Book Review: Takeaway: Stories From A Childhood Behind The Counter, Angela Hui

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Growing up in the small Welsh village of Beddau, Hui spent her evenings and weekends serving customers in the family Chinese takeaway, packing prawn crackers, and on ‘lid duty’. She struggles with the separation this causes between her and her school friends, never able to spend any significant time hanging out with them. It’s also difficult as a young woman being on the front line of customer service, having to deal with sometimes abusive customers and men making inappropriate comments. Family life is a constant slog and it puts a strain on all of them, her mother holding everything together while her father gambles away a lot of their earnings and becomes increasingly aggressive. Despite this, they make time to prepare wholesome meals to share as a family before service begins. 

For some readers it will seem that not a huge amount happens in this book. The repetitive nature of the endless labour is reflected in the narrative, and moments of climax often pass without too severe consequences. However, it is this repetition of labour, the growing up in an environment where you feel under attack from the local population, the endless casual racism which shape Hui during her formative years. She has no escape from it. There is very little time for rest in takeaway life. At weekends they sometimes go to Cardiff but this involves Chinese lessons, which she does not enjoy, going to wholesale food suppliers to purchase items for the business, and, the best part, family meal in a restaurant full of people they know. A wonderful social event where they can indulge in food they didn’t have to prepare themselves.

A recurring theme of the book is Hui’s feelings of disconnection. She doesn’t feel entirely at ease in China as she has spent her whole life in Wales, and yet in the Welsh Valley she is seen as foreign and is othered. She also struggles with the language barrier with her parents, who have tried to learn English but only have quite a basic grasp of it. This means that Hui and her brothers have to act as translators for them and take on more of the admin work than you would ordinarily expect from children. This puts a strain on the relationship as a sense of resentment grows, but also means that she feels she can’t talk to her parents about things that really matter to her. She continues to struggle with what she sees as the two separate parts of her life into young adulthood as she goes to University and leaves the family home. She tries desperately to keep different aspects of her life separate, especially when it comes to boyfriends, who she is convinced her parents won’t approve of for not being Chinese. It is cathartic for her to realise it’s OK to blur the lines and let people in to her whole world. 

The book is a thoughtful portrayal of the struggles of being a teenager and growing up in a world where there isn’t any separation between home life and work, but it is also an exploration of the work that goes in behind the scenes at a takeaway. We see throughout how relentless the work is, how it shapes their family life, and that on days where everyone else is relaxing and celebrating, they are working even harder. Customers can be lovely and become familiar, while others take any opportunity to complain and forget that the person behind the counter is trying their best and has feelings too. The descriptions of her feeling exposed to unpleasant customers, often making her uncomfortable as a young woman, are visceral, and are reminiscent of many experiences of working in customer service. Local youths frequently torment them, coming in with fake money, stealing plants from their back garden, and even breaking their window. Hui’s parents are reluctant to ever get the police involved and try to deal with situations themselves. Her mother is firm and will stand her ground when the customer is in the wrong. Her father on occasions oversteps the mark and threatens violence. Nonetheless, they feel vulnerable, and as technology changes and they don’t keep up it becomes increasingly difficult to turn a profit. 

I was quite shocked by the racism they experience, and Hui expresses how it wears you down. She is disappointed at her graduation that her name is mis-pronounced, and after a lifetime of being asked where she’s really from, having prank callers phone the takeaway regularly to mock her family’s country of origin, and people’s shock at her ability to speak the language of the country in which she was born, it is felt keenly. She also discusses the way the food they serve in their takeaway has been designed for a Western palate. Her parents don’t like them to eat what’s on the menu because it is unhealthy, and her father keeps his best dishes just for them. Food is a sign of love for her parents, and having suffered severe food shortages in their own youth they are determined that their children are well fed. 

An interesting read that combines a coming of age tale that many can relate to yet with specific challenges, and a broader discussion on the clash of cultures and the sense of being an outsider that is familiar to many who have chosen a new country to call home. Food is central to the text, with vividly described meals and even recipes at the end of each chapter. There are a few moments of (presumably) unintentional repetition where we are told the same snippets of anecdotes again, but broadly this is an enjoyable read.

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Blog Tour: What Everyone Knows About the British (Except the British), Michael Peel

This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Monoray for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

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Having spent a number of years living abroad working as a Foreign Correspondent, Peel is surprised by the Britain he returns to. This is the jumping off point into an investigation into the myths Britons tell themselves about their history and current status in the world, and some harsh realities about what’s going on behind these myths. It is as up to date as you can hope from a book, with King Charles’ coronation included and the seemingly endless cycle of Tory PMs the country has suffered under in recent years. This is a no holds barred look at the state of modern Britain. If you’re a staunch nationalist who clings to the idea of the Blitz Spirit you may find this a difficult read, but this is not a rambling opinion piece, Peel’s work is grounded in research, input from experts, and attempts to receive comment from the organisations in question (which often go unanswered).

Brexit naturally makes a repeat appearance and early discussions involve a look at the misconceptions that may have contributed to the referendum’s outcome. It comes as no surprise that people over-estimate the levels of immigration, and underestimated (quite drastically) the amount of investment the EU provided. Peel also looks at the prevailing myths around the type of voter who opted to leave, and their motivations, all signs of political parties twisting the narrative to serve their purposes. Divisive rhetoric may have short term gains for them but ultimately will do more harm than good. 

Myths around Britain’s role in history, as epitomised in the Life in the UK test, taken by anyone who wants to settle here, are examined. The propensity to downplay the contributions of people from other countries in what are seen as successes contrast to the complete absolving of any guilt or participation in the darker parts of history. The role of Britain in colonial history is increasingly being brought to the fore by organisations such as the National Trust, but they receive a huge amount of pushback, not because what they are highlighting is false, but merely because many would rather pretend it didn’t happen. 

This ties in with the following section on monarchy, a popular topic for debate in recent years with the jubilee, passing of Queen Elizabeth II and the coronation of King Charles III. Although many try to push down questions about the place of inherited privilege in the modern world and the Royal Family’s historic ties to colonialism and everything that came with it (as well as their less than transparent finances), the truth remains that there’s a lot to unpack. Throughout the book Peel compares Britain’s position to that of other countries, often ones that people would think of as more corrupt or less democratic, but which make apparent that there are a lot of similarities.  

This is a fascinating, well researched book which is likely to enrage you at times. I enjoyed learning more about the history and current political situations in other countries alongside reconsidering the current climate in the UK. For a book that deals with some heavy topics it is remarkably easy to read.

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Blog Tour: The Quality of Love, Ariane Bankes

This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Duckworth for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

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When Ariane's mother Celia dies she inherits a trunk full of letters, diaries, and photographs. These document the life of Celia and her twin sister Mamaine and the remarkable loves and friendships they had. Their life started modestly, their mother died a week after their birth and they spent a quiet childhood in the Suffolk countryside with their father and nanny. Sadly, at the age of eleven, they lost their father too and were sent to live with their uncle near Richmond. They struggled to settle into their new life, the shock of their grief feeling at times insurmountable. When they began the debutante ball circles they were incredibly bored and had no interest in any of the men they were there to impress. Before long they were forging their own path, travelling Europe and making friends with some of the leading intellectuals of the day.

The book focuses largely on the men in their lives, who frequently fell in love with them, and with whom they had the knack of remaining friends with despite rejections or break ups. Mamaine spent several years with Arthur Koestler, a fairly erratic relationship with high tempers and depressions. They lived for some time in a remote home in Wales where the weather was miserable, they were without water when it got too cold, and whose damp atmosphere did nothing to help Mamaine’s recurring asthma. She also had a whirlwind romance with Albert Camus during her relationship with Koestler. They were besotted with each other, their shared weeks being held on to as some of the best of either of their lives. They remained in each other’s circles but tried to remain a healthy distance for a time while their hearts settled down. She was not with either of them at the time of her death but both felt the loss heavily, and anxiously awaited news during her illness.

Celia was no less popular, having been proposed to by George Orwell. Again, they remained close despite the proposal having been rejected. He enjoyed her genuine interest in his son and it is clear that both twins were able to hold their own intellectually in the most formidable company. Celia eventually found a stable relationship with Bankes’ eventual father, who came to the relationship with existing children. It must be a slightly odd experience writing about the love life of your mother but Bankes handles it without apparent discomfort.

The twins come across as kind and intelligent. Mamaine helps edit Koestler’s work and Celia works on History Today. Despite their busy, international lives, they always prioritise each other. Letters go back and forth and it is a great pain to them when logistics keep them without news of the other. At one point delays in the post prove almost fatal when news of a shared medical allergy can’t be communicated efficiently. The book is rooted in the letters they wrote and received, not only between each other but with their friends and lovers. At times Bankes admits to only having one half of the correspondence, but much can be gleaned from the responses. 

An incredibly easy read covering a tumultuous period in European history. The narrative moves at a pace, with brief introductions to the various characters before we move on to the next acquaintance. At times we jump forward in time and are told how a relationship resolves which can be a little confusing, but it is rare. Overall an evocative look at remarkable lives which offers a more personal side of some of the biggest names of the age.

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Book Review: The Wild Silence, Raynor Winn

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The Wild Silence picks up where The Salt Path left off. Moth and Raynor are living in rented rooms in a chapel, Moth is studying, and Raynor continues to seek work while simultaneously becoming more and more socially anxious. Even within the safety of their home she struggles to sleep unless she is inside the tent. Transitioning back into a settled life proves more difficult than she had imagined, and with Moth at the University for the majority of the day she spends most of her time alone, worrying about how the sedentary lifestyle is affecting her husband’s health. She spends time trying to work out the science behind why his health improved during their months long walk along the South West Coast Path despite the fact doctors had advised him to take it easy. 

Decline and death are always on the periphery, and it is brought into sharper focus when Raynor’s mother is taken seriously ill. As she returns to the place she grew up and has to confront the imminent loss of a parent she begins to explore the past. Her parents never approved of Moth, this free-spirited young man who took her to the mountains at every opportunity. She looks back at their early relationship, the trips that didn’t go to plan, the difficult situations they’ve shared and survived, and the burgeoning love she felt for him, her reliance on him throughout, and her unwavering trust. She would follow him anywhere. And yet, in the difficult last days of her mother’s life she refuses to let him be there for her, she cannot bear to have him see death, to see his future laid bare. Perhaps even more so, she can’t allow the reality of that future to touch her, she has to keep them separate. Her honesty about the sometimes strained relationship with her parents is refreshing, letting us in on the realities of contemplating a lifetime connection at the very end. These passages are entirely heartbreaking - for those who have lost a parent it will likely feel all too familiar and for those dreading the day this loss comes for them, the stark honesty will make you want to hold your loved ones close.

As Moth’s health deteriorates so does his memory. Raynor is shocked to discover that he is losing memory of parts of their walk, a shared experience that feels so important to her that he remember. As a response, she writes a memoir about the walk as a gift to him. This eventually becomes The Salt Path, and in this, its sequel, we are privy to the disorienting process that led to its publication. For someone increasingly struggling to be around other people, and wanting to hide their former homelessness from the local community, their story becoming public and the demand for her to take part in publicity events is a challenge. However, the book proves a great opportunity for them, leading to contacts that have the potential to change their life. One such contact leads to them taking on a farm in an attempt to regenerate it. It is a huge job, and it seems wrong that they are expected to pay rent for a home that is uninhabitable while they sink their own money and a huge amount of time into not just the land but the home. Despite the challenges and the physical toll it takes, seeing the land begin to come to life, the local wildlife return, brings a sense of peace.

Constantly torn between desperately wanting to keep Moth moving, and fear that her insistence that he doesn’t rest is making him worse, by the end of the book they are on a challenging hike in the hostile wilderness of Iceland, on the cusp of winter setting in. Along the way they are surprised by how other hikers behave around them. They all seem to be in their twenties and don’t want to mix with the group of older walkers, but there is an underlying strangeness to the way they interact with them. It’s only later that Raynor realises how they already know their story.

A slightly meandering narrative that covers a lot of ground. This is a lot less of a hiking memoir than The Salt Path, more of a personal exploration of a marriage and the relationships that hold our lives together. The passages about having her first book published feel somewhat meta, but it is an honest portrayal of the joys and challenges that come with success. Winn never shies away from the difficult moments in life and lays bare intimate details of some of the most challenging experiences. An emotional read, and one that briefly re-caps her story to date so you could pick it up even if you haven’t read the first book, although it is definitely worth reading both. 

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Blog Tour: The Rabbits, A.A. Milne

This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Farrago for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

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Today, best known for his delightful children’s stories based around Winnie-the-Pooh and friends, A.A. Milne published many popular stories for adults during his career. These new editions from Farrago give a new generation of readers a chance to discover them. Originally published as a series of sketches for Punch, the stories in The Rabbits centre around a group of friends in the early twentieth century. Their life is largely carefree, being in a position where money doesn’t appear to be a worry. We see them at intervals throughout their young adulthood, often playing games, teasing each other, and generally having a good time. As the book progresses we see them begin to settle down, marry, have children, and move into their own homes. It is heartening to see their friendship continue throughout these major life events, always there to support each other, but always with a sense of fun and irreverence. 

The years covered are 1909 through to 1914. This is not historic fiction, Milne was publishing these short pieces in real time, and so as a modern reader we are very aware of the imminent disaster of war approaching in a way the characters are not. At one point a new mother mentions that her child will be a soldier. It is a harsh reminder to us what that would mean, how the next generation of young adults would have such a drastically different existence. 

Their lives are so very different to ours in many ways, and the book captures the lives of the upper middle class at a very particular moment in time, yet as we watch them grow together, the way they interact, the ease with which they tease each other, and their hopes for their own lives and those of their children, we see that there is so much that is familiar.

This is an incredibly easy book to read, even as someone who doesn’t read quickly I found the pages flying by. The episodic nature of the stories might be off-putting to some but many will revel in the snippets of life we’re privy to. It makes for a light, entertaining read, and you’re able to delve in to each section, feeling satisfied before returning to find out what japes the Rabbits have got up to next. 

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Book Review: Brian, Jeremy Cooper

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Brian tracks the life of a solitary man named Brian through his late thirties to retirement. He lives in Kentish Town and works for Camden Council, eats at the same Italian restaurant every day, and is thrown when his normal launderette is closed when usually it would be open. He lives a life of routine and repetition, feeling safe in the knowledge that he knows what’s coming. There is a sense that he longs for belonging, and he suspects he may find it if he joins the BFI and becomes a regular, something that needs some consideration before committing. Once he’s taken the step to join he soon goes every night, aware of a group of regulars who get together in the foyer to discuss the film after the showing. With time he becomes one of them and although he feels very anxious at the thought of saying the wrong thing he gradually feels confident enough to express his opinions, and becomes something of an expert in Japanese cinema.

The book is equally, if not majority, short critiques of the films he watches. In the early days of his membership it feels at times like simply a long list of films without much story development which can be a little tiresome, especially for readers not familiar with the films, but as the book progresses we see more and more of Brian and the sections describing his responses to the films he watches tells us almost as much about him as the film. In the beginning he watches films with a fairly closed mind, too conscious of protecting himself from any kind of emotional hurt that might arise from the themes presented to him, but with time he becomes more open. He remains guarded of his own heart, developing techniques whereby he can be moved by a film but without relating it to his own life however closely it might align. He’s aware that he has missed out on many things in life, and has never engaged much in politics or religion. Film gives him the opportunity to explore new avenues and experience things he doubts he ever will in real life. He goes through a phase of watching sexual content, at first deeply uncomfortable but fascinated, never having had a romantic relationship and not expecting to. We see in his developing passion for cinema the way in which it opens his mind to new possibilities, and offers him the opportunity of companionship with others whose interest in each other goes little deeper than what they thought of the film they’ve just watched. 

From the first pages of the novel we get a real sense of Brian and his personality. Nothing particularly dramatic happens throughout the course of the book, and he does not suddenly become a spontaneous extrovert, but we witness the slow growth of someone who has spent many years alone, subtle changes that indicate he is willing to cautiously let people in a little more, to consider the world beyond his flat and office. The passage of time is not clearly noted, with no chapter breaks it is a continuous piece of prose in which you are only aware that time has moved on significantly by mention of global events or his imminent retirement. It can be somewhat disorienting to realise that decades have passed since you last noted the time frame of the book, which is reflective of life, time slipping by largely unannounced. His retirement is a big moment for him, a possible point of crisis as his routine will be irretrievably changed. Similarly, medical changes that come with age prove a challenge, but he finds ways to adapt, and retirement proves an opportunity to indulge his interests further.

He had made attempts to find somewhere to fit in before braving the BFI, and sadly they always fell apart. The consistency of the screenings and the regulars, even if they change over time, is reassuring and allow him to find a sense of belonging. One regular, Jack, reaches out across the distant familiarity of the foyer discussions, suggesting they meet outside of the BFI. With time, they become friendly and Jack opens Brian’s eyes (or ears) to the depths of film scores. Brian is aware that many of the regulars would be considered outsiders by many, with their unkempt appearances and over-used plastic bags, and he finds Jack’s proclivity to talk to strangers embarrassing. Indeed, you can imagine that Brian is the kind of person people would find a bit odd, but this book reminds us that everybody is just doing their best, everyone has their own history which has shaped them, and that there are precious communities where social norms can be thrust aside and people can bond over a shared love of art.

There are many allusions to traumatic and difficult events from Brian’s past, in particular his childhood. We are drip fed information about his family life, his mother who finally took them away from his father, a brother who he hasn’t seen in 40 years, who lived in Northern Ireland, and yet who Brian is so determined not to see he frequently mistakes strangers in London for him and crosses the road to keep away. We understand that some of his behaviours stem from difficult early experiences, but it is not dwelt upon. For Brian it is merely part of his life’s story. 

An unusual, gentle book. Brian is a fascinating character to spend time with from his quiet, unassuming life, to his repeatedly confusing an accident he was in with having been a victim of one of the London bombings. From early on you want for him to find a sense of belonging. This is a book that can be enjoyed by non-film buffs, but I imagine it might add an extra layer of depth if you’re familiar with the films he discusses. It is an interesting reading experience to be eager to learn more about the protagonist, but instead to have pages of film critique. Overall a heartening read which makes you appreciate the things in life that bring us all joy, whether that be film or books, good food or games, it is to be treasured.  

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Book Review: Unwell Women, Elinor Cleghorn

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Cleghorn’s acclaimed exploration of the gender inequalities in the medical sphere is a fascinating, horrifying read. The period covered is broad but we see how there is still such a long way to go. For many centuries women were excluded from medicine, healers and midwives were burnt as witches, ostracised and their knowledge ignored, to the detriment of the women they were helping. Female experience of pain has repeatedly been dismissed, more weight being given to the opinion of male ‘experts’. Symptoms have been brushed aside as hysterical or all in the patient’s head. To this day, women are more likely to be prescribed anti-depressants than painkillers. Men don’t have the same problem. 

Keeping women from knowledge about their own bodies led to centuries of embarrassment and misunderstanding. The sexual revolution allowed women to have the words to describe what they were experiencing, and to feel ownership over their bodies. In the nineteenth century it was particularly common to carry out procedures on women without their knowledge or consent. Clitoridectomies were common, with Isaac Baker Brown being their most enthusiastic practitioner. He believed that female masturbation was the cause of many health issues, and clitoridectomy would be the cure. His barbaric surgery was carried out on women we would now recognise as suffering from the likes of endometriosis, epilepsy, or MS. Naturally, it wasn’t successful. Even at the time his practice was considered barbaric, he drew the line only at operating on girls under the age of ten(!) but performed huge numbers of operations on women and girls who hadn’t consented. The other side of this was that girls and women who had been raped were also subjected to this ghastly procedure, indicating the social view that the blame landed squarely with them. As with many of the practices described in the book, the ‘treatments’ were not really designed to help those suffering, but to control them, ultimately making their lives harder.

Control was also wielded in sterilisation practices. Forced sterilisation was legal in the US from 1907 and it led to young women under the age of 18 who were suffering with mental illness or epilepsy being sterilised. Again, it was also used on those who had been victims of sexual assault. There were racist undertones to forced sterilisation, with women of colour being subjected to it in far higher numbers. It is sad that the rise of birth control, ostensibly a positive move for women, giving them more control over their reproductive rights, was turned against them to such a horrifying degree. Cleghorn does not shy away from the racial disparities in the treatment women receive, with worse outcomes much more likely in maternity care for women of colour. She explores the history of racism in medicine, discussing the horrific experiences enslaved women endured as they were experimentally operated on repeatedly without anaesthesia. Only recently has the misconception that people of some ethnicities have a much higher threshold for pain been questioned. 

In a sea of shocking tales of mistreatment and abuse, one that stands out is the prevalence of lobotomies in the twentieth century. Again, used as a form of control for any woman who didn’t conform to the happy housewife image that was considered their natural state. There was no argument that it would cure their ailments, merely that it would sever the emotional tie. The measure of success was how obediently they went back to their domestic roles. Sadly, many women became suicidal as a result of this barbaric practice, and even those who didn’t would often die within a few years of the surgery. A truly chilling practice that is hard to believe was ever sanctioned.

This is a well researched book which covers a lot but acknowledges what has been omitted. If you are an unwell woman struggling through the healthcare system it might help you feel less alone, but also acutely aware of the need to persist and be your own advocate. Having studied some medical history, especially related to mental health, during my undergraduate studies, a lot of what was included was familiar, yet still shocking. Cleghorn draws out the voices of women who were silenced in their own time and highlights the sacrifices of the past which have brought us as far as we have come now. Essential, albeit difficult, reading.

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