Suzanne Joinson grew up in a 1980s council estate in Crewe, where her parents were followers of The Divine Light Mission cult. This clash of class and counterculture destroyed her family, leaving a legacy of turmoil and poverty.
Years later, she attempts to reclaim what she’s lost and piece together the impact of a childhood infused with esoteric yoga practices, psychedelic encounters, and meditation techniques. She acquires replicas of beloved objects that had to be destroyed in regular purges in the hope of restoring family ties.
The Museum of Lost and Fragile Things explores the realm of mother-daughter relationships and inherited trauma, in a moving, delicately-woven account of coming to terms with a complicated past.
My second novel The Photographer's Wife is out by Bloomsbury in the UK and US. This is what The New York Times had to say
My debut novel A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar was published by Bloomsbury in 2012. It was a US National Bestseller, a Guardian/Observer Book of the Year 2012 and translated into 16 languages. It was long-listed for the International IMPAC Dublin literary award 2014.
I have written for a range of places including The New York Times, The Guardian, The Telegraph, Independent, Vogue UK, Lonely Planet and many others. I have published short stories, essays, travel pieces and reviews.
My short story, 'Theory of Flight' was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and an essay 'I've Never Told Anyone This Before...' was broadcast on BBC Radio 3.
In 2011 I was writer in residence at the 1930s Art Deco Shoreham Airport in Sussex. My non-fiction piece LAILA AHMED won a New Writing Ventures prize in 2008.
From 2002-2012 I worked part-time in the literature department of the British Council travelling regularly in the Middle East, China, Russia and Western and Eastern Europe. I have worked in and explored Yemen, Egypt, Syria, Greece and many other countries.
I now write full-time and travel as much as I can. I live with with my husband, two tiny children and a scruffy dog in a small seaside town in Sussex, England. I am currently the Writer-in-Residence at the wonderful Weald and Downland Open Air Museum in West Sussex and can often be found wafting around the South Downs National Park. I sometimes tweet at @suzyjoinson.
Descending upon an entire audiobook is almost an act of meditation itself, minus the incandescent doctrine.
But I am not a premie.
I too have grappled with the effects of the same exact cassettes and daunting "gremlin" guru she confronts, by my own family orbit.
I am not a premie.
In 2016, I completed 400+ focused meditation sessions for 100+ hours using Andy Puddicombe's Headspace Mindfulness App, but I didn't let it define my identity or social circles. I just wanted to try and learn something new.
When I was hit by a car through no fault of my own by a careless woman distracted by an iPhone, I was put through the uncomfortable ringer of four months of physical therapy for my back. The Museum of Lost and Fragile Things was like that type of arduous physical therapy, but for my heart.
"Writers are human."
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*Please do not continue reading this book review if you might get upset.*
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4/4/25
My brother was a follower of Prem Rawat. There wasn't any other breathing human being I committed to spend more one-on-one time with over the last five years than my brother, but I never thought Prem was beneficial for his mental health.
After spending hours upon hours of trying to help him revise his poetry collection (his true passion), my brother started watching Prem Rawat DVDs and began to go through a manic episode. He began drawing pictures of Prem and hid them around the house. He wrote, "I am king" all over his walls and became severely irritable and unstable.
The only thing that separated us was a sliding glass door.
One morning I woke up to him violently smashing his printer into thousands of tiny shards and swearing at me behind the glass door without understanding why. Before a wellness check, he repeated things like, "You don't have this knowledge. You don't have this thirst."
A few weeks later, my brother assaulted me at night when I tried to have a conversation with him about rice. Nobody else was home. While he was choking me, I told him over and over again, "You aren't being peaceful." I didn't want to go to the police, I just wanted him to be safe.
If Prem Rawat says, "breath is a gift," why would a follower of Prem Rawat choke someone?
While somberly testifying in court, I told the judge so that my brother could hear me say out loud, "I have no intention of keeping this restraining order as soon as my brother receives treatment from a qualified professional."
When my mother asked for books for him to read at a temporary shelter I made sure to include Hatchet by Gary Paulson because I knew how much he loved it and I hoped to God it would inspire him to survive.
He told my mother that he wasn't mad at me and that he knew I only wanted to help him.
I truly loved my brother. The last gift he gave me was a black eye.
My brother committed suicide and I am trying to heal.
Edit: If Prem Rawat is a teacher of, "peace" why would my own father (also a lifelong follower of Prem Rawat) say, "Fuck you. Prem is god. Go fucking kill yourself." ?
Less than a week after saving my father's life, scheduling his doctor appointment, getting his new medications, and diligently sorting them into a 28 square grid pillbox, he said:
"The fact is historically I am greater than you." "Unresolved DNA." "You might not even be my son."
Why would my own father continue to call me a liar a week after saving his life and actually giving him the gift of his breath back after a seizure if he has the techniques of, "knowledge"?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Fascinating, gripping, and so devastating. Joiner's ability to write from her perspective as a child is incredible. This, coupled with her ability to reflect as an adult, results in a painful tension I found so real and enveloping. I felt as though I was sitting with her traumatic accounts much as a friend would, feeling it all unabashedly and giving space for it to exist.
It's a book about retrieving what you've lost in your childhood and the traumatic experience trying to knit together what your mother did and give. Honestly I thought it was fiction at first because I randomly pick this book up and liked the cover, but overall it took me a while to get into it but turns out I was able to enjoy it at least as it feels close to home
As a memoir it captures complex memories of childhood and flawed working class parents in a cult, and the lasting impact with no Disney-like resolution at the end.
A memoir told through the author's attempts to recreate her childhood sourcing objects that were meaningful to her but which were lost in the purges her parents carried out as part of their relationship to the Divine Light Mission cult. This is an unsettling read and what I was most struck by as this progressed was how much I admire the author for continuing to have a relationship with her parents after everything that she and her brother had to endure. I'm not sure I would have been so forgiving in her shoes.
Surprised at the lack of reviews on this one - one of the most affecting memoirs I’ve read in a while. Suzanne’s narrative style gives the reader a physical sensation and appreciation of her mental journey. Haven’t read another culty book quite like it.
interesting stuff - didnt realise it was non fic for a hot minute! i didn’t realise it was so niche until i looked it up here and went oh jeez 3 reviews lol. i thought it was alright - i fuck with a biography