transforms even our most significant memories.
Complex Family Dynamics and Cultural Authenticity
Adam excels at portraying the intricate web of family relationships within Trinidad’s Indian and mixed-race communities. The Bishop family, with their fruit juice empire and old-money status, represents a particular stratum of Caribbean society that is rarely explored in contemporary literature. Dawn’s brothers, Warren and Ryan, her mother’s protective yet controlling nature, and the family’s complicated relationship with their Venezuelan workers all feel psychologically authentic.
The dialogue throughout the novel captures the rhythms and cadences of Trinidadian speech without ever feeling forced or performative. When Warren tells Finlay, “Never apologise, never explain! Like the Queen! And if ever you’ve made a mistake? Don’t say it!” or when Dawn’s mother declares, “But you are my child! I am your mother! Of course I will come and see you!” these voices ring with genuine authority.
Where the Novel Stumbles
Despite its many strengths, Love Forms by Claire Adam occasionally suffers from pacing issues, particularly in its middle sections. Dawn’s various false leads with potential daughters—the scammer in Venezuela, the previous DNA mismatches—begin to feel repetitive rather than building genuine tension. While these episodes effectively demonstrate the psychological toll of her search, they sometimes slow the narrative momentum.
Additionally, some of the contemporary London scenes lack the vivid specificity that makes the Caribbean sections so compelling. Dawn’s relationship with Niall, her Irish friend, feels somewhat underdeveloped, serving more as a plot device than as a fully realized connection. The lettings agency workplace dynamics, while realistic, don’t contribute significantly to our understanding of Dawn’s character or situation.
The Price of Maternal Love
What elevates Love Forms beyond a simple story of adoption reunion is Claire Adam’s unflinching examination of what it means to be a mother when that fundamental relationship has been severed. Dawn’s relationship with her sons is complicated by her secret; she struggles with boundaries, with letting them live their own lives, with the fear that she has failed them as she failed her daughter.
The novel’s title becomes increasingly significant as the story progresses. Love does indeed form in the human body, as Louise Glück’s epigraph suggests, but Adam shows us how that love can also deform, creating patterns of guilt, obsession, and self-destruction that persist across decades. Dawn’s journey is ultimately about learning to forgive herself—not for becoming pregnant as a teenager, but for the choices she made afterward and the way she allowed those choices to define her entire existence.
Literary Achievement and Lasting Impact
Love Forms confirms Claire Adam as a significant voice in contemporary Caribbean literature. Her ability to capture the textures of life across different cultures and time periods, combined with her psychological insight into trauma and family dynamics, places her work in conversation with authors like Jamaica Kincaid and Olive Senior.
The novel’s exploration of international adoption, particularly from the Caribbean during the 1980s, addresses a topic that has received insufficient attention in literary fiction. Adam handles this sensitive subject matter with appropriate nuance, avoiding both sentimentality and judgment while acknowledging the complex social and economic factors that made such arrangements possible.
Final Assessment
Love Forms by Claire Adam is a deeply moving novel that succeeds in spite of its occasional structural weaknesses. Adam’s portrayal of Dawn’s search for her daughter resonates because it captures something universal about the human need for connection and the weight of choices that cannot be undone. The novel asks difficult questions about motherhood, family obligation, and the right to pursue one’s own healing, even when that pursuit might cause pain to others.
While it may not have the tight focus that made Golden Child such a compelling debut, Love Forms demonstrates Adam’s growth as a novelist willing to tackle complex emotional territory. It’s a book that will particularly resonate with readers who have experienced adoption, family separation, or the long-term consequences of decisions made under pressure.
Similar Reading Recommendations
Readers who appreciate Love Forms by Claire Adam might consider:
The Memory of Love by Aminatta Forna – for its exploration of trauma and memory across generations
Washington Black by Esi Edugyan – for its Caribbean setting and themes of identity formation
Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid – for its examination of family dynamics and class tensions
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy – for its complex family relationships and postcolonial perspective
Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi – for its generational scope and exploration of displacement
Love Forms by Claire Adam ultimately succeeds as both a compelling family saga and a sensitive exploration of one woman’s attempt to reconcile with her past. It confirms Claire Adam’s position as an important chronicler of Caribbean experience while addressing universal themes of love, loss, and the possibility of redemption.