Helpful Score: 6
What I loved about Toast by Nigel Slater:
It made me laugh. While it is often a sad tale--his mother dies young, his father is remote, the mistress doesn't love the boy, his friends eat better--this is not a woe-is-me-book. He sees the humor, and tries to impart that onto the reader, in the fact that his mother, even before she grew so ill, could cook/bake a mere five or so items. They ate mostly "tinned." And even that she overcooked. He sees the humor in his father's taking of a mistress, the new housekeeper, who attempts to demand respect, cleanliness, obedience from the boy, the witch! Surprisingly, while the whole book talks of food, there is little on his becoming a chef and very popular cookbook author. There is more hilarity in the awful foods than the delicious. He reveals his deep thoughts,his nightly voyeurisms up where the teenagers park, and his youthful attempts at "shagging," a British euphemism for -- yes-- boffing. And why is it one can laugh so hard at an adolescent male's masturbation, whereas if it'd been a girl talking one might blush for her?
Except for Monty Python, I don't usually care for British anything. Perhaps because I could see how Slater could easily have grown into member of the Flying Circus, I really enjoyed and recommend this book.
It made me laugh. While it is often a sad tale--his mother dies young, his father is remote, the mistress doesn't love the boy, his friends eat better--this is not a woe-is-me-book. He sees the humor, and tries to impart that onto the reader, in the fact that his mother, even before she grew so ill, could cook/bake a mere five or so items. They ate mostly "tinned." And even that she overcooked. He sees the humor in his father's taking of a mistress, the new housekeeper, who attempts to demand respect, cleanliness, obedience from the boy, the witch! Surprisingly, while the whole book talks of food, there is little on his becoming a chef and very popular cookbook author. There is more hilarity in the awful foods than the delicious. He reveals his deep thoughts,his nightly voyeurisms up where the teenagers park, and his youthful attempts at "shagging," a British euphemism for -- yes-- boffing. And why is it one can laugh so hard at an adolescent male's masturbation, whereas if it'd been a girl talking one might blush for her?
Except for Monty Python, I don't usually care for British anything. Perhaps because I could see how Slater could easily have grown into member of the Flying Circus, I really enjoyed and recommend this book.
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