Genre: Memoir
Publisher: Penguin Group, 2012
Pages: 258
Rating: Do Not Recommend
Synopsis: Like Eloise growing up in the Plaza Hotel, Charlotte Silver grew up in her mother's restaurant. Located in Harvard Square, Upstairs at the Pudding was a confection of pink linen tablecloths and twinkling chandeliers, a decadent backdrop for childhood. Over dinners of foie gras and Dover sole, always served with a Shirley Temple, Charlotte kept company with a rotating cast of eccentric staff members. After dinner, in her frilly party dress, she often caught a nap under the bar until closing time. Her one constant was her glamorous, indomitable mother, nicknamed "Patton in Pumps," a wasp-waisted woman in cocktail dress and stilettos who shouldered the burden of raising a family and running a kitchen. Charlotte's unconventional upbringing takes its toll, and as she grows up she wishes her increasingly busy mother were more of a presence in her life. But when the restaurant-forever teetering on the brink of financial collapse-looks as if it may finally be closing, Charlotte comes to realize the sacrifices her mother has made to keep the family and restaurant afloat and gains a new appreciation of the world her mother has built.
Infectious, charming, and at times wistful, Charlotte au Chocolat is a celebration of the magic of a beautiful presentation and the virtues of good manners, as well as a loving tribute to the author's mother-a woman who always showed her best face to the world.
Review: In a word. . .disappointing.
The prologue had such promise, and I hung in there, waiting for this to get good. It wasn't terrible, but I kept wondering. . ."where's the lesson", "where's the reflection". It felt more like a fiction novel than a memoir.
The first purpose of a memoir is to entertain. Sure, there's more in it for author's than pure entertainment, but in order to keep an audience they must be entertained. This was lacking true entertainment value.
There are better memoirs out there. Keep looking.
The prologue had such promise, and I hung in there, waiting for this to get good. It wasn't terrible, but I kept wondering. . ."where's the lesson", "where's the reflection". It felt more like a fiction novel than a memoir.
The first purpose of a memoir is to entertain. Sure, there's more in it for author's than pure entertainment, but in order to keep an audience they must be entertained. This was lacking true entertainment value.
There are better memoirs out there. Keep looking.
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