finished this book weeks ago and only now managed to write something, because i was left more upset than satisfied. the story had potential, the writing is careful, even good in places, but it didn’t feel strong enough for me.
so: heron, a father who finds out he’s dying, finally has to confess a secret to his daughter. back in the 80s, his wife — her mother — realised she was a lesbian. yes, that hurts, but it wasn’t her fault. especially not in the uk back then, when compulsory heterosexuality was strong and being openly queer was nearly impossible. instead of meeting this with compassion, he drags her through court, takes their daughter, and cuts the mother out completely.
the result: the mother spends her life grieving, never seeing her daughter or grandchildren. the daughter grows up with a carefully constructed lie. and the father? he does the bare minimum — raises the child — and somehow gets praised as a hero.
what makes it worse for me: he keeps this secret for forty years. only when he’s dying does he reveal it, not to heal or take responsibility, but to unburden himself. decades of connection stolen, never once he admitted the cruelty of choice he made. that’s not redemption, it’s cowardice.
and i’ve seen some people praise him for “looking after his daughter.” well, damn. that was his job. imagine he stole a little girl from her mother and abandoned her — that would’ve been the full disaster. the bar is so low it’s practically in hell, and yet he’s rewarded for stepping over it.
excuses like “times were different” don’t work for me because he had choices. he didn’t have to out her. he didn’t have to argue she was unfit. every step, he chose active cruelty. and if the roles were reversed, i mean, if a woman did this to her gay ex-husband, she’d be crucified. but when a man does it, it becomes “tragic” and “complicated.”
the book shows how systemic homophobia wrecks lives, but the way the narrative (and some readers) excuse him, even praise him, is the problem in my opinion. men get empathy for doing the bare minimum; queer women and mothers are left erased and blamed.
and yet, despite all this, the book still feels important. i’m glad the author chose to write about it, to give context, to educate. as i said, the writing isn’t bad, but i was left a little unsatisfied. it felt like i was only given a glimpse into their lives, like overhearing someone else’s gossip without ever getting the full picture. what i wanted most — clarity about the daughter and mother at the end — was left unresolved. i wanted to see her final thoughts, her decision, a sense of hope. instead i was left guessing, and i’m not sure hope was really there.