I was drawn in to reading this book as I too have lived in a lot of houses although maybe not quite as many as Harmonie Lovin; I can also state that our reasons for moving were very different.
This is a book, in many ways, of two parts. The first part is concerned with Lovin’s childhood and by extension, her relationships with her parents and her siblings. The second part describes the writer’s own experience of motherhood and all that that engenders, both good and bad.
Whilst living with her parents, Lovin is exposed to the discord that can manifest itself in relationships and how this can have an enormous effect on the family dynamic, in terms of how parental behaviour can influence to both nurture and undermine. The moving referenced in the houses of Lovin’s title is not a product of some enthusiastic wanderlust and so, as a reader, you are exposed to the life of a kid continually starting at new schools and trying to find their identity in a place where they know they don’t belong and also, that they know they will never put down roots in anyway. She has the support of siblings to a degree, but there is a sense of Lovin very much needing to find her own resolve to endure.
This is a memoir of reflection, as most are, and Lovin, in looking back, attempts to reconcile her feelings at the time with the years of experience that she has since gained. With regard to her becoming a mother, there are moments that resound with joy which Lovin is keen to relate and these contrast with more dire revelations about the impact that living with someone who is diagnosed with a mental illness can have on once solid relationships, as errant behaviours and uncontrolled impulses threaten to overshadow everything that once was.
This is a sad book – no doubt. But it is also full of portraits of family togetherness as well as the importance of the need to move towards happiness, despite having lived a life less stable. And ultimately, it is a plea for understanding where there may be none, or very little, at least; for tolerance; for help to be made available; for us to care and not write people off so easily.
A stirring memoir, well-written.
This review was first published on Reedsy Discovery where I was privileged to read it as an ARC.
Scuffed Granny 