#gifted
For as long as Lucy can remember, she’s been caught between love for her rootless, idealistic mother and devotion to her fierce and exacting sister, Bea. Their childhood—hitchhiking across Ireland, life in communal houses, the dream and chaos of Morocco—has the shimmer of freedom but the shadow of neglect. Little brother Max is also caught up in the swirl of it all, and you get the sense that their mother is living completely in her own head as she follows one exciting plan after another, without ever thinking whether she is an inconvenience or unwelcome.
At first, their nomadic existence feels exciting and full of possibility. But as the girls grow older, the adventure begins to fray. What once seemed liberating starts to feel unstable; what once glowed with warmth now feels steeped in sadness.
This novel has that unmistakable autofictional quality, is intimate, slightly disorienting, and is so steeped in emotional truth that it feels like memory. Through Lucy’s eyes, we see a mother who is both loving and reckless, living from one impulsive decision to the next, and two sisters who bear the weight of her chaos in different ways. Freud captures perfectly how siblings can share a childhood but emerge from it as though from two different worlds, one trying to please and smooth over the cracks, the other pushing against them in fury.
Despite its whimsical cover, this is not a gentle read. It’s dark and sad, filled with moments of quiet danger, loneliness and longing. Their mother, Julia, feels forever caught in her own head chasing one exciting plan after another, moving through life with a manic energy that leaves her children perpetually unmoored. Lucy’s anxious efforts to appease reluctant hosts and make herself welcome broke my heart; it’s that desperate empathy children of chaotic parents often learn too young.
The book’s structure mirrors that same instability; shifts in time and place happen without warning, so you’re left momentarily lost, unsure where or when you’ve landed. It can be frustrating, but perhaps that confusion is intentional: a way to draw us into Lucy’s fractured perspective and the uncertainty that defines her life.
This is a novel about unreliable narrators, blurred memories, and the impossible loyalty of family. I often found myself wishing Lucy and Bea had spoken more to each other instead of taking sides between two deeply flawed parents, but perhaps silence is its own kind of survival.
Freud’s writing is sharp, elegant, and full of emotional nuance. It is a study of love and damage and how we learn to carry both. It’s not an uplifting read, but it lingers long after the final page, the kind of story that leaves a quiet ache.
Read if you love: literary fiction, unreliable narrators, sister stories, melancholic coming-of-age tales.
Thank you to the publisher for kindly sending me a finished copy. As always, all opinions my own.