Whether
or not I like an author depends a lot on which of their books I read
first. In the case of Elizabeth
McCracken, I loved The Giant’s House,
but if I had read Niagara Falls All Over
Again or Bowlaway
first, I probably would not still be reading her books. This book, however, is another winner for me. Marketed as a novel, it’s mostly a memoir and
totally a paean to the author’s beloved but now deceased mother. The first-person narrator is in London
visiting, contemplating and commenting on various sites she had visited with
her mother or would have liked to. Her
mother had mobility issues her entire life, due to cerebral palsy—a diagnosis
that the narrator/daughter was not aware of until she became an adult. The prose here is smart, funny, and touching,
but if you’re looking for a meaty plot, don’t expect to find one here. The narrator also reflects on the craft of
writing and insists that a character’s physical characteristics be
described. I couldn’t agree more. I always find it frustrating if I cannot
picture a character in my mind. In this
case, the author describes her mother quite vividly, including her diminutive
stature and her eyebrows, “which were like nobody else’s.” Oddly enough, I did not find the narrator’s
mother to be all that endearing. Even
the narrator owns up to some of her mother’s faults. Both of the narrator’s parents where
hoarders, and her mother was unwilling to part with even one of four waffle
irons that she never used. The narrator
admits that she and her mother were both terrible at managing money, but the
narrator did discover after her mother’s death that her mother had financial
resources that her mother never tapped, because she did not know they
existed. For someone obviously so
intelligent, this lapse just baffles me.
