on 3 March 2016
I had a personal stake in this book for two reasons: it's a memoir of childhood in Exeter, which is where I grew up, and it's written by the guy who taught me French at GCSE and A level and who was probably my favourite teacher. Which means that it's probably more interesting to me than to the average, casual reader.
In some ways it's slight, bitty and lacks an over-arching theme or strong narrative, although the father's absence is probably the main thread throughout the book. But, as you'd expect from a poet, the writing is expressive and observant, it's funny and evocative, and it got me thinking about some of the forgotten corners of my own childhood.