McHenry, Jael. The Kitchen Daughter. Simon & Schuster, 2011.
http://www.jaelmchenry.com/the-kitchen-daughter/
Over a long Labor Day weekend, I read Jael McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter and cooked up a huge pot of borscht. The book and the borscht were similar. Both had a complexity and nutritional content that were easy to overlook because of their disarming sweetness.
The Kitchen Daughter follows a young woman through the aftermath of her parents' unexpected deaths. 26-year-old Ginny Selvaggio finds herself alone in the house she grew up in, but she has more than just her grief to deal with. Her future is uncertain, her sister is determined to sell the house out from under her, and when she escapes to her cooking, ghosts materialize to haunt the aromas with disturbing portents.
Although these trials are interesting in their own right, the real restless spirit that seeks peace in this story is that Ginny lives with a form of autism called Asperger Syndrome.
If you’re just looking for an escapist read by the pool, The Kitchen Daughter succeeds as “chick lit” with an interesting twist. Ginny lives in a gorgeous old house, and her preferred coping mechanism is cooking -- the textures, scents and flavors of food feature prominently in the story, and there’s a certain guilty pleasure in fantasizing about living in the home she’s trying to protect. Fantasies about food and architecture are a definite chick lit plus for me. The defining focus of chick lit, though, is (arguably) relationships and self identity. This story focuses almost exclusively on how her life change forces Ginny to redefine her relationships with her sister, with her deceased parents, with the woman who cleans her home, and ultimately with her self and community. Reading a classic “chick lit” plot from the perspective of a main character with Aspergers is fresh and interesting just from an entertainment standpoint. The writing and the characters are satisfying - well rounded enough to immerse oneself in, but light enough to read without undue labor.
Where The Kitchen Daughter sets itself apart is the unusual and thoughtful way it broaches the subject of living with a “personality”. After the death of their parents, Ginny’s primary conflict with her sister, Amanda, is what to do about Ginny herself. Amanda struggles with how to deal with a label Ginny stubbornly refuses to accept. Amanda pressures her to get a diagnosis, move in with family, be taken care of. Ginny maintains that her quirks are within the realm of “normal,” fears that a label will cause what autonomy she does have to be taken away from her, and is confident that she’ll learn how to get by on her own.
In an alternate reality, I am involved with an agency that empowers people with disabilities to be more independent. From that standpoint, I was very pleased with The Kitchen Daughter. There were multiple ideas that were thoughtfully and compassionately explored. There’s so much to be considered about a situation like the one portrayed in the novel. Can you be sure that finances, basic daily living needs and emergencies will all be handled safely? And whose responsibility is it to make sure an individual is "safe" - their own or someone else's? How sure does anyone have the right to be about their safety? And what about interacting with family, friends, strangers, crowds, being a customer, or just being part of a community? What about love, or even kids? Gee whiz, how does one even interact with the disability itself? Do you ignore it? Let it define all? Treat it like a disease? Pursue the study of strategies to make living with it more graceful? McHenry sweeps through these massive considerations with a gentle touch that carries no aftertaste of political agenda or preaching. She does not write as an advocate or an expert, she writes as a storyteller, to the tremendous benefit of the ideas presented within.
As a side note, if you are interested in a practical non-fiction resource for adults with autism living on their own I highly recommend Life and Love: Positive Strategies for Autistic Adults written by Zosia Zaks, who is herself an adult with Asperger Syndrome. It’s a superb perspective into some of the thought processes and experiences that can be common to some people on the autism spectrum.
But back to The Kitchen Daughter. If you’re think about picking up this book because you’re in the mood for a supernatural story, you might be a bit disappointed. The ghosts who appear are marvelously used devices. They entertain, they move the plot forward by providing key pieces of information, they prevent Ginny’s cooking fixations from being just a gimmick by tying them back in to the overall story progression. You’ll remember them for who they were and for their role in the unfolding story, but you won’t remember them for their occult origins. If it’s a scare you’re craving, you’ll need to get your “spook” on somewhere else. These ghosts are mysterious and sometimes even terrifying, but McHenry prevents them firmly from scene stealing.
Just like a good bowl of borscht is so ruby red and pretty, so sweet and lovely that it’s easy to get to the bottom a bowl in a matter of seconds, I blasted through The Kitchen Wife in an afternoon and felt pleasantly refreshed after. When I paused to consider the making of it, I realized that like the soup that took us two days to prepare, there was substantial craft and finesse that went into the telling of this tale. And just as you hardly notice all those lovely antioxidants because of the sweet taste, there is value to this book that can be overlooked in the easy pleasure of reading it. Whether you’re looking for a light, tasty “snack” read for pleasure or something more substantial to fill a literary nutritional deficiency in your reading menu, McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter will satisfy.
http://www.jaelmchenry.com/the-kitchen-daughter/
Over a long Labor Day weekend, I read Jael McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter and cooked up a huge pot of borscht. The book and the borscht were similar. Both had a complexity and nutritional content that were easy to overlook because of their disarming sweetness.
The Kitchen Daughter follows a young woman through the aftermath of her parents' unexpected deaths. 26-year-old Ginny Selvaggio finds herself alone in the house she grew up in, but she has more than just her grief to deal with. Her future is uncertain, her sister is determined to sell the house out from under her, and when she escapes to her cooking, ghosts materialize to haunt the aromas with disturbing portents.
Although these trials are interesting in their own right, the real restless spirit that seeks peace in this story is that Ginny lives with a form of autism called Asperger Syndrome.
If you’re just looking for an escapist read by the pool, The Kitchen Daughter succeeds as “chick lit” with an interesting twist. Ginny lives in a gorgeous old house, and her preferred coping mechanism is cooking -- the textures, scents and flavors of food feature prominently in the story, and there’s a certain guilty pleasure in fantasizing about living in the home she’s trying to protect. Fantasies about food and architecture are a definite chick lit plus for me. The defining focus of chick lit, though, is (arguably) relationships and self identity. This story focuses almost exclusively on how her life change forces Ginny to redefine her relationships with her sister, with her deceased parents, with the woman who cleans her home, and ultimately with her self and community. Reading a classic “chick lit” plot from the perspective of a main character with Aspergers is fresh and interesting just from an entertainment standpoint. The writing and the characters are satisfying - well rounded enough to immerse oneself in, but light enough to read without undue labor.
Where The Kitchen Daughter sets itself apart is the unusual and thoughtful way it broaches the subject of living with a “personality”. After the death of their parents, Ginny’s primary conflict with her sister, Amanda, is what to do about Ginny herself. Amanda struggles with how to deal with a label Ginny stubbornly refuses to accept. Amanda pressures her to get a diagnosis, move in with family, be taken care of. Ginny maintains that her quirks are within the realm of “normal,” fears that a label will cause what autonomy she does have to be taken away from her, and is confident that she’ll learn how to get by on her own.
“...I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Mom was so worried that something would.”
“And nothing has,” I say.
“Not yet,” she says. “But how will we make sure that nothing does?”
I ask her, “Has anything bad ever happened to you?”
“Lots of times.”
“Then how can you expect to keep me safe? Bad things happen to everybody.”
Amanda says, “That doesn’t help me feel better, you know.”
I’m at a loss.
- from The Kitchen Daughter -
In an alternate reality, I am involved with an agency that empowers people with disabilities to be more independent. From that standpoint, I was very pleased with The Kitchen Daughter. There were multiple ideas that were thoughtfully and compassionately explored. There’s so much to be considered about a situation like the one portrayed in the novel. Can you be sure that finances, basic daily living needs and emergencies will all be handled safely? And whose responsibility is it to make sure an individual is "safe" - their own or someone else's? How sure does anyone have the right to be about their safety? And what about interacting with family, friends, strangers, crowds, being a customer, or just being part of a community? What about love, or even kids? Gee whiz, how does one even interact with the disability itself? Do you ignore it? Let it define all? Treat it like a disease? Pursue the study of strategies to make living with it more graceful? McHenry sweeps through these massive considerations with a gentle touch that carries no aftertaste of political agenda or preaching. She does not write as an advocate or an expert, she writes as a storyteller, to the tremendous benefit of the ideas presented within.
As a side note, if you are interested in a practical non-fiction resource for adults with autism living on their own I highly recommend Life and Love: Positive Strategies for Autistic Adults written by Zosia Zaks, who is herself an adult with Asperger Syndrome. It’s a superb perspective into some of the thought processes and experiences that can be common to some people on the autism spectrum.
But back to The Kitchen Daughter. If you’re think about picking up this book because you’re in the mood for a supernatural story, you might be a bit disappointed. The ghosts who appear are marvelously used devices. They entertain, they move the plot forward by providing key pieces of information, they prevent Ginny’s cooking fixations from being just a gimmick by tying them back in to the overall story progression. You’ll remember them for who they were and for their role in the unfolding story, but you won’t remember them for their occult origins. If it’s a scare you’re craving, you’ll need to get your “spook” on somewhere else. These ghosts are mysterious and sometimes even terrifying, but McHenry prevents them firmly from scene stealing.
Just like a good bowl of borscht is so ruby red and pretty, so sweet and lovely that it’s easy to get to the bottom a bowl in a matter of seconds, I blasted through The Kitchen Wife in an afternoon and felt pleasantly refreshed after. When I paused to consider the making of it, I realized that like the soup that took us two days to prepare, there was substantial craft and finesse that went into the telling of this tale. And just as you hardly notice all those lovely antioxidants because of the sweet taste, there is value to this book that can be overlooked in the easy pleasure of reading it. Whether you’re looking for a light, tasty “snack” read for pleasure or something more substantial to fill a literary nutritional deficiency in your reading menu, McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter will satisfy.
Five out of five zombies. Whether you’re looking for something light or something enlightening, you can’t go wrong with Jael McHenry's The Kitchen Daughter.
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