Once upon a time I had no scruples about giving up on a book: if I wasn’t gripped a quarter of the way in¸ I chucked it into a corner and forgot about it.

And then I joined a book club and it became morally incumbent to carry on reading to THE END.

But, oh, Myra Syal’s third novel The House of Hidden Mothers was a real test of endurance.

It sounded so promising too: London-based Shyama, 48, Continue reading →