I love the original title of this book: Nutmeg.
Nutmeg was originally published in the UK in 2013, and it was re-christened From the Kitchen of Half Truth when it made its way to the U.S.
I personally feel that the U.S. title better captures the essence of the novel, but I’ll be honest – I might not have picked up this book if that had been the title I saw first. Nutmeg really drew me in. It’s one of my favorite spices, as you know from my Ziti ala Colucci post, and it’s also my cat’s middle name.
So, yes. Based on pasta and my cat, I knew this book would be one I’d enjoy.
From the Kitchen of Half Truth is a beautiful and complex story, infused with warmth, love, and honesty. It’s also pretty much porn for food lovers, in the vein of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake and the titles listed in my Quick Look Books November 2018 post.
This book is overflowing with savory and sweet delights, from mint cakes to fruit jams, from lamb stew to roast chicken. You’re on sensory overload from the descriptions of some culinary delight being pulled from a pot or a pan. Spices like cinnamon and, yes, nutmeg, are sprinkled throughout the story until you can practically taste each one in the air around you. The main characters’ lives are defined by experiences with and around food, and it makes for a delightful and inspirational read. There were so many times I was ready to jump up and create my own version of a dish that’s whipped up in the characters’ cozy kitchen.
The descriptions of food also pair fabulously with the seasons featured in the book. From the Kitchen starts off in summer and moves into the fall – quite symbolically, now that I think about it – and you’re treated to the best aspects of each season. Main character Meg and her mother Valerie enjoy fresh salads with vegetables from their garden; they make sweet jams with fruit picked from their orchard; and they spend long, lazy evenings outside to enjoy the extra hours of sunlight. However, when fall starts to move in, you can practically feel the chill nipping into the air, and you’re ready to cast your eyes toward the grey, moody skies suspended over the crunchy, autumn leaves that are falling on the ground.
As much as I loved all the food and hygge, it really took backseat to the central theme of the book: the incredibly complex relationship between mother and daughter.
The premise of From the Kitchen is that Meg returns home to spend time with her terminally ill mother – and to learn the truth about her childhood and family once and for all. As a child, Meg was fed truly outrageous stories by her mother, and, as a result, her memories of her childhood, her father, and her family history are nonsensical lies. Valerie, however, refuses to acknowledge that the stories she’s told Meg are just that—stories she made up to make life a little more exciting. When confronted to tell the truth, Valerie stubbornly clings to her state of denial, causing much friction between mother and daughter during the little time they have left together.
It’s impossibly frustrating to watch Meg deal with her mother; you empathize greatly with her, and at many times you’re ready to throttle Valerie because of how impossibly childish and selfish her behavior is. The stories Valerie tells Meg – and anyone else who will listen — about her childhood are ludicrous. It’s completely understandable that Meg is angry with her mother for these lies, as well as embarrassed by her mother’s refusal to acknowledge reality. On top of that, Meg is also grappling with her own sense of guilt; she feels she is owed the truth about her own life, but she has to deeply upset her dying mother in order to get it.
You’re never quite sure if Valerie actually believes the stories she spins, but you get the feeling that, because she so desperately wants to believe them, she has made them into her truth. And, before you say anything, no, Valerie is not mentally ill, technically. She’s of relatively sound mind.
There is actually a reason Valerie prefers these fictional stories to what really happened. As you might expect, Meg eventually learns the truth about her childhood, and her mother’s past, and she sees Valerie in a new light – as does the reader. It’s a sobering moment, and the truth affects Meg much more than she thought it would. She finds a way to make peace with her mother’s stories, allowing her anger and frustration to be put on hold so she can comfort her mother in her final days.
While most mothers don’t go around concocting outright fairy tales about their children, I think the dynamic between Meg and her mother is one with which many people can identify, particularly women. You empathize with both characters, though I definitely empathized more with Meg, perhaps because I am a daughter and not a mother. I imagine women who are both will understand both sides of this story a little more.
Whichever side you’re on, or even if you’re neutral, you can appreciate the raw and honest look at Meg and Valerie’s relationship, the fraught dynamic of which is found between many a mother and daughter. I applaud author Maria Goodin for depicting it so truthfully and beautifully, and for acknowledging that no matter how much friction is on the surface, there can still be deep love underneath.
On a lighter note: for all you readers looking for a spot of romance in this book to lighten the mood (because this is a bit of a heavy read, once you get past all the food), you’ll be pleased to know there is a love triangle in the story, as well. The build is worth it, but it’s a slow burn, which I also appreciated because the true love story in this book is between Meg and her mother.
Have you read any moving mother-daughter relationship stories lately? Share in the comments below!
And, stay tuned for my book-inspired recipe – Valerie’s Cherry Pie Bars!
