My rating: 5 of 5 stars
While looking through my Paperwhite the other night, this book caught my eye so I started reading, and couldn't stop.
Outwardly, Lulu Mayfield appears to be the perfect 1950s housewife and mother. Inwardly, she's exhausted, dreams about getting some time to herself, and can't sleep. After she has her second child and new neighbours move into the house across the street, everything gets worse...
Wow, what a book! It's equal parts interesting, devastating, and so sad. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I really enjoyed Lulu's dark story of isolation and grief, with plenty of unhinged vibes.
I also like slow-burn psychological stories written by women that focus on the harsh reality of being a woman. This one is set during a decade when women were seen as wives and mothers, cooks and cleaners, fragile objects that could break easily. Women found themselves trapped inside their homes and left alone to raise children while the men went out to pursue careers. The perfect way to escape every other responsibility.
Spending time with Lulu felt a little like being stuck in a nightmare because she's a ball of anxious energy with a lot of thoughts and opinions, dreams and ideas. But she keeps everything to herself. Yet, even though she edits herself to come across like the perfect wife and suffers in silence, it's still not enough to keep the illusion together.
There's also a mystery that she starts obsessing about, and a lot of ambiguous situations that made me realise exactly what was going on about halfway through. But that doesn't matter because this is a fantastic book and I absolutely loved the ending.
Oh, the only thing that bothered me more than the rampant misogyny was the gelatin dishes, which made me feel a little queasy. I mean, WTH?! 😳
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