Memoir by Susanna Sonnberg.
I read a review of this a year or so ago, and was pretty happy to see it at the Whitehorse Library. An interesting cover, a young woman wearing black heels too big for her and a velour pink frilled skirt. A childlike cover, possibly to show how the young 'Susy' emulated her mother, to the point of extreme duress at times, even as an so-called adult.
Girls always fight with their mothers. That's a given. What they don't usually do is share intimate, personal details about their sex lives with their mothers, or share a hit of coke off a framed photo of them together. That's where Susanna's memoir deviates strongly from our lives.
Our mothers don't lie about having cancer, or about a rape. They don't spend all their cash on coke, clothes and flowers. They don't have 'back problems' real or imagined that lead to a lifetime dependency on narcotics, illegal and legal.
Susanna is privileged, wealthy and yet emotionally a poor redheaded stepchild. Her claims of partying with the rich and famous who remain unnamed seem a bit unbelieveable, like one of her mother's crazy and ridiculous tales. Maybe the author embellished a bit on the wild lifestyles, but it's her life--we couldn't possibly begin to imagine living it.
This book is lavish, tons of descriptions, details and events. The writing is lush and pulls the reader along from sadness to glee; loving mother, hating mother, ambivalent mother, abusive mother.
The book achieves a very lofty goal--make us care about someone who proclaimed to have a glamorous lifestyle and possess a sort of wealth. It is much easier to care about the hard-luck story, the poor child, the broke parent.
Go and pick it up. Might illumate your own life, for a firefly minute.
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