The House We Grew Up In

My streak of reading really good books lately continues with this one. I took a chance when this was on sale awhile back since the story sounded intriguing and the cover art drew me in. The story revolves around the Bird family who inhabits a comfortable home in the Cotswolds. The mother, Lorelei, is full of a youthful exuberance that seems to be more childish than childlike at times. The four children are raised in this \”perfect\” family, but the cracks in the foundation are felt even when not yet seen. Told in the present day when the family is coming together to bury Lorelei, there are flashbacks to events over the years along with emails Lorelei has been exchanging with a friend she met online which give a glimpse into her final weeks. There is a feeling of tension and suspense as the reader tries to piece together what has transpired to change this family from a close-knit one to a family geographically scattered and emotionally estranged. A great read that is hard to put down once started. Subject matter of hoarding is explored with sensitivity and a lack of sensationalism that I very much appreciated. Loved it from beginning to end.

This was one of the best books that I have read this year. Beautifully written, it introduces the reader to the Bird family who live in a picturesque village in the Cotswalds in a charming house. The slightly eccentric Lorelei lives there with her husband, Colin, with their four children. They appear to lead an almost idyllic existence, happy in each others company. They even have an ongoing family tradition: annual Easter egg hunts. They seem to be an almost enviable family, until one day something happens that will change each of their lives profoundly. How their lives change and what happens to them and why is revealed slowly and inexorably.The author expertly and delicately peels the layers back for the reader, advancing the heartbreaking family drama that unfolds. Central to it all is Lorelei, whose life goes so out of control that she is unable to help her husband or her children, much less herself. This book is a sensitive look at why people end up as they are. Sometimes, they end up as collateral damage, when their mother finds herself unable to cope with the unkindest cut of all. This is a a sensitively drawn portrait of a family in so much pain, it goes off the rails. It is about how its individual members find ways of coping with that pain, even if they do not fully understand how or why they got to that point in the first place. The author brilliantly brings it all to a head in the final denouement that makes the reasons for all that happened to this family come together in one moment of startling clarity. Bravo!

Look, I enjoyed this book, I did. I have been reading Lisa Jewell since the days of her wonderful domestic romantic drama novels. But something in this book made me realise, maybe she\’s not putting in the effort she maybe should be. I live in Australia, in Sydney,and have done for twenty years. One of the characters in this book lives in Sydney for a time. She lives in \”a converted terrace house in Sydney\’s Spanish Quarter\”. Ok, first off, there isn\’t one. We don\’t get a whole lot of Spanish people here (no clue why), and when we do, there\’s no Spanish Quarter they have created. Best explanation for this is a one-block stretch of Goulburn St, near Kent, which years ago had three or four Spanish-related restaurants, and at one time there was a sign on a bar there that said Spanish Quarter (although I have never heard anyone refer to it as that – it\’s just called the CBD). There are absolutely, categorically no terrace houses anywhere near that area. Only newbuild Meriton apartment blocks, a couple of faceless hotels, and some tacky souvenir stores (you get the picture – it\’s nothing special). Maybe if she had said \”Greek area\”, \”Vietnamese enclave\” or \”Italian suburb\”, I could have overlooked it. Without needing to be named, I can tell you that she might possibly be referring to Dulwich Hill, Marrickville and Leichhardt, respectively, which all have at least some terrace houses left, so I could have just assumed it was that and been satisfied. Then, her British boyfriend brings her a Creme Egg – supposedly a gift from home, that he had to go out of his way to find, and that was expensive. Ummmmm no. We all grew up with Creme Eggs, they are stocked in every single supermarket and always have been since my childhood, and they cost about 50 cents each. Maybe a dollar come Easter (yes they are available here year round). There are lots of wonderful British treats that are (or have been in the past) harder to locate – Jaffa Cakes! Twiglets! PG Tips! But no, Creme Eggs are most definitely not one of them. Has she even been to Australia? Also, the auther referred to Beth\’s Mary Janes as sandals. What? Are we thinking of the same shoes? My point is not that these details matter – they don\’t in the least, not to the the plot anyway. But the author and the publishers have just skipped over these details, thinking \”Ah, close enough.\” No, not close enough. It\’s as bad as having typos or punctuation errors. It makes me wonder what else you glossed over, what other erroneous details I might have missed. It takes me out of the story, and makes me dislike (and not respect as much) the author for not considering the details of the piece as a priority. For thinking her readers may not notice, or care. It\’s just disappointing, that\’s all. Tldr: Great book, usually great author. Does not prioritise details, makes me respect her less.

When I started reading this novel, I was excited enough to think I might let a friend know about it. And by the time I got to the middle, I\’m glad that I waited. I don\’t know about you, but this story was slightly annoying, seeming to grind along with the heroine\’s indefatigable self-defeating foibles, including incessant shopping and hoarding afterwards. I mean, it\’s hard to read about hoarding for a few hundred pages. Plus, the characters do strange things – admittedly, we all have families like that, but this one is pushing it. Then, inexplicably, they forgive each other quickly after years of estrangement. It seemed a little forced to me and the ending wound down rather than ended. That\’s my take on it anyhow. A promising start but draggy to the end.

I\’ve now read four Lisa Jewell novels, which have ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. Very hit and miss. I\’ve enjoyed two, and really disliked two. The one I\’ve enjoyed most was Then She Was Gone, and this one has to be by far the worst. A story about a family of misfits, not one of them even remotely likeable, except for Tia. She was the only one I had any feelings for whatsoever, and I felt sorry for her. I couldn\’t have cared less for the rest of the irritating bunch. The thin plot is ridiculously implausible, but the hint right through, almost, of a dark secret turned out at the end to be a damp squib that most people would have sorted out and forgotten about. As for the issue between the two sisters, I cannot for one moment believe that forgiveness would ever have been given. Indeed, I know of a family where this happened, and many years on, the bitterness is as alive and kicking as at the outset. The plodding, slow pace was reminiscent of trying to work my way through War and Peace, and the jumping between times and places was unutterably confusing. The only good thing about this book was that it is well written in terms of grammar and spelling, and The End. It\’s really put me off reading anything further from this author, it\’s just too much of a lucky dip.

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