I suspect I’m drawn to adoption narratives because of the way they can make concrete a vague sense of loss and yearning some of us feel as a result of early maternal neglect. It’s one of the themes of my forthcoming novel, Matilda Windsor Is Coming Home, and its follow-up, 100 Candles, my current WIP. In fact, I read/reread the two memoirs reviewed in this post as research for the latter. The other book is a debut novel offered to me by the publisher.
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Helen and the Grandbees by Alex Morrall
Helen flees an abusive family, but London’s archways are no place for a guileless teenage girl. After giving up her baby for adoption, she builds a life for herself as best she can. Twenty years on, her daughter seeks her out and, although the relationship continues across a couple more decades, Ingrid is less interested in her mother than in the African heritage of the father Helen refuses to tell her about.
Initially in awe of her smart, poised and beautiful daughter, she’s appalled when Ingrid, decides to leave Andrew, the warm-hearted father of her young daughter, for the more volatile Kingsley, who fathers her son. But if she wants to stay in touch with Ingrid, she has to respect her choices, however misguided they may seem. It’s a small price to pay for the opportunity to be part of her grandchildren’s childhoods in a way that wasn’t possible with Ingrid. But when Ingrid discovers her secret, and Helen has concerns for her granddaughter’s safety, she might need to intervene more actively than she’s done in the past.
Alex Morrall’s debut novel addresses complex issues of race and identity within a compassionate portrayal of trauma-induced mental health difficulties. Thanks to publishers Legend Press for my review copy.
Initially in awe of her smart, poised and beautiful daughter, she’s appalled when Ingrid, decides to leave Andrew, the warm-hearted father of her young daughter, for the more volatile Kingsley, who fathers her son. But if she wants to stay in touch with Ingrid, she has to respect her choices, however misguided they may seem. It’s a small price to pay for the opportunity to be part of her grandchildren’s childhoods in a way that wasn’t possible with Ingrid. But when Ingrid discovers her secret, and Helen has concerns for her granddaughter’s safety, she might need to intervene more actively than she’s done in the past.
Alex Morrall’s debut novel addresses complex issues of race and identity within a compassionate portrayal of trauma-induced mental health difficulties. Thanks to publishers Legend Press for my review copy.
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
by Jeanette Winterson
A memoir. I’m not keen on memoir, but I plucked this from the library shelves not long after it was published in 2011. I loved it. Particularly for the depiction of the monstrous unloved and unloving mother which I flagged in one of my early blog posts. (Click on the image at the top to go there.)
I loved it too on a second reading in August. A fiercely intelligent, poignant and humorous account of a writer’s quest to make shaky peace with her painful past. The adopted daughter and only child of a working-class couple in the Elim Pentecostal church in Accrington near Manchester, Jeanette finds refuge in the literature section of the library and in love for another girl, both considered taboo. She fights her way to Oxford University, and from there to authorial eminence, but fighting, stemming from defiance of her sense of unlovableness, thwarts her search for love. Bravely, she mines her madness, the split her off part of herself, to come to an honest ending where happiness is real, but provisional. A few things I’d forgotten from my previous reading: northernness as a thing; why a feminist would vote for Margaret Thatcher; Jeanette’s love versus Mrs Winterson’s hate for her body; the naming of the attachment theme.
I loved it too on a second reading in August. A fiercely intelligent, poignant and humorous account of a writer’s quest to make shaky peace with her painful past. The adopted daughter and only child of a working-class couple in the Elim Pentecostal church in Accrington near Manchester, Jeanette finds refuge in the literature section of the library and in love for another girl, both considered taboo. She fights her way to Oxford University, and from there to authorial eminence, but fighting, stemming from defiance of her sense of unlovableness, thwarts her search for love. Bravely, she mines her madness, the split her off part of herself, to come to an honest ending where happiness is real, but provisional. A few things I’d forgotten from my previous reading: northernness as a thing; why a feminist would vote for Margaret Thatcher; Jeanette’s love versus Mrs Winterson’s hate for her body; the naming of the attachment theme.
Red Dust Road by Jackie Kay
Another memoir about adoption for my character, Gloria, which, having heard snatches on the radio were first published in 2010, I thought I’d also enjoy. While I did, I was surprised at the simplicity of the poet’s prose, which reads more like a chat she’d have with her parents. But what would Gloria make of it?
I think she’d like the lack of fuss about being gay, and hope her son’s experience might be similar. She’d enjoy – and slightly envy – Jackie’s closeness to her adoptive parents and hope she could be part of her son and his husband’s life in a similar way. The fact of Jackie being black and brought up by a white couple – although not mentioned, contrary to what became considered good practice some years later – wouldn’t resonate personally (although I think this influenced my characterisation of social worker Janice in the prequel, Matilda Windsor Is Coming Home), but she’d be saddened by the accounts of racism from outside the family and the close-knit communist community in Glasgow and beyond.
I think, in contrast to Jeanette Winterson’s experience, Gloria would like the lack of fuss about being adopted. She’d pick up on Jackie Kay’s biological mother’s mental health issues and, perhaps latterly, the pleasure of connecting with her half-siblings, but she wouldn’t be sharing this with her book group.
I think she’d like the lack of fuss about being gay, and hope her son’s experience might be similar. She’d enjoy – and slightly envy – Jackie’s closeness to her adoptive parents and hope she could be part of her son and his husband’s life in a similar way. The fact of Jackie being black and brought up by a white couple – although not mentioned, contrary to what became considered good practice some years later – wouldn’t resonate personally (although I think this influenced my characterisation of social worker Janice in the prequel, Matilda Windsor Is Coming Home), but she’d be saddened by the accounts of racism from outside the family and the close-knit communist community in Glasgow and beyond.
I think, in contrast to Jeanette Winterson’s experience, Gloria would like the lack of fuss about being adopted. She’d pick up on Jackie Kay’s biological mother’s mental health issues and, perhaps latterly, the pleasure of connecting with her half-siblings, but she wouldn’t be sharing this with her book group.
That’s it for October. Click on the image to see all this month’s reviews. And if you catch this on Halloween, you’ll be able to see my seasonal link tree, complete with airborne witches and bats!
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