Michael Carson is the pen name of British author Michael Wherly. He is best known for his Benson trilogy of novels, about a young man growing up Catholic and homosexual.
To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what to make of this book. I would be telling a lie if I said I knew. It is built on contradictions.
The title and cover indicate it is going to be some sort of silly comedy, possibly with a gay twist. Instead, while the general tone is quite light-hearted, the reader steps into in a dystopian matriarchy based on consumerism (the circumstances and parameters of which remain very hazy), where stereotypical gender roles and behaviours have been swapped. It is all a little sinister but never gets quite as dark as it could be.
And then there is the vexed question of whether the book is denouncing misogyny or feminism. On the one hand, reversing roles is a known creative device to highlight ingrained injustices but one the other hand and with a more literal reading, the book could be taken as a warning of the possible consequences of letting the "Mesdames" have their way, turning men into emasculated hair-heads preoccupied only with becoming "good little shoppers". The ending after all posits not only a rejection of consumerism but also of women.
From a queer perspective, Hubbies is also ambiguous. There are two very minor gay characters in the book (and their gayness is only made explicit at the very end) but the central relationship of the book between Harry Manley (!), the narrator, and Les, his "best mate", could easily morph from bromance into romance, particularly in view of the ending. Yet it never does, although, while sexuality is never really covered by Carson, it often seems that the emasculation that took place after the millennial "GREAT RESTRUCTURING" is perhaps not simply a figure of speech.
Faithful to its cover, though, the books is quite amusing and imbued with a definite element of camp. The writing is not the best but not terrible and hopefully simply a product of the fact that the narrator is, as mentioned, a silly hair-head, who seems to write pretty much as he would talk.
The chatty chirping maintained by Harry, who, as a dedicated shopper, extols the qualities of his favourite products, throughout the book, gets a little old round about the beginning of the second half, at a point where the action loses some of its momentum (before picking up again to reach a rushed finished). This is not helped by how clunky the names of those products and as well as the new social nomenclature are. They don't feel quite natural and real.
Hubby is in the end a generous helping Dystopia Lite, with a slight sourness that will raise a few thoughts but still sweet and sugary enough to be little else than light entertainment.