The Sunday Times - UK (2022-04-03)

catalyst in the life of her

creator. Bonnie Garmus, an

American living in London

since 2017, has become a

first-time novelist in her

mid-sixties to one of the year’s

most eagerly awaited fiction

publications. Doubleday

outbid 15 rivals to be its UK

publisher. Translation rights

have sold in 35 languages. Brie

Larson will play Elizabeth in

an Apple TV adaptation.

Garmus’s earlier career as

a copywriter specialising in

technology serves her well.

Here, scientific theory

becomes sparkling, sprightly

entertainment. A delight of her

rip-roaring, funny book is how

it bonds familiar plot and

character elements with the

unexpectedly unconventional.

I can think of no other period

novel where the heroine is

more intent on pursuing

abiogenesis (“the chemical

theory that life arose from

simplistic, non-life forms”)

than love and marriage. A

subplot celebrates rowing.

Garmus is strong on pithy

observation. (“This wasn’t

work; it was indenture,”

Elizabeth observes of the first

days of motherhood). And

stronger still on fully formed,

loveable characters. There

is admittedly quite a lot of

whimsy (overblown

character backgrounds, a

preternaturally intelligent

daughter and dog, unlikely

connections). However, the

pace never slackens enough

for this to become irksome.

The result is a smart,

funny, big-hearted

debut combining

chemical elements into

what seems a winning

formula — one whose

breakneck pace

and gently ironic

tone should appeal

to readers of

literary-commercial

hits by American

authors such as

Katherine Heiny,

Emma Straub and

Curtis Sittenfeld,

or, nearer to

home, Lissa

Evans and Nina

Stibbe. c

dinner had been drearily
subfusc, in 1981 it was televised
as a stand-alone event for the
first time, turning it at a stroke
into a Eurovision Song
Contest for smarties. Then
there were clever new
magazines, including Granta,
whose decennial “best of
young British novelists”
promotion provided endless
fodder for the newly
beefed-up newspaper books
pages. Meanwhile, Tim
Waterstone opened his chain
of cool, open-all-hours
bookshops staffed by young
people who looked less like
sales assistants than brainy
postgraduates on their way to
a particularly taxing seminar.
Walsh, to his great credit, is
not an elitist. While he bridles
at Neil’s attempts to replace a
planned lead review on Peter
Ackroyd’s new tome on
Dickens for a biography of
Arnold Schwarzenegger, in
general he is happy to

acknowledge good work

wherever he finds it. He has^

a soft spot for the breathily

seductive Jilly Cooper, author

of the Rutshire Chronicles,

whom he goes to interview

and stays with far too long for

the taste of her irascible

husband. Who’s Had Who, a

book from 1987 by Simon Bell,

Richard Curtis and Helen

Fielding, gets his approval for

its jaunty research into sexual

daisy chains, although The

Dieter’s Guide to Weight Loss

During Sex (doing it on the

boot of a Honda Civic uses up

38 calories, apparently)

strikes him as witless.

Still, the great joy of this

book remains the gossip that

swirls around la vie haute

bohème. In the new Groucho

Club Melvyn Bragg and U2

have a stand-off as to who

should go over to whose

table first. Colin Haycraft of

Duckworth Books declares

that only “women and queers”

From chemist

to celebrity chef

This quirky novel by a debut writer in her

sixties sparked a publishing war — and a

TV series is already on the way

can write novels, which

sounded as silly then as it does

now. AS Byatt gets attacked by

spiders at Hay-on-Wye and the

publisher George Weidenfeld

is happy to describe himself as

“the Nijinsky of cunnilingus”.

(What does that even mean?

Did he wear tights?)

It couldn’t last, of course. In

1989 Rushdie was forced into

hiding by the fatwa and three

years later Carter died at the

spectacularly unfair age of 51.

At the fag end of the decade

Amis published London Fields,

which for Walsh was a letdown

after the coruscating brilliance

of his earlier work. WH Smith

bought Waterstones and

literary publishers such as

Jonathan Cape got swallowed

up by vast American

conglomerates. By 1993 all the

signs suggested that the big top

was coming down, the circus

was moving on and Walsh, like

the literature he loves, was

bound for pastures new. c

IAN COOK/GETTY IMAGES. INSETS: PRIVATE COLLECTION, © DAFYDD JONES

FICTION

Patricia Nicol

Lessons in Chemistry

by Bonnie Garmus

Doubleday £14.99 pp400

In Southern California in 1961,

Elizabeth Zott, the singular

protagonist of this sparky

debut, ignites a kitchen

revolution. Zott is a

phenomenally popular

television chef. Every

weekday evening women

across America tune in to her

show, Supper at Six, which

follows a cook-along format

with ad-lib, empowering

life and careers advice.

A single mother to an

illegitimate daughter, rowing

enthusiast and on-the-record

atheist, the dazzling Zott is

an unconventional television

star. Not least because she is

a serious-minded, reluctant

public figure; she would

rather be working obscurely

as a research scientist. Her

career ambitions stymied by

workplace misogyny, she only

agrees to present Supper at

Six because it permits her to

stealthily impart her passion

for science.

For producer Walter, his

breathtakingly forthright

star is remarkable, and also

ulcer-inducing. At any

moment, Elizabeth might go

off-menu to lambast the diet

industry or endorse the

nascent civil rights movement.

Yet her predominantly

female audience feel

seen by her. “Cooking is

chemistry,” she tells

them. “Chemistry is life.

Your ability to change

everything — including

yourself — starts here.”

The irony being

that while

galvanising

others, she is

stuck in grief and

self-recrimination.

Elizabeth has also

presumably been a

ALAMY

Mixing it up

The image of a

traditional housewife

3 April 2022 21