Never judge a book by its title.
This promised so much yet failed to deliver almost completely. To be honest I’m struggling to think of anything positive to say about this novel(la) other than its title (which is great, and thus takes it off the very bottom rung of the ladder).
“How To Eat Your Husband”??? What a great idea. It could have been so good, and it could have gone off in so many different directions. It could have been a great horror story. It could have been darkly humorous. It could have been knowing and ultra-modern – a la American Psycho. (Not that American Psycho doesn’t have – many – faults)
Instead it’s dull, menopausal, confused, confusing, boring and repetitive. Reading it was like being forced to read a cookery book, for kicks. Thankfully, it’s a very short book which could be easily read in a 2-3 hour session.
Right at the start of the book we meet Lizzie. If we’re told how old she is, I’ve forgotten. In my mind she a dowdy hausfrau in her early 50s. And she’s just taken a shovel to the back of her husband’s head, and she’s decided to do away with the body by eating it. This is, of course, the first thing that would occur to most people.
As noted, from here, it could have gone on to have been a great story. Sadly, the author elects instead to give the book a curious form. We get a few dry paragraphs describing (in the most banal terms) how Lizzie prepares and cooks bits of her dead husband. Then we get a few items from a list of things that (apparently) Lizzie is telling herself.
137: Smile and enjoy yourself. Don’t think about the task at hand. There will be many better books to read in the future. This one can be dropped off at any charity shop.
Then we get some flashback/flash-forward plot. Then it’s back to the recipes. Repeat and rinse.
There are (almost) too many problems to mention. We don’t care about Lizzie. She has no redeeming qualities. She cooks and eats bits of her husband. Then goes out to the garden to smoke a cigarette. Then tells us a little more about her bored and boring existence.
The dead husband certainly doesn’t appear to be a villain. If anything, he’s painted as just as humdrum as Lizzie.
Throughout the book, we’re building up to Lizzie packing up everything and moving to Scotland, then, near the end – slight spoiler alert, but if you still decide to read the book after reading this then you deserve it – she goes up to Scotland and then… well, I never… comes back again!
There’s an odd relationship between Lizzie and some teenage lad from the farm up the road. But all this develops into is them sleeping together (literally, just sleeping) on a mattress, full clothed. Wow!
Within a few pages, I was bored and frustrated with this book, but I stuck at it, partly because I was hoping it would get better, and partly because I really hate to leave a novel unfinished. When I’d finished I was both glad to have finished, and annoyed at the time I’d wasted. After a couple of days – time to ruminate, and read other reviews – I’m just as irritated.
I’ve skimmed the five-star reviews on Amazon. I simply cannot understand what other people are seeing in this book. The only explanation I can offer is that I’m not a peri-menopausal, frustrated woman, either in a loveless marriage or recently divorced. Perhaps if I was, this book would be speaking to me. As it is, I’m not, and it didn’t.
1/10