An audio book.
Lia's cancer has come back. Brain, liver, lungs. Soon after she was breastless she was in a train. There was a little group of drunks. A man fondled her. His mates asked him what her tits were like. He said her nipples were hard. She was grateful.
Harry, her husband, is a lecturer. They have a 12 year-old daughter, Iris. Connie is her friend and confidant.
Cancer is a first-person PoV. It takes tours of her body, can sense when she lies, and has a friend, Red, the red chemo drug. It interrupts and mocks. It mentions Gardener and Fossil. There are multiple choice questions, definitions (autotomy, etc) and doggerel.
Her father, Peter, was a churchman. Her mother Ann becomes a widow by the end of the time-line, but we learn the details only three-quarters through the book. Her parents took in an orphan, Matthew, who she fancied. They had frequent sex before he left for university and before she finished 6th form. He goes away for a year, returning just after she's been unfaithful. The 2 of them, plus female twins she knows from school, have a car crash. She later goes to an Italian commune and stays with him. He leaves her.
A pgrad woman is chasing Harry. Lia says it's not a problem - she gives him permission - "I won't haunt her". Iris hears a rumour at school that Harry is having an affair. She learns that Harry isn't her biological father. Lea doesn't tell her it's Matthew.
Matthew is Fossil and Harry the Gardener?
Some of the text is from Peter's PoV, some is from Ann who begins to doubt after Peter's death. Peter had dementia, died. On funeral day, Matthew returns. He's on a rehab program. She has hopeless sex with Matthew.
Harry thinks that he's failed as a Father, Husband and Human. Matthew (for real?) visits her deathbed. She says that she sometimes thought it was her guilt that had made her ill. He tells her that it was love, and leaves.
Lea catches her final infection from Iris after they'd had an honest talk. Deathbed reconciliations.
Towards the end, cancer/Lea's thoughts become rapid and disjointed. "I am her. She is me. We always have been. Forgive me. ... you need to forgive yourself."
When 30 minutes of the book are to go, a hospital bed is delivered to the house. She thinks about writing letters for Iris to open on significant birthdays, then decides she’d prefer Iris to write letters to her.
Her ashes were a pound lighter than her birthweight. Iris carries them around like a newborn. She decides to spread the ashes as far as they can go.
Burn girl and the twins are mentioned several times. I'm not convinced that they need to be.
There are many notable phrases - e.g.
- "and now all the children are loose in my woods"
- "Like fruitflies, taste buds only live 14 days" (when she wants to get rid of a man's taste)
- "sometimes people depend on the distance between moment and meaning"
- "infected nodes shiver under armpits the way beasts wait under the bridges"
- [a letter thrown into a river] "bleeding out from its wounds"
Other reviews
- Caleb Klaces (The disorienting experience of this technique brings to mind Eimear McBride’s A Girl Is a Half-Formed Thing, another novel that stretches conventional language to address terminal illness. Whereas McBride’s prose is fragmented in a way that is consistent throughout, creating a distinctive stream-of-consciousness style, Mortimer’s writing is restlessly inventive. It includes different fonts, stanzas, visual arrangements, lists and playful definitions,
...
Should the disembodied voice be interpreted as a personification of cancer? ... The publisher’s press release includes a letter from Mortimer herself, outlining the book’s origins in personal experience and expressing a hope that readers will be “gentle”)
- Lillian Pearce (Mortimer’s most captivating choice was to have the cancer love Lia as opposed to hating her. This decision was only undermined by its needless frequency and sloppy finish; near the end of the novel, the cancer’s narration felt more intrusive than purposeful, more bizarre than enthralling ... Another failure of “Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies” is the language Mortimer employs to discuss disease. It was disappointing to see Mortimer use the same “military” language often attached to discussions of cancer ... Mortimer reiterates the misconception that cancer is something to be ashamed of, that illness makes you less. Her presentation of cancer is unoriginal and unremarkable. Though this book is noted as a “meditation on illness and death,” it adds nothing new to the genre nor the discourse. ... The real tension of “Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies” is not embodied by the disease, but rather by the relationship between Lia and her mother. ... Mortimer wants us to accept an abrupt reunion seemingly founded on death and disease without ever providing an explanation for their newfound proximity. ... its regurgitation of lackluster representations of disease and its failure to effectively resolve significant character tensions)