My only excuse for reading, (or rather skimming through) The Book Club by Mary Alice Monroe is that I’ve recently changed jobs and am taking the train to work again. If I had anything else to read, I would not have read past the first few pages of The Book Club. But I didn’t, and my train trip takes 40 minutes. Each way.
Five women. Book group.
Number One’s husband dies. Unknown to Number One, her husband had been having an affair. Number One sells up, moves and gets a job. Well done, Number One.
Number Two eats too much and is married to a bully. Number Two gathers her self-respect and gives her husband the boot. Well done, Number Two.
Number Three is in her forties when she gets clucky but has old eggs. The pressure is on Number Three’s husband to perform, which strains their marriage. Number Three gets cancer, beats it and says goodbye to her dream of motherhood. Well done, Number Three.
Number Four is hard-working and loyal. Number Four’s husband loses his job, so she mans-up and takes on more work to keep their household afloat. Well done, Number Four.
Number Five is **whispers** gay. And an artist. And has a difficult mother. Number Five is a minor character and I think I must have skimmed over how things worked out for her. But I expect she worked it all out, so well done, Number Five.
Now that you know what happens in The Book Club, if you find yourself on a train with nothing else to read, you can go to sleep. Or make conversation with the funny-smelling weirdo sitting next to you. Or just look out of the window at the graffiti until you arrive at your destination, I’ll leave it completely up to you. Happy travelling.