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A review by archytas
Bad Art Mother by Edwina Preston
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
"It does seem that loving him has not paid off like I thought it would, Tilde. I find it has saddled me with a version of myself that I had nothing to do with."
The best part of this novel is in the letters from our central figure Veda, the "bad art mother" of the title. Veda twists and turns in suburban drudgery: beset by a capricious poetry muse, the endlessly patronising and dismissive views of male literati, a husband who vaguely hopes she and his son are fine as he pursues his passions and a small, loving human who demands her constant attention. Veda's bitterness at her own unhappiness pervades the book but is best when unfiltered. The rest of the book is told through the adult eyes of her son, unpacking his childhood and the various "mothers". Through these eyes, we see the different approaches of women to life and art in the 60s and 70s. This is not all capital A art, Preston includes a flower arranger extraordinaire in an affecting portrait of how female arts are trivialised, and the ways that creation that feed the soul.
The book revels in showing us various perspectives. Owen's Papa is driven by his own experiences of homelessness to perform charity work, and is clearly bewildered by his wife's apparently selfish refusal to support this. Owen nurses hurts from a childhood of being shunted around. A lot is going on here; sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't. Preston has things to say about feminism, art, poetry, the literary establishment, mental illness, parenthood, childhood: in the end, none of these themes felt explored so much as, just, well there . Owen has a lot of mother figures. At times the book dragged a little under the weight of all the storylines and threads, as well as balancing child-Owen, adult-Owen and Veda's perspectives. But despite some dragging plot, the world of the book - Melbourne's art scene from the 1950s through 1970s - feel so real you can taste the gnocchi and see the art. And as a celebration of a generation of women artists, it certainly succeeds.
The best part of this novel is in the letters from our central figure Veda, the "bad art mother" of the title. Veda twists and turns in suburban drudgery: beset by a capricious poetry muse, the endlessly patronising and dismissive views of male literati, a husband who vaguely hopes she and his son are fine as he pursues his passions and a small, loving human who demands her constant attention. Veda's bitterness at her own unhappiness pervades the book but is best when unfiltered. The rest of the book is told through the adult eyes of her son, unpacking his childhood and the various "mothers". Through these eyes, we see the different approaches of women to life and art in the 60s and 70s. This is not all capital A art, Preston includes a flower arranger extraordinaire in an affecting portrait of how female arts are trivialised, and the ways that creation that feed the soul.
The book revels in showing us various perspectives. Owen's Papa is driven by his own experiences of homelessness to perform charity work, and is clearly bewildered by his wife's apparently selfish refusal to support this. Owen nurses hurts from a childhood of being shunted around. A lot is going on here; sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't. Preston has things to say about feminism, art, poetry, the literary establishment, mental illness, parenthood, childhood: in the end, none of these themes felt explored so much as, just, well there . Owen has a lot of mother figures. At times the book dragged a little under the weight of all the storylines and threads, as well as balancing child-Owen, adult-Owen and Veda's perspectives. But despite some dragging plot, the world of the book - Melbourne's art scene from the 1950s through 1970s - feel so real you can taste the gnocchi and see the art. And as a celebration of a generation of women artists, it certainly succeeds.