All Fours
My mum is still reading All Fours by Miranda July
Everytime I speak to my mum on the phone, we could be talking about anything, and out of the blue she always goes,
“I’m still reading it, you know.”
She means she’s still reading All Fours by Miranda July. Sometimes, it’s the first thing she says the moment she picks up the phone.
When I lived in South London and she still lived in Highbury, I called my mum maybe once a month. Now I live in Kentish Town and we are much closer geographically, I call her once a day, sometimes even three times if there’s a real topic.
Sometimes, I think about calling her but don’t because I want her to like my calls. My mum is one of those people who’s too good at fixing other peoples’ problems so she’s on the phone a lot.
She tells me she’s reading All Fours by Miranda July so much because she really doesn’t ever read. Her favourite book is Wuthering Heights which she had to read for A level. Some decades later, my Dad edited a film called Emily about Emily Brontë so he got to bring his wife and children to one of the film’s more minor premieres.
(When I walked down the red carpet, one of the photographers pointed at me and said ‘Is that someone?’ and the other photographer said, ‘No.’ This was both gut-punching and very marvellous.)
After we saw the film, my mum would say,
‘Yes, it was very good. There were so many subtle references to the book.”
Then she’d raise her eyebrows at me.
My mum is from Nottingham and when she says “book” she flattens the oo sound so it sounds more like buk. I pointed this out to her once and she got annoyed with me but I do really, really like it when she says buk.
When I read All Fours by Miranda July I was so knocked over by it, the voice inside my head changed. She is so honest it’s impossible to be dishonest for a while after you read it. Her writing is so distilled that she shows you everything you’ve been disingenuous about - to yourself, or anyone else.
She talks about the fear of things: ageing, declining good looks, dying, being insignificant, missing the chance for outstanding love. But even when faced with all those things at once, in Miranda July’s world, you can just do something different. Choose in every terrified moment to dance, kiss someone, (fuck them, actually) get jacked and eat pudding.
So I gave my mum All Fours to read because we were going on holiday together and I was desperate to talk to someone about it. I gave it to my Mum because I really believe everyone should read this book, and also because sometimes I call her three times a day and she is my favourite person to talk to.
The night before we went on holiday I threw the book on her bed and said, “Please read this.”
When my mum packs she does this grown-up thing where she places a luggage rack at the foot of the bed, and she was standing there in front of it, holding night creams.
“Have you packed?.” She asked. “I’ve packed already, these are just my final bits of packing.”
“No I haven’t.”
She gave me this look which was supposed to be frustration but was really triumph because she doesn’t actually want me to be better at packing than her.
“Please read this book, you’ll love it.”
She picked up the book and turned it over.
“What’s it about?”
“People. Life, kind of. The menopause but not in a depressing way.”
She gave a little Hmph to say, don’t get me started on the menopause.
“Please read it. You’ll love it. Then we can talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“You know I won’t read it fast.”
“I know.”
“I’ll read it at my own pace.”
“You will.”
“And you won’t mind if I get stuff on your copy.”
Pause. “I won’t mind if you get stuff on my copy.”
~ to be continued.