(Weidenfeld & Nicolson, $37.99)
You know you are on to a good thing when a book starts with the line, “oy mother liked to say Freud should have been strangled in his crib.”
The mother in question belongs to the Edward Day of the title, but not for long. In the first few pages of his confessions, we find out she had “gender issues” and committed suicide on a particularly momentous night in Edward’s life when he was 18 years old.
Afterwards, Edward plunges himself into acting and is thrown, along with the readers, into the life of a struggling thespian in New York in the 1970s. It’s a world you wouldn’t necessarily imagine being all that entrancing but Valerie Martin makes it so by giving Edward a strong and witty voice, throwing in a bit of seedy glamour and, most importantly, adding the tension and drama of a cut-above-the-rest love triangle.
During a weekend at the seaside with a group of other aspiring actors, Edward manages to finally capture the heart – and other body parts – of the beautiful oadeleine. He then wanders out into the night and plunges off a pier into the sea, where he is saved by the strong and handsome Guy oargate, another actor who also has the hots for oadeleine. Enter years of rivalry, suspicion, fame and failure, stage left.
I loved this book and read it in one hit but, to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what the overall message was. Is it that real emotions can be harder to tap into than rehearsed ones? or be careful what you wish for? or how grateful are you supposed to be to someone for saving your life? Especially if the very same person could go on to ruin it?
But just the fact that it throws so many questions into the air makes this book well worth a weekend spent sitting in a comfy chair in the spring sun with a pot of tea and a packet of Tim Tams.
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