Mamele by Gemma Reeves is an interesting exploration into a woman's relationships with different people in her life and how those dynamics have shaped her.

A powerfully raw character study on the complexity of female familial relationships, identity and acceptance.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for my review copy!

A gorgeous, emotional, haunting, and captivating read that really resonated with me. The characters are beautifully crafted and the story flows with ease and is raw and powerful and really hits you in the gut. I loved it!

Unfortunately for the writer, I spent most of this book becoming increasingly annoyed with the wording of the blurb, which isn't her fault but the publishers.

"Edie lives in a crumbling country house in Broadstairs with her partner Joanna. They have spent over a decade together since the death of Harry, the third member of their polyamorous marriage."

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The way this is written, you would think Edie and Joanna were married, and Harry was the partner with whom they formed a triad.

But no.

Harry and Joanna were a married couple, and they unicorn-hunted Edie - a person so lost that she slotted into their bougie lives with little friction. This is not to say that this situation is completely impossible, but it's known as unicorn hunting for a reason. It's both unrealistic and unethical.

Harry and Joanna drip with privilege of all kinds, and the only way this fictional dynamic works with Edie is because she is acquired and treated as an object. Edie is referred to as a "friend of the family" despite living with the couple and their children for 20 years.

Nothing about this situation is polyamorous. There is no love. Harry and Edie have no connection, and Joanna treats Edie appallingly.

Suggesting that this relationship is polyamorous reinforces the idea that cishet-presenting couples can reasonably expect to find a woman who will be their perfect third without having any wants and needs of her own or a voice within the relationship.
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Shame on the publisher for incorrectly slotting polyamory into the blurb as a buzzword and suggesting that it is Joanna and Edie who are married. Is this what queerbaiting is? AND something akin to polyambaiting? Either way, it spoiled what otherwise would have been an interesting read for me.

Reflections on a difficult mother, relatable. This was a beautifully written novel centred on Edie who is contemplating her life weaved in with her current situation living in a rambling country manor with her widowed partner and their dogs. Her childhood is marred by the impact of her changeable and deeply unhappy mother, haunted by her own past as a displaced Jewish immigrant now living in London. As she recalls her demanding childhood, Edie is able to uncomfortably unveil the reality of her life as a middle aged woman. Food is used as a tool for Edie to centre herself within her own identity which she often feels untethered from, hearty Spanish food cooked by her father, traditional Jewish food passed down by her mother, and the food she now cooks for her upper-class English family.

This is a book about family, desire, and independence. The dysfunctions families pass down through generations, the traumas parents (often) unknowingly inflict upon their children, and freedom in personal truth.

Thank you to NetGalley and the Publisher for the ARC.

Mamele is a beautifully moving exploration of queerness, female relationships and generational trauma, through snapshots of Edie’s life - past and present - as she comes to terms with her queer identity as a Jewish woman, and her estrangement from her mother.

The writing style is stunning, with a very unique and genuine sensibility that highlights the simplicity of everyday life in a complex way. In doing so, it masterfully reveals the contradicting ambiguity of feelings that permeates Edie’s life in a very palpable way. It is both sad and hopeful. Both a comforting and discomfortable read. At once highly relatable and familiar, yet so far removed from anything I’ve experienced. It made me feel both nostalgic for a life I have never lived and lucky for not having lived it

The beautiful descriptions of the environments throughout, make it feel like, at times, rather than reading a book, you are looking at a series of photographs of the mundane and/or ugly, framed and composed in a way that highlights the beauty - and melancholic weariness - of it all. You can almost feel and see Edie’s unwritten feelings, via her descriptions of the environments that surround her. A mere account of the state of the house’s driveway, for example, seems to give insight into the state of Edie’s relationship with her partner. (“It used to be landscaped, all topiary sculpted hedges; flowers arranged in their beds. But Joanna and I don’t tend to the plants.”)

There are a lot of references to art pieces throughout the book, and the writing itself manages to elevate the book to an art piece in its own right.

As a reader, I felt like an outsider peering into a world where I don´t belong. As Edie recounted her past, she too felt to me like an outsider peering into a world where she did not feel like she belonged, one where she had no agency. I’m very glad Edie found her agency in the end, showing us all that there is always hope, and it is never too late.

I've never read anything quite like Mamele. It recounts the middle aged years of Edie, a queer, Jewish woman living with her partner, Joanna. Their relationship is romantic, yet transactional, forever unbalanced by Joanna's wealth and a past somewhat privileged by a previous heterosexual relationship, versus Edie's struggle to forge a life for herself within underground spaces of queerness, distanced from a family unsupportive of her identity.

The relationship at the heart of the novel, however, is that of Edie and her mother, a Jewish émigré. Part of the post-war diaspora in West London, Edie’s mother is never quite fully present. She spends her days with the other wives and mothers of the building in which they live, women who, quite understandably, struggle not to live in the past. During Edie’s adolescence, her relationship with her mother becomes turbulent. In the present day they are kept loosely connected by weekly phone calls with Edie’s sister, neither of them willing to relent and forgive first.

Without giving too much away, Edie’s refusal to forgive her mother for her actions was powerful and oftentimes heart wrenching. Reeves’ character development is excellent and she doesn’t shy away from exposing anyone’s vulnerabilities. Despite the heavy topics, Mamele was utterly devourable.

This wasn’t the book I thought it would be, but I’m really not mad about it.

It follows Edie, a queer Jewish woman, as she reflects on her life and particularly the relationships she has with other women. The complex relationship between Edie and her mother was the centre of the story, but I actually found the relationship between Edie and her sister to be the most compelling.

The conversations, thoughts and relationships felt very human, and it was almost a study of queerness, pleasure, and grief through flashbacks and experiences. It was pretty thin in terms of plot, but as it was a short book and more of a character study, that wasn’t a dealbreaker for me.

Structurally it was pretty simplistic, and some of the themes felt like they came out of nowhere, but I felt a lot of emotion while reading this, and that’s the point, right?

Thank you to NetGalley and Harper Collins for giving me the opportunity to read this!

An intriguing and unsettling novel of love, desire and personal history

With parallel narratives following protagonist Edie in her middle-age present, and in her past childhood and new adulthood, Mamele explores how the past—both known and secret—affects the present, holding tight on the present and shutting down the future. A mixed race daughter of a Jewish mother and a Spanish father, young Edie loves her mother very much, even though her mother is difficult to love and impossible to really know. In 1999, middle-aged Edie looks back on more than thirty years estranged from her mother, surrounded by an unusual found family where nothing is certain. In both timelines, Edie unapologetically lives her queer life, but always with her mother constantly in her rearview mirror, as notable for her absence as her presence.

Not a book that I would usually have picked up, I found this intriguing and unsettling in equal parts. Edie’s life in her present was slightly less realistic given the unusual family she has found for herself, but that might have been in comparison to the much stronger past narrative with the hidden lives of Jewish refugees in post-war Britain. At the heart of the book are relationships between women, although the one positive comparator to Edie’s other relationships comes so late that the novel remains a tense and awkward read throughout.

Three tense stars.

a tender, blazing look at the complex relationship between a mother and daughter, how it affects the latter's adult relationships, and what it means to grow up and heal. a very satisfying conclusion, characters full of life, and beautifully descriptive prose.

This was such a raw, honest and poignant read. The author has shared about the female relationships and a mother and daughter’s bond. The main character is queer. She always wanted to feel accepted and loved but she didn’t had a good bond with her mother. It’s deeply moving and sad. Author has also shared about the crucial topics that shape us. You can expect generational trauma, unhealthy bond between a mother and daughter.

Thanks to the Author and Publisher.

I thought this was a really good book all about a mother-daughter relationship, families, queer identities and more.

I thought that the characters were generally very well developed and the different relationships between them all were varied and interesting to read. They felt very real and complex which made it really interesting to read as they navigate their lives and their trauma and healing.

Overall, I definitely recommend it.

At times a hard read due to subject matter, Mamele provides a close, vulnerable look into a woman's life, all the complications and hard times exposed. I tore through this in a couple of days. It really portrays the impact that our growing up has on our life. How challenging it can be to break out of old patterns, how damaging it can be when parents don't allow children to exist as the individuals they are.

5/5 Stars

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC!

For a book that covers just a few weeks, this one nails some amazing character development, especially with Edie. The novel feels like a therapeutic journey, a mix of heartbreak and empowerment.

Initially, Edie seems disconnected from her true feelings, having learned early on to suppress them. Her past clearly influences her present.

Through glimpses into her past, we find out Edie didn’t have the happiest childhood and had a pretty weak bond with her mom. Their relationship isn’t loveless, but the love is sparse and unpredictable. Edie's mom is portrayed as distant and hazy, almost like a fading memory. This bond takes a hard hit when Edie’s mom finds out she’s a lesbian, leading to an abrupt end to their communication.

In the present, Edie appears to have a laid-back life in the countryside with her long-term partner. However, snippets of her past relationship with her mom creep into her daily thoughts, showing she’s not as at ease as she seems.

Gemma Reeves has filled this book with complex characters that might be tough to like but are definitely relatable or at least recognizable. I’d definitely recommend this book and can’t wait to read more from Reeves!

Initially I chose this book because half of it is set in Broadstairs. The passages walking the dogs around Botany Bay were familiar and nostalgic. As the story developed, however, I became more connected in more ways than one.
Edie’s situation resonated with me. Her Jewish mother had disowned her when she came out as a lesbian. Her mother also sank into a depression and stayed in bed, asserting unproven ailments and threatening suicide. I could see echoes in my own life and I think reading it was cathartic or certainly empowering.
It was also interesting to try and understand why the character was in a relationship with a woman who seemed to be just using her as a free housekeeper. Edie seemed to be blind to the fact that she was being used and that the relationship was mostly one way. Was this psychologically linked to her mother?
A good discussion novel for an LGBTQ+ reading group

Heartfelt, raw and real. Slaps you in the face, hugs you, apologises, then repeats. A gorgeous depiction of growing up queer with a sprinkle of unabashed shame.

I've just finished this book. It's been with me for a week. I didn't want to finish it because it was so good. Also sad, raw and gritty, rough and different, a bit like a melancholy arthouse film with dim lighting where you know at the beginning that it's going to be a bizarre ending that can mean everything and nothing and where the last shot is blurred and faded out.

A mother daughter story. An unsettling one. One that got under my skin. Even if it's about more than that. About family trauma, generational trauma, queerness, escape, holochaust, depression, role models, art, the desire to be close to the own mother, recognising that the mother had a difficult life, recognising that the narrating voice had and has a shitty life, patterns that we reproduce and, in the end, making your own decisions and perhaps breaking free. There are definitely a lot of smart things to say about this book that I didn't uncover in the way I read it. For me, the aspect of forgiveness, or in Edie's case, not forgiving her mother for her absence and coldness was insanely powerful. A story in which not everything is tidy and whole from all sides at the end, but healing nonetheless. It’s a heartbreaking story and it’s a brilliant one.

A thoroughly engaging and deeply compelling novel which is beautifully written. Complex family dynamics are written thoughtfully creating a powerful narrative. The characters were beautifully developed over the novel making a very engaging read. I absolutely loved it.

I found this a deeply moving read. As a queer woman, the main character's experiences of rejection and never being fully accepted for who you are was all too familiar and brought back feelings of sadness and anger at my past experiences. It's an excellent read for anyone interested in child development and attachment theory.

Edie's Jewish emigrée mother Zelda is vividly depicted; the ghosts of WWII have marked her, as they have the other women of Carlton Mansions, albeit in different ways. Edie spends her childhood desperate for her mother's love, but her mother can never be fully present; she is either distant, dismissive or catatonic. Despite disowning her when she's a teenager, Edie's life is haunted by her mother.

Edie seems to live her life not questioning whether she deserves more than the wealthy and glamorous Joanna, who together with her husband Harry, takes her into her family estate as a 'friend of the family' (lover). Joanna gets to have her cake and eat it, leaving Edie with mere crumbs.

I found Edie's mute acceptance of her circumstances frustrating and sad, so it was heartening to see her start questioning her relationships later in the novel. You realise how her experiences have been coloured by the narrative she has of her mother, which isn't entirely accurate.

A cleverly written dissection of the mother-daughter relationship. Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the digital ARC.

I wasn't as blown away by this as I hoped to be despite the alluring opening section which immediately pointed as an estranged mother and her daughter-narrator Edie. It wasn't always easy to follow the many many voices in this story, and this wasn't helped by the polyamorous relationships that took place between the pages.
A bit hypnotic to read, it was easy to overlook the overall sadness that pervaded this somewhat unusual read.