Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting
Published: June 6, 2022
Ah, the anonymity of commuting on the train, where “no one pays anyone else the blindest bit of attention.” Voiced with utter confidence by Iona Iverson, the flamboyant heart, wit, and soul of British author Clare Pooley’s second novel, these words indicate a serious inability to read the room – or, rather, a rail car.
Attention is very much being paid on the daily trips to and fro. It’s simply unacknowledged, a bit sheepish, and fueled by assumptions.
What happens, then, when the code of silence between commuters gets cracked – and façades are replaced with facts? “Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting” presents answers aplenty; it’s a buoyant, bright, occasionally brash novel that’s equal parts funny and poignant.
The story begins in the late 2010s with 57-year-old Iona – in high heels and favorite tweed get-up – catching the 8:05 into London, faithful pug Lulu by her side. Novelty is not welcome in Iona’s commute: She’s timed her walk and platform wait down to the minute, and she heads to the same seat in the same compartment day in and day out.
Iona’s distaste for novelty extends beyond the tracks. Current workplace trends baffle: She wants no part of working from home; she prefers the office interactions with younger colleagues at the magazine where she’s been employed for decades. Her dismissive millennial boss encourages “hot desking,” which, in Iona’s view, is just “corporate speak for sharing.” Most worrisome: She’s about to receive some “360-degree feedback” a perplexing HR exercise that feels overwrought.
Once on the train, Iona settles into her seat and takes mental note of her fellow riders, many of whom she’s nicknamed. Across from her sits Smart-But-Sexist-Manspreader who wears exquisite suits and tends to bark loudly into his mobile phone. This morning, however, she’s brought up short: The noise he’s emitting is one of distress. Is the man choking to death?