A review by nohoperadio
Hot Milk by Deborah Levy

3.0

On paper this is so my thing. Has a lot in common with what I love in Iris Murdoch: that particular kind of relationship where one character feels powerlessly in thrall to another but where that other isn’t being obviously controlling (there’s a couple of these in here); overthinkers trying fruitlessly to philosophize themselves into some kind of freedom; lots of weird ambient sexual energy. But although the characters are well-realized in themselves, their relationships with each other aren’t. I can see Deborah Levy moving them around like pieces on a chessboard. And another thing is, Levy is a Freud enthusiast, and I can’t remember now whether I learned that before or after reading the book but I just–

Hold on. Is “hot milk” as a title supposed to imply, like, cum? Is this like a cum thing? Cos I literally just got that if so. Okay I’ve googled it and at least one other person thinks it’s supposed to be a cum thing, I guess it’s also a breast thing, I mean the narrator’s relationship with both her mother and father are a big deal in the book so that makes sense. Okay cool.

Anyway whatever, I can’t be bothered to finish my thought, Deborah Levy is pretty boring it turns out, oh well. Fun fact, several years ago I tried to buy this book because I’d read a good review but I got confused and accidentally bought Milkman by Anna Burns instead. That’s a way better book, I recommend it!