Why I just had to write a book about it all…
The Trouble With My Aunt leads readers across a family tapestry threaded with humour, heartbreak, romance, betrayal, nostalgia, genetics and Jewish traditions.
‘It was Friday night and she lit the Shabbat candles. The match popped, and hissed into a flare. I covered my eyes and recited the Hebrew prayer I’d learned at school. As always, my mother remained silent, clearly invoking her right to secrecy, which was probably not such a bad thing, given that she was praying for her sister’s death.
Nobody really knew what the trouble was with Aunty Vi – all I knew, was that it was Gran’s fault.
“Vi is Gran’s cross to bear,” said my mother.’
I spent a lifetime peeling back and grappling with the many layers lying behind the opening lines of my debut novel, The Trouble With My Aunt.
The character of Vi is based on my mother’s sister. Born in 1933, she grew up during a time when children like her were viewed in no uncertain terms as ‘retarded.’ The prevailing educational system had no place for these individuals, and their families had little or no support, thus institutionalisation in facilities for the mentally handicapped was seen by many as the only viable option.
My mother (right) and my aunt as toddlers circa 1935. My mother was 18 months older.
In his will, my grandfather stated that his daughter should never be institutionalised, and indeed, as long as my grandparents were alive, my aunt lived with them. My grandmother did what she believed to be her very best by her daughter, and never gave up trying to teach her to read and write. She also ensured that my aunt was impeccably groomed, well-mannered and generally socially presentable at all times.
After my grandmother died, my aunt became my mother’s ward. Having devoted her entire life to ensuring that her intellectually challenged younger sister wanted for nothing, this was a natural progression for my mother, but it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, easy. What troubled my mother even more though, was the thought of not being around to care for her sister. She confided to me on more than one occasion that she was terrified to be the first of the sisters to die, lest someone else have to take on the burden of my aunt’s care.
And that’s why I just had to write a book about it all.