A stupid freak accident robbed Andrea of a loving father at the age of five. Her mother, widowed at just twenty-five years old, was distraught, not least because she was left alone to raise Andrea and her younger sister Lauren. By the time Andrea was six, she had a new 'father'...
At first, Andrea's mother considered herself very, very lucky. Not every man would be prepared to take on a ready-made family but Peter seemed only too willing. Soon a third sister, Sarah, was born. Yet this is not a story in which they all lived happily ever after. This is Andrea's story. The story of a young girl growing up in a working class home in northern England in the 1970's and 80's. Growing up in a home where violence was the norm.
Peter, you see, was not what he first seemed. A Jekyll and Hyde character, he swung between loving husband and father and violent, terrifying bully. His uncontrollable rages, usually fuelled by alcohol, caused him to lash out at the first thing to hand. All too often, these 'things' were his wife and children. Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain. Set against an ever present backdrop of fear.
Andrea Ashworth narrates her childhood in a way that will be instantly familiar to all British readers. School dinners. Kwik Save and Coke. Jaffa cakes, Spangles and contemporary song lyrics drift through the book like old friends, making her story that much more believable. (Our childhood may have been less fraught than hers was but we all ate Dairylea cheese triangles and Mister Softee ice cream.) This constant normality serves to increase the reader's involvement - there, but for the grace of God, go I.
Our instant empathy with Andrea makes this book all the more disturbing. Yet, at the same time, the sentiments expressed within are surprising. The whole family experience a dichotomous love / hate relationship with Peter and, even more shocking to the reader is Andrea's portrayal of Peter himself. Because Peter is not a bad man. And Andrea's life is as frequently filled with fun as it is with fear.
All too often, the reader forgets that this is a true story. Andrea could be a novellist - a Laura Hird, Roddy Doyle, D.H. Lawrence or even a latterday Laurie Lee - and her book could be one of the finest, most eloquent works of contemporary fiction you are ever likely to read. Her use of language is almost poetic at times, so beautiful and evocative that it's a pleasure to read. ("Sunshine spilled across her face: grooved with non-stop smoking, its lines said everything her lips were too dry to get out. I held my own face still to hide the guilty thrill that swirled through me as I gazed around the living room"). However, the words, lovely as they are, never mask the seriousness or the gritty reality of the subject matter. (Not surprisingly they include some four-letter words and also some references to racism.)
This is a chronicle of childhood. It's evocative, sometimes frightening and yet frequently enchanting, a social history that any of us might have lived - and many of us actually did. It is a simultaneously chilling and warming book, one that never ceases to look hopefully towards the future rather than depressingly to the past. It's a book that will move you and - yes - even entertain you in spite of it's subject matter. And it will certainly surprise you with its in-depth look at abusive relationships where love and loathing fight a never-ending battle for supremacy. Can you guess which one wins by the final page?
Publisher: Picador
ISBN: 0 3303 5192 3
Price: £6.99
Date Reviewed: June 2002
My Rating: 4/5
