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Home Is Where We Start
A Guardian book to look out for for 2024
'A bold and intimate grappling with the hidden history at the heart of a childhood that was set up as a collectivist social experiment' EWAN MORRISON, author of How to Survive Everything
In the turbulent late seventies, six-year-old Susanna Crossman moved with her mother and siblings from a suburban terrace to a crumbling mansion deep in the English countryside. They would share their new home with over fifty other residents from all over the world, armed with worn paperbacks on ecology, Marx and radical feminism, drawn together by utopian dreams of remaking the world. They did not leave for fifteen years.
While the Adults adopted new names and liberated themselves from domestic roles, the Kids ran free. In the community, nobody was too young to discuss nuclear war and children learned not to expect wiped noses or regular bedtimes. Instead, they made a home in a house with no locks or keys, never knowing when they opened doors whether they’d find violent political debates or couples writhing under sheets.
Decades later, and armed with hindsight, Crossman revisits her past, turning to leading thinkers in philosophy, sociology and anthropology to examine the society she grew up in, and the many meanings of family and home. In this luminous memoir, she asks what happens to children who are raised as the product of social experiments and explores how growing up estranged from the outside world shapes her as a parent today.
'Beautiful, bold, tender. I loved this gorgeous memoir about making home' PRAGYA AGARWAL, author of Hysterical
'A bold and intimate grappling with the hidden history at the heart of a childhood that was set up as a collectivist social experiment' EWAN MORRISON, author of How to Survive Everything
In the turbulent late seventies, six-year-old Susanna Crossman moved with her mother and siblings from a suburban terrace to a crumbling mansion deep in the English countryside. They would share their new home with over fifty other residents from all over the world, armed with worn paperbacks on ecology, Marx and radical feminism, drawn together by utopian dreams of remaking the world. They did not leave for fifteen years.
While the Adults adopted new names and liberated themselves from domestic roles, the Kids ran free. In the community, nobody was too young to discuss nuclear war and children learned not to expect wiped noses or regular bedtimes. Instead, they made a home in a house with no locks or keys, never knowing when they opened doors whether they’d find violent political debates or couples writhing under sheets.
Decades later, and armed with hindsight, Crossman revisits her past, turning to leading thinkers in philosophy, sociology and anthropology to examine the society she grew up in, and the many meanings of family and home. In this luminous memoir, she asks what happens to children who are raised as the product of social experiments and explores how growing up estranged from the outside world shapes her as a parent today.
'Beautiful, bold, tender. I loved this gorgeous memoir about making home' PRAGYA AGARWAL, author of Hysterical
390 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 15, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
August 15, 2024
Susanna Crossman’s account of growing up in an ‘intentional community’ during the late 1970s and 1980s mingles personal experience with attempts at a broader assessment of how these related to particular political and historical events, ideas about relationships and child rearing, and then-contemporary leftwing/feminist concerns about how best to organise everyday life. Communal living in the UK was relatively rare but could be traced back to nineteenth-century utopianism as in the Owenite projects, small-scale arrangements like Vanessa Woolf’s household at Charleston, through to the 1960s and the rise of the Commune Movement linked to Sarah Eno and the Arjuna vegetarian collective. All gatherings of people with shared belief systems and a desire to reinvent the organisation of domestic spaces.
Crossman moved to the community – she never names it – when she was a small child, along with her mother Alison, brother and older sister Claire. For Crossman’s mother the choice was partly dictated by economic circumstances, newly divorced, struggling at a time when single-parent families were considered an anomaly – single women couldn’t easily get bank accounts, a mortgage or even a rental agreement. Communal living was being championed by many feminists as a possible solution for women trying to survive outside of traditional family structures. Alison’s choice also grew out of an allegiance to a particular strand of New Left thought, a cornerstone of this new community. Well-known communities that sprang from the Commune Movement, like Crow Hall, tended to be small and rule bound. However, Crossman’s community was sprawling and chaotic, often over 50 people were living there, for most of the time at least 20 were children. Adult members came from privileged backgrounds, artists, designers, political activists, the overwhelming majority were privately educated, many at boarding school. This seems to have sparked an understandable wish for their own children to be raised in less institutionalised surroundings but culminated in a kind of free-for-all in which children were essentially left to fend for themselves.
Throughout her book Crossman establishes links between her community and ideas percolating in wider, liberal/leftwing circles from an emphasis on self-sufficiency to eating organic food – still relatively niche. The adults were theoretically Marxist in some form or other, espoused feminist values, and were strongly influenced by radical psychologists like R. D. Laing and David Cooper - whose work on the negative impact of nuclear families was particularly revered by middle-class progressives. Community attitudes also appear to reflect emerging academic thought, such as historian Philippe Ariès’s theories about the social construction of childhood. This notion of childhood as invented is taken to extremes in Crossman’s community, which seemed to be attempting to literally uninvent it. The community take on children’s needs is a far cry from current perceptions of childhood as a protected space, and the near-cloistered upbringings that are the norm for many children from Crossman’s background. It was a setting that, for children like Crossman, offered unexpected freedoms, including a focus on creativity she later channelled into a career in art therapy. But it also brought confusion and overwhelming trauma.
I found the community itself bizarrely contradictory, households exist as separate ‘units’ with their own regulations within the collective, issues around everyday power dynamics, particularly gender inequalities, are never really addressed. Community members are conversant with the threat of nuclear war represented by popular organisations like the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), concerns around social inequality, patriarchy, and racism – the far right were mobilising in force. Yet Community members were firmly heterosexual, women technically equal yet men given free rein to indulge in insidious forms of sexual abuse and coercive control. As Crossman highlights, in the UK the Paedophile Information Exchange (PIE) had connections to respected campaigning organisations and elsewhere in Europe public intellectuals like Roland Barthes and Simone de Beauvoir were calling for an end to laws prohibiting sex between children and adults. This cultural climate, a lack of awareness of power relations or concepts of safeguarding had very real consequences for the community's children. Throughout Crossman's time in the community, she was harassed and sexualised by numerous men, and older boys, and sexually abused by another of the men. All of which was either overlooked or unrecognised by the adults around her.
Often fascinating, insightful and moving, it’s an unusual portrait of a movement and of an era, although it could benefit from trimming down in places. I also found it raised a number of unexpected questions about child rearing, about ways of living that I’m still pondering. Crossman’s incorporation of elements of political, psychological and cultural theory could be very illuminating, but could also feel trite and tangential. Other aspects made me slightly uncomfortable; Crossman frequently contrasts her upbringing with her current situation, she’s now part of a fairly standard, nuclear family setup. And, although Crossman asserts a commitment to radical politics, there’s a sense in which her juxtaposition of present and past tends towards valorising the heterosexual, nuclear family. It’s an issue she never fully addresses, after all emotional/physical neglect, child abuse, domestic violence all occur within traditional families – the rise in domestic abuse during Covid lockdowns is just one example, not to mention how the bulk of emotional and domestic labour still fell on women. I also know many within the queer community still dealing with the fallout from outwardly stable, conventional upbringings. Nor does Crossman consider the ways in which the kinds of nurturing she now advocates are routinely outsourced for economic and other reasons: it’s never entirely possible to fully police outside carers, something the recent arrest of a childminder who was considered a pillar of her community, for inciting racist violence during England’s recent, far-right riots demonstrates.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Fig Tree for an ARC
Rating: 3 to 3.5 rounded up
Crossman moved to the community – she never names it – when she was a small child, along with her mother Alison, brother and older sister Claire. For Crossman’s mother the choice was partly dictated by economic circumstances, newly divorced, struggling at a time when single-parent families were considered an anomaly – single women couldn’t easily get bank accounts, a mortgage or even a rental agreement. Communal living was being championed by many feminists as a possible solution for women trying to survive outside of traditional family structures. Alison’s choice also grew out of an allegiance to a particular strand of New Left thought, a cornerstone of this new community. Well-known communities that sprang from the Commune Movement, like Crow Hall, tended to be small and rule bound. However, Crossman’s community was sprawling and chaotic, often over 50 people were living there, for most of the time at least 20 were children. Adult members came from privileged backgrounds, artists, designers, political activists, the overwhelming majority were privately educated, many at boarding school. This seems to have sparked an understandable wish for their own children to be raised in less institutionalised surroundings but culminated in a kind of free-for-all in which children were essentially left to fend for themselves.
Throughout her book Crossman establishes links between her community and ideas percolating in wider, liberal/leftwing circles from an emphasis on self-sufficiency to eating organic food – still relatively niche. The adults were theoretically Marxist in some form or other, espoused feminist values, and were strongly influenced by radical psychologists like R. D. Laing and David Cooper - whose work on the negative impact of nuclear families was particularly revered by middle-class progressives. Community attitudes also appear to reflect emerging academic thought, such as historian Philippe Ariès’s theories about the social construction of childhood. This notion of childhood as invented is taken to extremes in Crossman’s community, which seemed to be attempting to literally uninvent it. The community take on children’s needs is a far cry from current perceptions of childhood as a protected space, and the near-cloistered upbringings that are the norm for many children from Crossman’s background. It was a setting that, for children like Crossman, offered unexpected freedoms, including a focus on creativity she later channelled into a career in art therapy. But it also brought confusion and overwhelming trauma.
I found the community itself bizarrely contradictory, households exist as separate ‘units’ with their own regulations within the collective, issues around everyday power dynamics, particularly gender inequalities, are never really addressed. Community members are conversant with the threat of nuclear war represented by popular organisations like the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), concerns around social inequality, patriarchy, and racism – the far right were mobilising in force. Yet Community members were firmly heterosexual, women technically equal yet men given free rein to indulge in insidious forms of sexual abuse and coercive control. As Crossman highlights, in the UK the Paedophile Information Exchange (PIE) had connections to respected campaigning organisations and elsewhere in Europe public intellectuals like Roland Barthes and Simone de Beauvoir were calling for an end to laws prohibiting sex between children and adults. This cultural climate, a lack of awareness of power relations or concepts of safeguarding had very real consequences for the community's children. Throughout Crossman's time in the community, she was harassed and sexualised by numerous men, and older boys, and sexually abused by another of the men. All of which was either overlooked or unrecognised by the adults around her.
Often fascinating, insightful and moving, it’s an unusual portrait of a movement and of an era, although it could benefit from trimming down in places. I also found it raised a number of unexpected questions about child rearing, about ways of living that I’m still pondering. Crossman’s incorporation of elements of political, psychological and cultural theory could be very illuminating, but could also feel trite and tangential. Other aspects made me slightly uncomfortable; Crossman frequently contrasts her upbringing with her current situation, she’s now part of a fairly standard, nuclear family setup. And, although Crossman asserts a commitment to radical politics, there’s a sense in which her juxtaposition of present and past tends towards valorising the heterosexual, nuclear family. It’s an issue she never fully addresses, after all emotional/physical neglect, child abuse, domestic violence all occur within traditional families – the rise in domestic abuse during Covid lockdowns is just one example, not to mention how the bulk of emotional and domestic labour still fell on women. I also know many within the queer community still dealing with the fallout from outwardly stable, conventional upbringings. Nor does Crossman consider the ways in which the kinds of nurturing she now advocates are routinely outsourced for economic and other reasons: it’s never entirely possible to fully police outside carers, something the recent arrest of a childminder who was considered a pillar of her community, for inciting racist violence during England’s recent, far-right riots demonstrates.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Fig Tree for an ARC
Rating: 3 to 3.5 rounded up
October 18, 2024
I first got to know Susanna on #booktwitter. I knew her to be a very warm, friendly woman who posted the loveliest black and white photographs, never stark, always such soft images of trees and flowers. During covid, she would share recipes of cakes and scones and other desserts, and I believe there was always a story to go with them. She also hosted tea parties on zoom with other writers. I also knew her to be a therapist of some sort who worked hard to help people who were hurting while taking care of her young family.
Then, one day, she shared an article she had written about growing up in a commune, and it blew our minds.#Booktwitter encouraged her to write her story!! We all wanted to know more.Then we waited as she worked so very hard on writing her memoir, doing her edits, and her research. We were all so incredibly proud of her when Home Is Where We Start was eventually published! What an achievement!!!
#Crossman24 #HomeIsWhereWeStart started on October 1st. While revelatory, it was also disturbing. I think anyone reading Susanna's memoir would instinctively want to reach out to protect these young children from parents who failed them with their misguided notions of allowing children to raise themselves. Poor Susanna. What trauma she and her siblings had to endure as the adults experimented with creating a utopian experience. I can't but wonder how she grew up to be this kind, gentle woman who continues to reach out to help people. She appears to have come out unscathed!!! I've never detected an ounce of bitterness through any of our interactions online. To know Susanna is to admire her!
This is a must-read!
The reels:
1. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAlua5...
2. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DArjQq...
3. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DA1DLH...
4. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DBJ1t0...
5. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DBRE8i...
Well done, Susanna!
Then, one day, she shared an article she had written about growing up in a commune, and it blew our minds.#Booktwitter encouraged her to write her story!! We all wanted to know more.Then we waited as she worked so very hard on writing her memoir, doing her edits, and her research. We were all so incredibly proud of her when Home Is Where We Start was eventually published! What an achievement!!!
#Crossman24 #HomeIsWhereWeStart started on October 1st. While revelatory, it was also disturbing. I think anyone reading Susanna's memoir would instinctively want to reach out to protect these young children from parents who failed them with their misguided notions of allowing children to raise themselves. Poor Susanna. What trauma she and her siblings had to endure as the adults experimented with creating a utopian experience. I can't but wonder how she grew up to be this kind, gentle woman who continues to reach out to help people. She appears to have come out unscathed!!! I've never detected an ounce of bitterness through any of our interactions online. To know Susanna is to admire her!
This is a must-read!
The reels:
1. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAlua5...
2. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DArjQq...
3. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DA1DLH...
4. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DBJ1t0...
5. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DBRE8i...
Well done, Susanna!
August 26, 2024
CW: abuse
The core of this book is the author's childhood and teenage years, in a left wing inspired intentional community. The autobiographical part is interesting, though the non-personal parts of the history, and the community, are only described through the author's contact with it. By the end I didn't feel I knew more about the community itself at all - what it believed or how it came to be, except in very general terms. At the end of the book, it seems to still be in existence, but there's not enough information here to work out what it was founded for, where it is in specific, or its real identity.
Partly due to the adults' decision to raise the children in a communal fashion, and to eliminate safeguarding and supervision, they put the children in harm's way. The author and their siblings suffer abuse as a result.
The book very frequently breaks down into digressions about the meanings of words, things philosophers and therapists have said, and anecdotes about the author's very comfortable middle-class life in France (if I hear the phrase "Breton house" ever again, it'll be too soon), and their work as an art therapist. Seldom does a recounting of their childhood not branch out into what the author's current family are doing (or eating), what a patient in a psychiatric unit they were working in did, what the author's grandparents did in their lives, and also what the author is doing while they are writing the book (unsurprisingly, they're usually on some sort of writing residency or retreat).
The authorial voice is very much that of someone who has had a lot of university education and personal therapy, and honestly harms the story they're trying to tell. All in all about 25% is what actually happened to the author and the other 75% is "As Michel Foucalt once said...". There's certainly a place for a discussion of what psychologists think of trauma and childhood, sure, but definitely not this much. if I'd wanted to read a book on that subject, I would have.
There's a Guardian review of this book that discusses the problem of what it calls its "Poetic speculation". I'll summarise my review by saying that these digressions are the main part of this book, and if that doesn't sound interesting, stay well away.
A brief summary: "My childhood was, as Foucault might say, ennobled by the dirt of the air, of the soil and of the grasses. We ate hunks of bread, sat at long tables, and were filthy. A bearded man across from me catches my eye and mouthes a silent insult to me. This is so you know that these preceeding events happend to the child me - don't worry I wrote it all down and remember it clearly, even though it has been established by this point that when this all happens, I am five years, three months and eight point two days old. However, as I write this now in my Breton House, sitting beside A (my 'partner' I have 3 children with), my middle child toddles up to us and says 'Maman, this home made bread we eat every day is so much better than the communist bread you were forced to eat as a child'. This is right I know, and a study of perplexed Rwandan children by the Skinner foundation saw that children's brains sometimes rewire themselves after eating bread - the basis of carb-otherapy."
To summarise, the book "Better to have gone" is a better study of childhood and utopian community, which does a much better job of telling the historical and ideological story of the community, and linking that to a personal narrative. It does have reflection on what the events mean, but doesn't make that the focus of the book. This book, rather than showing the flaws in the utopianism of progressive, left wing baby boomers, instead shows the problems with relying on university education and psychoanalysis to deal with the fallout of the children raised in that context. The author just seems to end up in the weeds trying to make sense of it all, and I didn't get the feeling that having kids and a stone house in France proves that they - and the middle class way of life - has triumphed over evil communal living and Marxism.
The core of this book is the author's childhood and teenage years, in a left wing inspired intentional community. The autobiographical part is interesting, though the non-personal parts of the history, and the community, are only described through the author's contact with it. By the end I didn't feel I knew more about the community itself at all - what it believed or how it came to be, except in very general terms. At the end of the book, it seems to still be in existence, but there's not enough information here to work out what it was founded for, where it is in specific, or its real identity.
Partly due to the adults' decision to raise the children in a communal fashion, and to eliminate safeguarding and supervision, they put the children in harm's way. The author and their siblings suffer abuse as a result.
The book very frequently breaks down into digressions about the meanings of words, things philosophers and therapists have said, and anecdotes about the author's very comfortable middle-class life in France (if I hear the phrase "Breton house" ever again, it'll be too soon), and their work as an art therapist. Seldom does a recounting of their childhood not branch out into what the author's current family are doing (or eating), what a patient in a psychiatric unit they were working in did, what the author's grandparents did in their lives, and also what the author is doing while they are writing the book (unsurprisingly, they're usually on some sort of writing residency or retreat).
The authorial voice is very much that of someone who has had a lot of university education and personal therapy, and honestly harms the story they're trying to tell. All in all about 25% is what actually happened to the author and the other 75% is "As Michel Foucalt once said...". There's certainly a place for a discussion of what psychologists think of trauma and childhood, sure, but definitely not this much. if I'd wanted to read a book on that subject, I would have.
There's a Guardian review of this book that discusses the problem of what it calls its "Poetic speculation". I'll summarise my review by saying that these digressions are the main part of this book, and if that doesn't sound interesting, stay well away.
A brief summary: "My childhood was, as Foucault might say, ennobled by the dirt of the air, of the soil and of the grasses. We ate hunks of bread, sat at long tables, and were filthy. A bearded man across from me catches my eye and mouthes a silent insult to me. This is so you know that these preceeding events happend to the child me - don't worry I wrote it all down and remember it clearly, even though it has been established by this point that when this all happens, I am five years, three months and eight point two days old. However, as I write this now in my Breton House, sitting beside A (my 'partner' I have 3 children with), my middle child toddles up to us and says 'Maman, this home made bread we eat every day is so much better than the communist bread you were forced to eat as a child'. This is right I know, and a study of perplexed Rwandan children by the Skinner foundation saw that children's brains sometimes rewire themselves after eating bread - the basis of carb-otherapy."
To summarise, the book "Better to have gone" is a better study of childhood and utopian community, which does a much better job of telling the historical and ideological story of the community, and linking that to a personal narrative. It does have reflection on what the events mean, but doesn't make that the focus of the book. This book, rather than showing the flaws in the utopianism of progressive, left wing baby boomers, instead shows the problems with relying on university education and psychoanalysis to deal with the fallout of the children raised in that context. The author just seems to end up in the weeds trying to make sense of it all, and I didn't get the feeling that having kids and a stone house in France proves that they - and the middle class way of life - has triumphed over evil communal living and Marxism.
September 3, 2024
Crossman, who grew up in an English commune, looks back at 15 years of an abnormal childhood. For her mother, “the community” was a refuge, a place to rebuild their family’s life after divorce and the death of her oldest daughter in a freak accident. For the three children, it initially was a place of freedom and apparent equality between “the Adults” and “the Kids” – who were swiftly indoctrinated into hippie opinions on the political matters of the day. “There is no difference between private and public conversations, between the inside and the outside. No euphemisms. Vaginas are discussed over breakfast alongside domestic violence and nuclear bombs.” Crossman’s present-tense recreation of her precocious eight-year-old perspective is canny, as when she describes watching Charles and Diana’s wedding on television:
Their mum, now known only as “Alison,” often seemed unaware of what the Kids got up as they flitted in and out of each other’s units. Crossman once electrocuted herself at a plug. Another time she asked if she could go to an adult man’s unit for an offered massage. Both times her mother was unfazed.
The author is now a clinical arts therapist, so her recreation is informed by her knowledge of healthy child development and the long-term effects of trauma. She knows the Kids suffered from a lack of routine and individually expressed love. Community rituals, such as opening Christmas presents in the middle of a circle of 40 onlookers, could be intimidating rather than welcoming. Her molestation and her sister’s rape (when she was nine years old, on a trip to India ‘supervised’ by two other adults from the community) were cloaked in silence.
Crossman weaves together memoir and psychological theory as she examines where the utopian impulse comes from and compares her own upbringing with how she tries to parent her three daughters differently at home in France. Through vignettes based on therapy sessions with patients, she shows how play and the arts can help. (I’d forgotten that I’ve encountered Crossman’s writing before, through her essay on clowning for the Trauma anthology.) I somewhat lost interest as the Kids grew into teenagers. It’s a vivid and at times rather horrifying book, but the author doesn’t resort to painting pantomime villains. Behind things were good intentions, she knows, and there is nuance and complexity to her account. It’s a great mix of being back in the moment and having the hindsight to see it all clearly.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
It was beautiful, but I know marriage is a patriarchal institution, a capitalist trap, a snare. You can read about it in Spare Rib, or if you ask community members, someone will tell you marriage is legalized rape. It is a construction, and that means it’s not natural, and is part of the social reproduction of gender roles and women’s unpaid domestic labour.
Their mum, now known only as “Alison,” often seemed unaware of what the Kids got up as they flitted in and out of each other’s units. Crossman once electrocuted herself at a plug. Another time she asked if she could go to an adult man’s unit for an offered massage. Both times her mother was unfazed.
The author is now a clinical arts therapist, so her recreation is informed by her knowledge of healthy child development and the long-term effects of trauma. She knows the Kids suffered from a lack of routine and individually expressed love. Community rituals, such as opening Christmas presents in the middle of a circle of 40 onlookers, could be intimidating rather than welcoming. Her molestation and her sister’s rape (when she was nine years old, on a trip to India ‘supervised’ by two other adults from the community) were cloaked in silence.
Crossman weaves together memoir and psychological theory as she examines where the utopian impulse comes from and compares her own upbringing with how she tries to parent her three daughters differently at home in France. Through vignettes based on therapy sessions with patients, she shows how play and the arts can help. (I’d forgotten that I’ve encountered Crossman’s writing before, through her essay on clowning for the Trauma anthology.) I somewhat lost interest as the Kids grew into teenagers. It’s a vivid and at times rather horrifying book, but the author doesn’t resort to painting pantomime villains. Behind things were good intentions, she knows, and there is nuance and complexity to her account. It’s a great mix of being back in the moment and having the hindsight to see it all clearly.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
January 18, 2025
Good grief parents, whatever your utopian ideals may be, your children need you!
The author shares, in depth, her experience of growing up in an intentional community. It seems the adults had some wonderful ideals, but somehow didn’t consider the needs of the children.
Her journey through those times and beyond are heart wrenching, but awe inspiring.
I enjoyed her occasional rants against Thatcher! 😏
The author shares, in depth, her experience of growing up in an intentional community. It seems the adults had some wonderful ideals, but somehow didn’t consider the needs of the children.
Her journey through those times and beyond are heart wrenching, but awe inspiring.
I enjoyed her occasional rants against Thatcher! 😏
June 10, 2025
this was really good. I liked reading about England in the late 70s and 80s. wow, I am SO glad my parents didn't raise me in a commune as they'd originally intended. I thought everything she said about revolutions not taking the development or mind of the child into account really on point, as well as the "adultification" of children. a really absorbing and fascinating read. kind of a bit too long but it's all good
December 19, 2024
Not for me.
I would have enjoyed this more without all the digressions and with a Who’s Who of people I.e. who was an adult and who wasn’t.
I would have enjoyed this more without all the digressions and with a Who’s Who of people I.e. who was an adult and who wasn’t.
September 24, 2025
I was at least communist-adjacent for a long while and this was an eye-opener. It really helped me see how, while I understand that capitalism drive harmful hierarchies, that communism can drive equally harmful sameness. Trying your best, being good at things, honing your strengths... It was all suspect at the community. You might stand out! And the child-rearing (or lack thereof) was a shock to me as well. It was very thoroughly grounded in Marxist and other leftist thought, not some mere incidental mistake. I ached for Susanna and everything she went through, especially when various adults wholly blamed the kids for problems that were largely due to the utter lack of the parenting, guidance, oversight, and protection that was the adults’ responsibility to provide.
We only get a couple sentences on it and it’s not nearly the biggest problem she had, but it also stuck out to me how she grew up with a lot of the other kids in the community and after they left, she never saw most of them again. Ouch. Without any sort of legal or otherwise a formal tie, how do you explain that? Hey, we used to be sisters, except for not really, and here’s the baby I sort of raised when I was just a baby myself? After the way living in this Marxist community traumatized and endangered these kids, it’s definitely understandable that many of them might not want to talk about it and might not want reminders.
Certainly children’s voices are underheard and underappreciated in these sorts of situations. And yes, I know “think of the children!!’ gets thrown out in utterly asinine settings, like homophobes thinking that a seven-year-old’s priority is somehow the number of wieners her parents have. But that doesn’t mean there’s no situation where children’s voices truly do get drowned out. As a progressive sort of person, I recognize that my bias skews toward “this new thing is probably fine - let’s see some evidence” but it definitely seems sure that children do need family bonds, not just between individuals, but in the specific roles of parents!
For a lot of the visiting adults, this was a fun romp for a year or two. For the kids, it was their inescapable lives, for formative years or decades.
There’s a bit of a time skip. I found the peeks into Susanna‘s adult life to be really informative. The fact that how she’s living her own independent life and raising her own children and how different that is from the community she grew up in says a lot, I think.
Lastly, she did so much research. Crossman is a psychologist now and she has incorporated and listed some fantastic sources about previous utopian attempts. I’m keeping this book out from the library an extra week or two just so I can write down some more for my reading list.
We only get a couple sentences on it and it’s not nearly the biggest problem she had, but it also stuck out to me how she grew up with a lot of the other kids in the community and after they left, she never saw most of them again. Ouch. Without any sort of legal or otherwise a formal tie, how do you explain that? Hey, we used to be sisters, except for not really, and here’s the baby I sort of raised when I was just a baby myself? After the way living in this Marxist community traumatized and endangered these kids, it’s definitely understandable that many of them might not want to talk about it and might not want reminders.
Certainly children’s voices are underheard and underappreciated in these sorts of situations. And yes, I know “think of the children!!’ gets thrown out in utterly asinine settings, like homophobes thinking that a seven-year-old’s priority is somehow the number of wieners her parents have. But that doesn’t mean there’s no situation where children’s voices truly do get drowned out. As a progressive sort of person, I recognize that my bias skews toward “this new thing is probably fine - let’s see some evidence” but it definitely seems sure that children do need family bonds, not just between individuals, but in the specific roles of parents!
For a lot of the visiting adults, this was a fun romp for a year or two. For the kids, it was their inescapable lives, for formative years or decades.
There’s a bit of a time skip. I found the peeks into Susanna‘s adult life to be really informative. The fact that how she’s living her own independent life and raising her own children and how different that is from the community she grew up in says a lot, I think.
Lastly, she did so much research. Crossman is a psychologist now and she has incorporated and listed some fantastic sources about previous utopian attempts. I’m keeping this book out from the library an extra week or two just so I can write down some more for my reading list.
August 19, 2024
'Home is Where We Start' by Susanna Crossman is a reflective memoir that explores her childhood in an experimental commune. Crossman examines the complexities of trauma, identity, and how cultural upbringing shapes both mind and body.
The book recounts her unconventional upbringing, where communal living replaced traditional family structures. Crossman reflects on how this environment influenced her sense of self, intimacy, and the emotional challenges she faced growing up.
"One of the things I find hardest about my childhood, aside from the trauma, is knowing I'll never know what it is like to be a child in the small, quiet safeness of a home."
What stands out is Crossman’s blend of personal stories with broader insights into culture, politics and psychology. She emphasises how childhood trauma affects adult life, both intellectually and physically, and frequently returns to the idea that our earliest experiences shape who we become. Her training in child psychiatry deepens her reflections, contrasting her upbringing with the psychological needs of children, challenging views of what a supportive childhood should look like.
'"Where you come from, and your life experience,' I tell the students, 'influences how you move your body, whether you speak quietly or loudly. Culture impacts how close we stand next to other people. If you were born in India, a New York suburb or in Nigeria, you will not sensorially perceive the world the same way - the questions of intimacy and separation. Our cultural upbringing shapes us; not only our values, but our senses and our bodies. Part of how we become who we are begins the day we are born."'
'Home is Where We Start' is a compelling memoir for readers interested in personal narratives of trauma and identity, offering both poignant storytelling and psychological depth.
Thank you to Penguin Fig Tree for the advanced review copy of this book.
The book recounts her unconventional upbringing, where communal living replaced traditional family structures. Crossman reflects on how this environment influenced her sense of self, intimacy, and the emotional challenges she faced growing up.
"One of the things I find hardest about my childhood, aside from the trauma, is knowing I'll never know what it is like to be a child in the small, quiet safeness of a home."
What stands out is Crossman’s blend of personal stories with broader insights into culture, politics and psychology. She emphasises how childhood trauma affects adult life, both intellectually and physically, and frequently returns to the idea that our earliest experiences shape who we become. Her training in child psychiatry deepens her reflections, contrasting her upbringing with the psychological needs of children, challenging views of what a supportive childhood should look like.
'"Where you come from, and your life experience,' I tell the students, 'influences how you move your body, whether you speak quietly or loudly. Culture impacts how close we stand next to other people. If you were born in India, a New York suburb or in Nigeria, you will not sensorially perceive the world the same way - the questions of intimacy and separation. Our cultural upbringing shapes us; not only our values, but our senses and our bodies. Part of how we become who we are begins the day we are born."'
'Home is Where We Start' is a compelling memoir for readers interested in personal narratives of trauma and identity, offering both poignant storytelling and psychological depth.
Thank you to Penguin Fig Tree for the advanced review copy of this book.
August 15, 2024
e-ARC gifted by the publisher and NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
This is a memoir of a woman who grew up in a social experiment- a utopian community during Tatcher’s Britain. From her memories, she described how her mom, whom she called Allison, her sister Claire and her brother grew up in a commune for 15 years, one which ideologies are poverty over bourgeoise, physical work over intellectual growth, savage and free children over strict upbringing, which does not sound far from Communism in ideology.
It was a social experiment that makes Susanna what she is now. Susanna brought insights from psychologists and writers who wrote about homes, communities and their impact on an individual. To be honest, I find the book a bit of a drag at times, and the themes are quite repetitive.
However, I appreciated this book for being honest about how such isolated community could have severe impact on a child’s mental health and growth, especially if they encountered unsavoury experiences in a commune that doesn’t value privacy and boundaries, consequence like sexual assaults and rape could easily happen.
In general, I appreciated the premise of this memoir as it is the first time I have read a memoir from someone growing up in a commune.
This is a memoir of a woman who grew up in a social experiment- a utopian community during Tatcher’s Britain. From her memories, she described how her mom, whom she called Allison, her sister Claire and her brother grew up in a commune for 15 years, one which ideologies are poverty over bourgeoise, physical work over intellectual growth, savage and free children over strict upbringing, which does not sound far from Communism in ideology.
It was a social experiment that makes Susanna what she is now. Susanna brought insights from psychologists and writers who wrote about homes, communities and their impact on an individual. To be honest, I find the book a bit of a drag at times, and the themes are quite repetitive.
However, I appreciated this book for being honest about how such isolated community could have severe impact on a child’s mental health and growth, especially if they encountered unsavoury experiences in a commune that doesn’t value privacy and boundaries, consequence like sexual assaults and rape could easily happen.
In general, I appreciated the premise of this memoir as it is the first time I have read a memoir from someone growing up in a commune.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 18, 2025
Compelling. For some reason more than anything else I’ve read/encountered this really illuminated what it must have been like to be a child in the 70s and 80s, to understand my mum’s generation. At times this was horrifying: though Crossman says she doesn’t want to paint anyone as an all-out villain, it’s hard to understand the people who “educated” children about the rape culture and rampant abuse in society, yet said nothing when multiple men of the community repeatedly made sexual advances towards the children in public and private - to say nothing of the men themselves. I found the academic/literary references and lyricism a little clunky at times, but overall well-considered and beautifully written in the main, even when hard to read. I would have liked a little more about the author’s journey into arts therapy, and about her parents and siblings in the future too. But overall a very good book.
January 18, 2025
A difficult read in places as parts of the memoir deal with distressing experiences, but it is also very well written, and carefully researched. It blends fascinating theory with highly personal lived experiences, told through the voice of the author as one of the "Kids" in the community, loosely tracking the journey from a small child, to pre-teen, teenager, university student, and finally "Adult".
As a relative of the author, I was already aware of some of what's told here (but only a fraction) I'm still figuring out how I feel about everything the book covers; parts of it made me feel deeply sad or angry (on behalf of Susanna and the other Kids), parts of it made me laugh (there is definitely humour), parts of it made me feel inspired at what Susanna (Susie to me) has been able to achieve. Overall, I feel compassion.
As a relative of the author, I was already aware of some of what's told here (but only a fraction) I'm still figuring out how I feel about everything the book covers; parts of it made me feel deeply sad or angry (on behalf of Susanna and the other Kids), parts of it made me laugh (there is definitely humour), parts of it made me feel inspired at what Susanna (Susie to me) has been able to achieve. Overall, I feel compassion.
December 16, 2024
I found this a frustrating read. I had high hopes as I am fascinated by closed communities and the autobiographical part was interesting although I felt like I never got to know the community. However the jumping around between autobiographical anecdotes, Crossman's own working life, overexplaining of word meanings and frequently throwing in digressions about what this or that philosopher or psychologist has to say was pretentious and broke the flow, over and over and over again. I really wanted to enjoy this book, but it was disappointing, could have been much shorter and in the end was a slog.
February 27, 2025
This book made me angry. I could hardly believe how ignorant and negligent some of the parents mentioned in this book were. The hypocrisy of the so called socialists in the 'hippy commune' was breathtaking, seen as so many of then were from upper class backgrounds. It's ironic that the private school upbringing, which seemed to verge in abuse, led the victims to raise their children in a similar but inverted dystopia.
Perhaps in some ways it's for the best that we are no longer so 'innocent' as we were in the 70s...
Perhaps in some ways it's for the best that we are no longer so 'innocent' as we were in the 70s...
November 25, 2025
Through recounting a remarkably unusual childhood growing up in a commune in 1980s Britain, Crossman muses on trauma, family psychology, utopias, and the pitfalls of ideology and dogma. She tells her story with a gentleness and grace towards those who harmed her, balancing understanding their good intentions with expressing quiet rage at the pain that resulted. Horryifying and compelling in equal measure, I couldn't put it down, and it has lingered in my thoughts since finishing.
September 10, 2024
It was an interesting story but not sure why the author felt the need to pretentiously explain the definition/origin of a word in every other paragraph. Really unnecessary and disrupted the flow
September 15, 2024
Very interesting book about a woman growing in a Utopian community in the 70s/80s. This brave memoir explores what it means to be a family and what is a home.
November 29, 2024
a fantastic and original voice. recommend.
Want to read
December 6, 2024Home Is Where We Start by Susanna Crossman review — my childhood in a commune
https://www.thetimes.com/article/464f...
https://www.thetimes.com/article/464f...
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