76 Culture The Economist January 22nd 2022
BritishfictionInto the swing
“S
hewaspleasedwithherlife.”Tessa
Hadley’s new novel unravels from
this anodyne statement. It is the summer
of 1967 and Phyllis Fischer, a 40yearold
housewife, is smugly content in the Eng
lish suburbs with her husband Roger, a se
nior civil servant, and their two children—
obstreperous, clever, teenage Colette and
nineyearold Hugh. One evening they
host Nicky Knight, the son of an old friend.
An electric moment between Phyllis and
the alluring, outspoken guest jolts her
marriage, her life and those of her family.
“Free Love” shares themes with Ms
Hadley’s previous books, including her de
but, “Accidents in the Home” (2002), and
“The Past” (2015): marital discontent, the
fluctuating status of women, and the se
crets people keep to maintain the social or
personal status quo. When Phyllis ab
sconds to join Nicky, the sleek, orderly
prosperity of the Fischers’ home is set in
stark contrast with the lively hedonism of
“swinging London”. The two locales are a
train ride apart but seem far more distant.
Nicky, an aspiring leftwing writer,
challenges Phyllis’s middleclass precon
ceptions. He is living in the Everglade—
“everyone who was anyone in the counter
culture had stayed in the Everglade at some
point”—a oncegrand, now seedy block of
bedsits in Ladbroke Grove. To her exhilara
tion, Phyllis begins to mix with the youn
ger, more radical generation at a time of
often violent upheaval, including the stu
dent protests of May 1968 in Paris and heat
ed objections to the Vietnam war. She
befriends a nurse from Grenada, whose
hopes of becoming a doctor are stymied by
prejudice. Meanwhile, rebellious Colette
experiences a kind of secondhand cathar
sis from her mother’s transformation.
Hugh is packed off to boarding school.
And Roger, the most compelling char
acter, divulges something about his past
that turns out to be more consequential
than his wife’s indiscretion. As ever, Ms
Hadley’s prose is limpid and measured yet
richly sonorous: her story combines a
modern sensibility with the psychological
realism of writers such as Henry James. As
always, she reserves judgment, letting her
characters incrementally reveal them
selves, the good and the bad. Theending
glimmers with possibility—whilesuggest
ing that liberation comes at a cost.nFree Love.By Tessa Hadley. Harper; 304
pages; $26.99. Jonathan Cape; £17.99Worldina dishThe art of fasting
S
hortdays, longnights,freezingtem
peratures, Christmas a swiftly fading
memory and the prospect of spring re
mote—“the cruellest month” is not April,
as T.S. Eliot wrote, but January. The garden
harvest of frosttipped kale and collards,
and perhaps some beets, carrots and pars
nips, is scant if often delicious. January is
the season of looking in the mirror and tak
ing stock, of regret, determination and ab
stinence. It is Dry January, Veganuary,
renewed gym memberships, vows to cycle
everywhere and spend less time in the pub.
In other words, it is fasting season.
These secular rituals have deep reli
gious roots and ancient corollaries, meant
to prompt reflection by bringing appetites
to heel. For Muslims during the daylight
hours of Ramadan, or Jews on Yom Kippur,
fasting means abstaining completely from
food and drink as a way to draw closer to
God. But not every religious fast is all or
nothing. Christians often give up meat
during Lent. Many Buddhists eschew it
periodically to instil compassion, foster
progress towards enlightenment and im
prove their chances of a favourable rebirth.
Some Buddhist monks and nuns routinely
eat nothing after the noon meal.
Few if any denominations require fast
ing as often as Ethiopian Orthodox Chris
tianity. Priests and nuns must abstain from
animal products, oil and wine for 250 days
each year, lay worshippers for 180. For the
40 days of Advent, leading up to Orthodox
Christmas on January 7th, the faithful eat
just one vegan meal per day. But in an ex
ample to ascetics everywhere, that mealneednotbedrearyjustbecauseit is spare.
In Ethiopian cuisine, even austere dish
es are richly flavoured. Shiro, for instance,
is a stew made from chickpea flour, stirred
into hot water and seasoned with ber-
bere—a characteristic Ethiopian mixture
usually containing ground dried chillies,
black peppercorns and spices such as cin
namon, ginger and cumin. As it simmers,
it fills the house with an earthy remix of
Christmas aromas. Combined, as it usually
is, with braised spiced cabbage and injera, a
tangy Ethiopian bread made from ferment
ed teff flour, its velvety texture and warm
kick leave you full but not stuffed.
And since it contains neither animal
products nor oil, it makes an acceptable
fasting dish. Eaten in this context, shiro
and dishes like it encourage people to pon
der broader questions about their diets and
bodies. How much meat, if any, do they
really need to eat? Can less food, munched
mindfully, be more satisfying than more of
it eaten quickly but automatically? Are
they happier when driven by their appe
tites or in control of them?
Giving up booze or burgers for a month
can prompt similar questions among the
secular. It may not nudge them nearer the
divine, but it can bring them closer to an
understanding of their own urges. A tem
porary renunciation is just that: January
teetotallers and vegans will mostly be tip
plers and carnivores again by February. But
they may enjoy that martini or steak more
for having forsworn them. Fastingisnot
just a mortification or denial; itisare
minder of the value and joy of food.nJanuary is a season of abstinence, observes the first piece in a regular
series on food. Take a lesson from Ethiopia