For the first 100 pages there weren't enough corners on the page to turn down all the bits I wanted to mark as memorable/recognisable/quotable. She basically just writes down all the reasons I've ever voiced for not having children plus a lot of the arguments I would also agree with for actually overcoming these reasons and having them anyway. And the rest of the book just makes me glad I only ever got as far as the nOt having them bit! I cringed my way through much of the book, thinking, Oh this could have been me, mother of a horribly logical serial killer. But it wasn't all horrific recognition (always a bit of a cheap way to enjoy a book really...) She writes frighteningly well. So sharp and accurate. I've heard her style described as cold and calculating. Fine by me, I'd rather have her 'calculatingly' accurate prose than a lot of the sloppy emoting and cliché spouting which so often counts as 'literary thrilling' these days. Like Grunberg's 'Tirza', this book, which for me was good enough as a burbling and withering description of 'family life' which I never wanted to finish, turned tail at the end with a shocking twist. I'm seldom good at seeing such things coming as I don't look for them in books I'm enjoying just for the writing. And as in a perfect short story, once the end is revealed it is of course, inevitable that it should be so. The clues were all there. I'm still in a state of mild shock at how good this book was. She's a female American version of Arnon Grunberg (and from me there is no higher praise.) I've heard that she's a bit of a one-trick-pony, and that her other books are not nearly as good as this one. I may well try one and see if I agree with this but for the moment I'm happy to let her stay up on a pedastal with an inscription on it reading 'Elma's best read of 2009 so far'.
