Will catch up on the thread in a minute, but first my update:
32. A Spoonful of Murder, Robin Stevens
DD(10) read it and passed it to me. Golden Age crime set for the younger set, with two schoolgirls investigating murder and kidnapping in 1930s Hong Kong. The target audience means that the author has to avoid being too graphic (the narrator's mother has bound feet, and it's portrayed here as meaning she can't walk very fast), but it's reasonably atmospheric and there's a degree of edge derived from the narrator's ambivalence towards her mother.
33. The Reading Cure, by Laura Freeman
Another reading memoir, with the author, a recovering anorexic, slowly rediscovering pleasure in food thanks to authors that she loves. I loved this, largely because the author has excellent taste in books (ie. taste that overlaps with mine) and writes well. Lovely.
34. The Wild Other, by Clover Stroud
Another memoir: the author's mother acquires a catastrophic brain injury when the author is 16. She lives for another 22 years, but the woman she was has been lost. The author acts out her trauma in various ways. There's a lot of self-mythologizing here - she claims to run off with Irish gypsies. Irish Travellers are not the same as gypsies, and in any case, she just spends a few months hanging around with English New Age Travellers in Ireland, before taking up her place at Oxford University. There's an extended gap year on various Texan ranches afterwards, before she returns to Oxford to make an ill-advised marriage with someone she believes to be a romantic Irish musician, who is really a layabout from Hereford with a fake Dublin accent and a drink problem. This doesn't go well, so then she portrays herself an impoverished single mother, notwithstanding the rent-free house in Oxford bought by her father, the au pairs and the children's pony. There are a few misguided trips to the Caucasus to visit a married man, before she settles down with an Oxford contemporary and has more children. Oh, and there's a lot about horses.
Now, I don't think self-mythologizing is necessarily a bad thing in a memoir, so I thought it was worth the read. I don't think she was living on the edge as much as she likes to think, but I appreciate her wanting to grab at life as she witnesses her mother's living death.