NOT MY FATHER’S SON

ALAN CUMMINGalan

Cumming’s memoir begins on the Panmure estate in Carnoustie, Scotland – not a council estate but the leftovers of a country house where his dad runs a saw mill: “It was all very feudal and a bit Downton Abbey, minus the abbey… Looking back on it, it was a beautiful place to grow up, but at the time all I wanted was to get away as far as possible.” His father was brutal, taking all his pain and anger out on his youngest son Alan. “Soon, my head was propelled forward by his hand, the other one wielding a rusty pair of clippers that he used on the sheep…They were blunt and dirty and they cut my skin, but my father shaved my head with them, holding me down like an animal.” He made up a story about cutting his own hair for the teachers and students at school the next morning. Scariest of all are the calms between the storms: “That was the worst bit, the waiting… I never knew exactly when it would come, and that, I know, was his favourite part.”

“Our family had always been one of secrets, of silences, of holding things in.”  And Alan keeps secret his father’s many affairs. “Memory is so subjective. We all remember, in a visceral, emotional way, and so even if we agree on the facts – what was said, what happened where and when – what we take away and store from a moment, what we feel about it, can vary radically.” It is through a British reality TV show that Cumming learns the truth of his maternal grandfather who avoided the family when WWII ended and eventually died in Malaysia. Also Alan’s father told Alan’s brother that Alan is not his son. He claims Alan’s mother had an affair before he was born.

It is memoir of mysteries. Well written. Well worth the read.

LETTERS TO MY DAUGHTER’S KILLER

lettersCATH STAINCLIFFE

“I hate you. But those words can barely convey the depth, the breadth, the soaring height of this hatred.”

The narrator has experienced every mother’s worst nightmare: Ruth Sutton’s grown daughter Lizzie has been brutally murdered. Trying to make sense of this tragedy the letters spew vitriol. Staincliffe also tells the backstory of Ruth and Lizzie’s livies. Ruth has to deal with her young granddaughter’s confusion about where her mummy went, and why she is never coming back. It is an excellent treaties on forgiveness. I don’t want to say too much but read this book.

Letters is a well written page turner. Staincliffe writes court room drama well. Its a must read.

GHOST BOY

MARTIN PISTORIUS with Megan Loyd Davie

Locked in Syndrome must truly be a fate worse than death. Pistorius was a normal little boy until the age of 12 but by 14 both his brain and his body were paralysed. Eventually his brain woke up but his body never did. Nobody knew he was home until years later a care

martin-with-bookgiver at the day home tried to reach him after attending a workshop. Within 18 months he was communicating with a computer, working and going to school. He writes about how much pain his body was in sitting in a wheelchair all day. When he go older it was worse because sometimes he was put down so he was sitting on his testicles and he couldn’t move nor ask for assistance.

At home his father was his main care giver. Mom found it too difficult. “My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with tears. I wished that I could reassure her, stand up from my wheelchair and leave behind this shell of a body that had caused so much pain. ‘You must die,’ she said slowly. ‘You have to die.’ The rest of the world felt so far away when she said those words. She got up and left me in the silent room. I wanted to do as she bid me that day. I longed to leave my life. As time passed, however, I gradually learned to understand my mother’s desperation and to forgive her. Little by little I learned why it was so hard for my mother to live with such a cruel parody of the once healthy child she had loved so much. Every time she looked at me she could see only the ghost boy he’d left behind.”

“However much I tried to beg and plead, shout and scream, I couldn’t make them notice me. My mind was trapped inside a useless body, my arms and legs weren’t mine to control and my voice was mute. I couldn’t make a sign or a sound to let anyone know I’d become aware again. I was invisible – the ghost boy. My father’s faith in me was stretched almost to breaking point – I don’t think it ever disappeared completely. Each day Dad, a mechanical engineer, washed and fed me, dressed and lifted me. A bear of a man with a huge beard like Father Christmas, his hands were always gentle. I would try to get him to understand I had returned, willing my arm to work. ‘Dad! I’m here! Can’t you see?’ But he didn’t notice me.

BOY is an easy read and quite a page turner. Highly recommended.