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A review by emmajolly
Maggie & Me by Damian Barr
5.0
Before reading Maggie and Me, my favourite book this year was Bear Grylls' memoir, featuring two SAS selection procedures and an often oxygen-starved climb of Mount Everest. While Damian Barr comes from a completely different background from Eton-educated, MP's son, Grylls, his life story shares similar elements of survival. Through chapter headings and in the Acknowledgements, Barr gives some of the credit for this to the eponymous Margaret Thatcher. But the chapters themselves reveal that much comes down to Barr's positive attitude and belief in himself.
Growing up in poverty near Motherwell in the 1980s and '90s, Barr endured a broken home, abuse, neglect, homophobic bullying, as well as the misery of suffering asthma in the environs of a dying steelworks and a series of overcrowded, smoke-filled homes. Written without self-pity, often with the genuine perplexity of a child and funny enough to make me laugh out loud, this is definitely not a misery memoir. Barr's use of socio-cultural references (Artex wallpaper, Ski Yoghurt, scrunchies, Carrie, school recorders in a jar of Milton's sterilising fluid . . . ) will resonate with anyone who grew up in the '80s and '90s, and transported me straight into the poorly heated and often terrifying homes of his childhood.
Unsurprisingly, for the memoir of a successful writer, journalist and literary salon founder, Maggie and Me is full of varied literary references. Besides the support of several teachers and the loving family of a surprise girlfriend, Barr's life was improved hugely by the escape and education provided by books (and his local library). I was delighted that he mentioned the magazine and tape of Gobbolino the Witch's Cat, which I read/listened to a hundred times growing up. Books provided a bonding point for one of the most memorable relationships of the book, that of Barr's handsome, sporty, primary friend, Mark. I won't spoil what happened to Mark, only to say that I'm still crying.
As Barr is only a few months older than me, I related to many parts of his life, such as Friday evenings watching Dynasty, hearing about Margaret Thatcher's resignation at school, Findus lasagne, school milk (there's a handy note at the end on the 'Thatcher, Thatcher, Milk Snatcher' rhyme for anyone, confused like me, who was miserably forced to drink milk at school in the eighties.). Like Bear Grylls' autobiography, this was a book I did not want to end. Like the best books of my childhood, the characters felt like friends and I'm sad to now put them away on the shelf.
Growing up in poverty near Motherwell in the 1980s and '90s, Barr endured a broken home, abuse, neglect, homophobic bullying, as well as the misery of suffering asthma in the environs of a dying steelworks and a series of overcrowded, smoke-filled homes. Written without self-pity, often with the genuine perplexity of a child and funny enough to make me laugh out loud, this is definitely not a misery memoir. Barr's use of socio-cultural references (Artex wallpaper, Ski Yoghurt, scrunchies, Carrie, school recorders in a jar of Milton's sterilising fluid . . . ) will resonate with anyone who grew up in the '80s and '90s, and transported me straight into the poorly heated and often terrifying homes of his childhood.
Unsurprisingly, for the memoir of a successful writer, journalist and literary salon founder, Maggie and Me is full of varied literary references. Besides the support of several teachers and the loving family of a surprise girlfriend, Barr's life was improved hugely by the escape and education provided by books (and his local library). I was delighted that he mentioned the magazine and tape of Gobbolino the Witch's Cat, which I read/listened to a hundred times growing up. Books provided a bonding point for one of the most memorable relationships of the book, that of Barr's handsome, sporty, primary friend, Mark. I won't spoil what happened to Mark, only to say that I'm still crying.
As Barr is only a few months older than me, I related to many parts of his life, such as Friday evenings watching Dynasty, hearing about Margaret Thatcher's resignation at school, Findus lasagne, school milk (there's a handy note at the end on the 'Thatcher, Thatcher, Milk Snatcher' rhyme for anyone, confused like me, who was miserably forced to drink milk at school in the eighties.). Like Bear Grylls' autobiography, this was a book I did not want to end. Like the best books of my childhood, the characters felt like friends and I'm sad to now put them away on the shelf.