Book Review: How to Avoid a Happy Life by Julia Lawrinson.

Review first published on my GoodReads page.

I will start by saying I have known the author, Julia Lawrinson, for about 15 years, and she's one of my favourite people. I love her books for children and young adults, and we have hung out together at writers' festivals and conferences and had a great time. In 2017, I even took the first proper holiday I had had in years, and flew (for the first time) from Sydney to Western Australia to be at the launch of her novel Before You Forget. Julia's husband, John, was diagnosed with early-onset alzheimer's about the time my dad's Lewy Body dementia was kicking in, and we shared a lot of commiserations over their condition, and so when she wrote her book about the experience, I wanted to be there to support her at the launch. Also, we both adore ABBA, and we super-trouper-fans have to stick together. So I am not a dispassionate reviewer. I knew a lot of what Julia writes about in this memoir, but not all of it. And I am so full of admiration for her courage and resolve in telling her truth, I could not be prouder.

(Photo stolen from Julia’s LinkedIn)

The memoir uses its section headings to address the book's title, and as Julia weaves in and out of the stories of her own life, in not-strictly chronological order, themes of inter-generational dysfunction and damage begin to emerge, even before Julia herself was really aware of them in her own life. It came as no surprise to me how vividly she recreated the young Julia and the extraordinary experiences she had as a child, teenager and young adult: she brings the novelist's skills to these sections of the book — to the whole book, really, but in particular you can see how her own youth has informed her work as a children's and YA writer, and how her skill at evoking the challenges of youthful emotion in her novels has fed back into this memoir. Group houses, cross-country bus trips, drunken nights and ill-advised encounters are all brought to life with an intensity that can only come from memories forged at that particular time of life. There's a hopefulness amid all the terrible things that happen — and terrible things do happen — that only comes with youth, and despite the pain and chaos, somehow these scenes seem to have an almost desperate kind of sparkle to them, like a drunken night in Kings' Cross. I don't mean at all to glamourise what Julia experienced and captures here, and she certainly does not, but the energy of her memories here cannot be denied. Or maybe it's just in comparison to my own somewhat prosaic youth, but still.

Julia has experienced a huge amount of tragedy and loss in her life, and many people have written about the resilience and courage she shows in writing this book, and that is true. There's also a determination not to let herself off the hook, not to make excuses, but also not to apologise. I know Julia well enough to know that a.) she isn't going to change anyone's mind once they've made it up about her so why bother trying, and b.) she's so over their shit I am not sure she cares anymore. I think the clear sub-text going on here is Julia making her own reckoning with her story, and it's done with an enormous amount of love and compassion even for those people who some readers may come to conclude don't entirely deserve it. At times I had to stop reading in order to weep. And at times it's blackly hilarious. She has a fine hand in balancing emotion so the tragedy never gets mawkish, and the kind of outrageous piling up of awful things and bloody misfortune (truth IS always more bizarre than fiction) never tip over into oh-come-on disbelief.

I spoke to some Year 11 and 12 students about this book yesterday, when I was still half-way through it. I told them I couldn't wait to get home to finish it, and now I have, my admiration for its author, my friend, could not be higher. But even if I didn't know Julia, and know why she left out some of the stuff that would REALLY have made for good copy (because she's not silly), I would still have devoured this book. It's utterly compelling, frank and straightforward, with some lightness of touch and gorgeousness of observation to leaven the darker stuff. I loved it. And Julia, if you're reading this, I love you too. Big props my friend. More strength to your arm, and may the rest of your life bring you the happiness you so richly deserve.

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