Cherry Beach | Laura McPhee-Browne #AWW

I've been dragging my feet about writing (or finishing) off several reviews for books read a month ago. Part of the problem has been a recent return to work which has left me wondering how on earth I used to fit everything in before Covid-19 came along and slowed things down for a while. But the other part is having little desire to say anything right now.

I enjoyed Cherry Beach. It was angsty and full of the drama of young adult friendships and relationships. From my vantage point (many years away from this often torturous period of life) I could appreciate the difficulty one has in moving on from childhood friendships that fail to crossover into an adult relationships. It's not easy to let go people you no longer share anything in common with, except some childhood memories. Despite the love, the shared experiences and all the best intentions, some friendships do not go forward. And that's okay. But it's not always easy to know this when you're young, or to know how to do so gracefully. The graceful part is especially hard to negotiate.

The common ground can disappear, different experiences move you away from each other and a friendship that once enriched and supported you, becomes a drag on your energies and brings you down. How do you move on? How do you protect yourself from any fallout? How do you honour what you once had?

Hetty and Ness are two such friends, trying to navigate their way through the twenty-something phase. They leave behind Melbourne (and their shared childhood) to have a year living overseas in Canada. Their lives veer off into vastly different directions. 

What happens next is exquisitely bittersweet, yet captures the intense emotions of young adulthood perfectly. The insecurity, the anxiety, and the hugeness of what life might become. Which road to take, who to be with, who to trust and love and who not to. Sadly, some young people set off down a road of self-destruction and those on the sidelines can do very little to stop it. Adult responsibilities and choices can be a burden or you can embrace them. This is that story.

This a debut novel by Laura McPhee-Browne. She is a social worker in Melbourne and her writing has appeared in a variety of journals and magazines.

The gorgeous cover art is by Emma Currie.

All Happy Families: A Memoir by Herve Le Tellier

All Happy Families wasn't the memoir I was hoping it would be. Le Tellier is upfront from the beginning, letting us know that he doesn't feel love for his parents. I was therefore expecting a heartfelt exploration into all the whys and wherefores of his troubled childhood. Instead, we simply got a recital of the family tree with some anecdotes about things that were said and done.

Don't get me wrong, Herve's family was pretty ghastly. His mother would now be diagnosed with a pretty major personality disorder and his step father with codependency. His biological father obviously spent the rest of his just being grateful that he got out. Herve had lots of very good reasons to distance himself from the family of his birth as soon as he could, but the problem was, he also kept us, the reader, at a distance.

Memoirs, these days, are expected to provide various psychological insights as well as catharsis for the author. One of the very best that I've read in recent times is, Nadja Spiegleman's I'm Supposed to Protect You From All This. Le Tellier's book has obviously been cathartic for him, but I didn't feel like I got to know him at all. His lack of curiosity about why his mother and other family members acted the way they did was, well, curious. This complete detachment was no doubt his survival technique, but I wanted him to draw this bow too and show us how he had embraced his life away from the parental home. How does one go on to develop empathy, caring kindness and healthy relationships when one has a childhood lacking in all of the above?

Le Tellier does state at the end that he doesn't 'know what it might mean to anyone other than me. But by putting into words to my story, I've understood that sometimes a child's only choice is to escape.'

I guess what I was hoping for was some insights into the lingering after effects of such an upbringing (there are always lingering after effects). The decisive breaks away from his childhood experience as well as the personal realisations that he must have made throughout his adult life would have been fascinating to read. Perhaps this is just the first step for Le Tellier in this process or maybe he's simply not as introspective as I am!

I also chose to read this book now thanks to Paris in July. Casual mentions of some antique furniture and a country house with references to French history and pop culture were interesting, but the place of origin was ultimately less significant than the family of origin.

Favourite or Forget: Knowing a less extreme version of Le Tellier's mother, made this book interesting, with my own personal insights coming from Le Tellier's example.

Facts:

• Translated in 2019 by Adriana Hunter a British translator of over 60 French novels.

Book 13 of 20 Books of Summer Winter
Sydney 24℃
Dublin 20℃

How It Feels To Float by Helena Fox

In recent times I have been mostly writing quick reviews for the kids books I read on Goodreads, but every now and again I read one that I feel is worthy of a bigger post here. A book that I want to spend more time with, thinking about it - it's impact on me, the writing, the story, the characters.

This is one of those books.

How It Feels to Float came to me highly recommended - not only by my rep, but also by the mother of the author, Helena Fox.

The Pan Macmillan blurb says,

Biz knows how to float. She has her people, posse, her mum and the twins. She has Grace. And she has her dad, who tells her about the little kid she was, and who shouldn't be here but is. So Biz doesn't tell anyone anything. Not about her dark, runaway thoughts, not about kissing Grace or noticing Jasper, the new boy. And she doesn't tell anyone about her dad. Because her dad died when she was seven. And Biz knows how to float, right there on the surface - normal okay regular fine.

Dark, runaway thoughts and floating are all clues that this seemingly regular teen story about not fitting in, feeling awkward about one's body, one's sexuality, social gaffs, drinking, kissing the wrong people and kissing the right people at the wrong time is going to move into heavier territory at some point.

Fairly soon we realise that Biz, our extraordinary protagonist, is clearly experiencing life a little differently to everyone around her. She floats, or dissociates out of her body when things get too stressful, too awkward or too weird to cope with. She has visits from her dead dad, a man who was obviously struggling with his own major mental health issues in the lead up to his death.

Mental health, illness, sexual confusion, grief and loss are all big topics in young people's fiction right now, and a part of me nearly groaned out loud when I realised where this book was heading. But within a few chapters, I was hooked by Fox's poetic language and Biz's moving, authentic story.

I also loved the locations - all around the Illawarra region plus the train trip out west to Cootamundra, Temora and Wagga that were woven naturally into the story. I feel it is so important for us to have stories that reflect our own lives, in places we know intimately, so that we can own the messages they have to tell us and not just push them away as things that happen to other people, over there somewhere far away from us.

Without reading the author's acknowledgements at the end, you could still fairly safely assume that the author has had first hand experience with mental health issues. Her descriptions of Biz's thinking and reactions are so heartfelt, instinctive and genuine that they can only come from personal knowledge.

Biz's descent and torment are sympathetically drawn as is her search for a safe emotional harbour. Eventually this becomes a story about how to be anchored, or grounded and how be present, instead of floating away, perhaps permanently.

How it Feels to Float was an intense read, that drew me in, gradually, compulsively, urgently until I was left feeling like I had just read one of the best YA's I've read in a very long time.

Hot Milk by Deborah Levy

I am proud to say that I managed to read half of this year's Booker shortlist before the winner was announced.

Do Not Say We Have Nothing was an epic multi-generational family saga, His Bloody Project was a psychological historical fiction crime story, but Hot Milk was...?

Two days later, I'm still not sure what it was.

Hot Milk was definitely the one that came from somewhere completely different though.

I nearly gave up on it at one point, but there was something about the sandy, salty, grungy coastal area of Spain that Levy described and something about the passive-aggressive mother/daughter relationship that kept drawing me back in.

There was a hint of disquiet - who was watching who and who was studying who? A suggestion of danger or dread hung in the air. Careless actions and hypochondria dripped off every page.

I read some reviews that used the word 'dreamy' to describe the pace of this book as well as the narrator's view of the world, but I found it murkier than that. Fear and pain kept this story going. And hidden selves.

The numerous references to breast feeding and maternal nurturing gave us clues to understanding the title. Mythology and story telling also cropped up as themes. The constant reference to medusa's and their stings, suggested that Levy was playing around with whole worlds of symbolism - a mask, unresolved father issues, female rage, nihilism?

There was probably more going on behind this simple story than first met the eye, but it's wasn't easy to discover. It seemed light weight, but it wasn't.

It's after affects are lingering far longer than a simple story about a mother/daughter holiday in Spain has any right to. Levy carefully kept us off balance all the way through and the climax was worth waiting for. Sort of.

But still I have some doubts...I'm willing to accept that there are layers to be mined, but what's the point?

Have you read any Levy before?
Is this meandering, figurative style how she usually approaches her story-telling?