Some years back, I read Roberta Taylor's
autobiographical novel,
Too Many Mothers and loved it. Painting a realistic
picture of growing up in London's East End during the latter part of
the twentieth century, the book is an unbelievable collection of images
thrown at the reader from all angles. The picture is often devastating and extremely
sad; however, lurking at the edges, there are always rays of light
and humour. This is not a book that can fit neatly into the accepted
mould of beginning, middle and resolution, because Roberta Taylor's
early life was anything but ordered and neat. Instead, the book piles
images into untidy towers of varying heights where the reader can
rummage at his/her will, perhaps laughing at the antics of one of
Roberta's aunts or weeping over a situation from which there seems to
be no escape. A wonderful book - I definitely recommend it to other
readers.