Mother in Law: Inside stories

As we enter the holiday season I thought I’d tell you what I’ve been reading recently. 

In my half-hearted quest to get through Rory Gilmore’s reading list I read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. In the latest of my internet shopping fails, I managed to buy the version with French reading notes in the margin, which I suppose added a certain je ne sais quoi to the story. For those that don’t know (I didn’t), Fahrenheit 451 is set in a world where books are banned. In fact, ‘firemen’ in the story are men who attend houses where there are reports of books being held, and burn them. Instead of reading and philosophising, screens and instant gratification are the way the authorities keep everyone in a constant state of happiness. Every teenager in your life should be bought a copy, and it is quite a short book so hopefully it will hold their attention.

Intermezzo is Sally Rooney’s most recent novel. Like everyone else, we watched Normal People during lockdown. My mum was ahead of us and made a throwaway comment along the lines that she ‘couldn’t wait for us to see what happens’. Reader, nothing happened. I find all her books a bit like this. The narrative arc is quite flat. But I was ready this time and leaned into the poetic writing and the perception with which (in this book) she captures the nuances of a sibling relationship. How rivalry, power shifts, love and hate can affect such a relationship in tiny ways on a day-to-day basis, creating rifts and wounds with the ones who should (and probably do) understand you the most. If she could just use speech marks though.

In further evidence (for the regular commenters) that my poor husband is a downtrodden hen-pecked shadow of the man he would be without me, sometimes I really hate it when he buys me books. I feel like he’s trying to control my consumption of knowledge and thereby my thoughts. Yes, I am an ungrateful wretch and he’s never even attempted to control me. Always best to remain vigilant though. So when he presented me with Going Home by Tom Lamont, which he had chosen and was about ‘lads’ and fatherhood I put it straight on the ‘TBR but not right now’ pile. When I eventually got around to it, towards the end I had to wake him up because I was crying so hard. Most books go on the bookcase downstairs when I’m done with them, some go straight to the charity shop. This one has stayed on my bedside cabinet because I wanted to keep it close to me for a bit longer. I loved it.

Another book that is kept close at all times is India Knight’s Beauty Edit: What Works When You are Older. I’m sure she’s done herself out of a few sales with that title. It almost entirely rules out giving it to someone as a gift. But it is so good. I had to tab it up with sticky notes like I did An Inspector Calls for my GCSE English. She is so clear with her recommendations. For my ‘issues’ I’ve done well with the Garnier caffeine and banana powder eye cream, the Rene Guinot face mask, the Dior concealer, the Jones Road beauty balm and the Fenty mascara. I refer to it every time an item of makeup needs replacing. 

I nearly didn’t buy The List of Suspicious Things by Jennie Godfrey because the cover is in the style of the Thursday Murder Club and the Twyford Code and I was worried it was a cheap alternative. But I loved it. It is about a search by two young girls for the Yorkshire Ripper – but it isn’t as grim as it sounds. Again, though, there were uncontrolled tears, and this time on a busy train. Unlike the Rooney books, it has a very satisfying format, rising to a climax and having all the loose bits tied up at the end.    

And what about me over the summer? I’m looking forward to Shy Creatures by Clare Chambers (although it can’t possibly be as good as Small Pleasures). I’m going to read Under the Radar by Dr Emilia Misheva about girls with autism (the subject of a future blog). And from Rory’s list, perhaps I’ll go for Terms of Endearment, as I haven’t seen the film, or maybe address the shameful lack of Dickens on my ‘read’ pile. Not to sound like someone from Fahrenheit 451 but it’s hard to stick with Dickens when Gillian Anderson et al cover it all so well on TV. 

Some facts and identities have been altered in the above article