The school drop-off is a prime specimen for sociological study. It plays host to a familiar cast of characters: there is the child shuffling mournfully into the classroom; the one keen to cast off an anxiously overbearing parent; and perhaps the screeching tyres heralding the arrival of some perpetually delayed siblings.
In her debut novel All the Other Mothers Hate Me, Sarah Harman proves to be an incisive spectator of these school gate rituals (Harman is American and admits to being bemused by her own child’s west London school). Her protagonist, Florence, flirted with fame during an ill-fated career in a girl group, Girls’ Night. She is now a single mother, and her son, Dylan, is an eccentric 10-year-old, with an admirably precocious concern for the climate.
Florence’s account of the snobbery at Dylan’s prep school is scathingly comic. She notes the children with names that sound like they belong to the family dog (Dylan’s classmate is called Wolfie), and the dogs which seem to mimic the foibles of their owners (Wolfie’s mother has an “anorexic whippet” in tow).
This comedy of manners quickly careers into a crime novel when a child, “the heir to a frozen-food fortune”, goes missing on a school trip. Florence suspects her son’s involvement and becomes an amateur detective. Her investigations expose secrets and deceptions that threaten to undermine these gilded, glamorous lives.
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It is a mark of Harman’s ambition as a novelist that she juggles these contrasting tones. At times, however, this variety is distracting: in one instance, a particularly gruesome plan to dispose of a corpse is recounted with cheerful speed.
All the Other Mothers Hate Me showcases Harman’s style as a satirist. Her descriptions show her to be laceratingly observant of social pantomimes. There is perhaps a tendency to overexplain and a habit of clunky comparison.
A list of Harman’s overstretched similes might include: an anger that aches like Florence has “just done two Chloe Ting workouts back to back”; women lounging on sofas “like beached Lululemon mermaids”; a kiss that tastes “like cigarettes mixed with Doritos”; or an outfit that makes our protagonist feel like a “slutty troll doll”. Nevertheless, this a promising and enjoyable debut.
