Well, having escaped from the embrace of one larger-than-life mother on the Israeli leg of our International Booker Prize longlist journey, today sees us running straight into the arms of another. This time around, most of the action takes place in Paris, where we’ll learn all about the life and (many) loves of a rather extraordinary woman. Let’s join her daughter for a host of stories, some a little too risqué for younger ears, as we learn just what makes this mother so special that she needs a whole book, just for her…
*****
The Book of Mother by Violaine Huisman
– Virago, translated by Leslie Camhi
What’s it all about?
Huisman’s work is less a novel than a stylised account of the life of her mother, Catherine, a woman who changed last names so often it seems superfluous to give her one. It’s fair to say that she cast a rather large shadow over Huisman’s life, and The Book of Mother is, in part, an attempt to work through the writer’s feelings by showing everyone else just what Catherine was like.
And what was she like? Well, she was certainly an interesting woman, that’s for sure:
The labels or pathologies one might apply to Maman were not in short supply: alcoholism, schizophrenia, mythomania, kleptomania, and by turns neurasthenia or hysteria. She could become overexcited or crushed, she could eat like a bear or a bird, she was excessive in everything. For the most part, however, these labels were of no use to us; none of them seemed right, none of them seemed helpful.
p.35 (Virago, 2021)
From the early pages, we’re shown a woman for whom none of life’s usual rules apply, prone to knocking back pills as if they were Tic Tacs, driving the wrong way down one-way streets, or even on the pavement, just because she’s in a hurry.
It’s hardly surprising that The Book of Mother starts with the chaotic scenes following Catherine’s committal to a psychiatric ward, the adult Violaine looking back to how she felt at the time while introducing the colourful character who is to dominate the book. Here we learn about many of Catherine foibles and faults, and in this first part, many readers may begin to wonder just why we should care about a rich woman seemingly determined to damage herself, and all around her.
This is where the three-part structure of Huisman’s work kicks in. If this first section introduces Hurricane Catherine, the woman who never really learned how to be a mother, the second part takes us back in time and attempts to explain why. The writer sketches out a disturbed, disturbing childhood, with Catherine’s later disintegration traced back to an uncharacteristic slip on the part of her usually severe mother. Later, we see how Catherine attempts to overcompensate for her poor origins by dragging herself up in life through sheer will power, and a lot of hard work.
Catherine, naturally, dominates the book, and Huisman’s portrait of her mother is vivid, if not always flattering. She’s a beauty with a limp, a charmer without an education, someone willing to help others whenever they need it (until she moves on to her next project). Having been damaged by the absence, and then the presence, of her seedy father, she jumps from man to man (and woman), always enjoying her life, rarely focusing on boring details, or consequences, trusting that someone else will always be there to pick up the pieces.
If Catherine plays the leading role in this family drama, then the main supporting actor is Huisman’s father, Antoine. He appears on the scene just when it appears Catherine is making a success of her life, with a faithful (if dull) husband and a booming dance studio business. It’s his charismatic seduction, and the money he carelessly throws about, that turns Catherine into the woman we are shown in the first part. By chasing a dream, she makes herself unable to live as most people do, and given that her new lover has money and influence enough to clear up any mess they may get into, you can be sure that those messes will only become more frequent – and messier.
The final section then jumps forward to when Huisman learns, from her elder sister, about her mother’s death, resulting in a final journey to ensure Catherine’s life is celebrated with an appropriate send-off. Of course, that farewell didn’t end with the scattering of ashes – it’s this book that really marks Huisman’s final goodbye, an ode to her mother:
She was sublime, she was divine. Poor Maman, she could spin like a top on the tips of her toes without ever losing her balance, but she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other without stumbling in the dance of daily life. (p.32)
The Book of Mother, then, is Huisman’s tribute to a woman who lived her life the way she wanted, regardless of those around her. Enigmatic, selfish, charismatic, deluded? Or just a mother…
Does it deserve to make the shortlist?
Not for me. I found this a rather self-indulgent drag of a book, one I never really felt invested in and which probably outstayed its welcome, despite its not being overly long. The foregrounding of Catherine’s breakdown, before going back in time to examine her childhood, doesn’t disguise the fact that the book is fairly conventional in terms of the ‘action’, simply listing one event after another. I’m not sure why it was on the longlist, really…
Will it make the shortlist?
I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if The Book of Mother did make the cut. Why? Well, I’ve heard plenty of dissenting voices, even within the Shadow Panel, and for Huisman’s ‘novel’ to have got this far, at least one of the official judges must have seen a lot there that I didn’t – and as they’re the ones choosing (their) shortlist, it must be in with a shot.
*****
Well, there are still three stops to make on our IBP longlist journey, but it’s time for a break as those pesky official judges have decided it’s almost time to announce the shortlist. Which six books will make the final cut? And, more importantly, will those selected meet the approval of our Shadow Panel?
We’ll find out very soon…