I'm afraid I have to swim somewhat against the stream here. I wanted to like this book, I really did, and it did push all the right buttons. (The sentence on the first page: "Not so long ago I could tell which chicken haid laid which egg. Now sometimes I couldn't even remember their names" has got to be one of the most heartbreaking ones ever written.) The problem was that at some point it began to feel like an intellectual exercise in pushing the right emotional buttons.

Debra Adelaide, an Australian, is a new author to me, but one that I will continue following. In this book, Delia is dying and trying to figure out how to do that, what is important, and facing old fears. But this book is not your cookie cutter dying book.
It took me several weeks to read this book, not because it is a difficult read, but I needed time to digest each chapter, to think about what was going on before proceeding. Everyone dies, no one likes to talk about it, but Delia has given me new insights and the writing is funny, serious, and sarcastic and kept me wanting more. More information and I might just be giving you spoilers, so please just pick this one up and read. I highly recommend this book and have added it to my permanent collection. ( )

Delia Bennett is dying. She's the author of a series of "Household Guides" (to cooking, to laundry, to gardening, etc) and so has the brainwave - in between writing a list of what needs to be done for a potential future wedding for her eight year old daughter and endlessly leaving notes for her husband so he can manage the house to her exacting standards - to write a "Household Guide" to dying, encompassing everything a totally anal person needs to know to make their passing easier for themselves and their family. (Choosing a coffin, wills and wishes, the funeral, etc.)

As a totally anal person, I appreciated this. (I didn't quite take notes, however some points were filed away for future reference.)

There's a lovely sense of humour in this book: I loved the idea of laundry being sexy (although it so patently isn't); so many moments were spot on (yes, some of us enjoy mowing because it's a space of completely child-free time); and it was hard for me not to smile in self-awareness at her detailed list making.

However, I took away 1/2 a star for making me blubber pathetically. I left my copy on a workmate's desk, with a post-it note at the start of Chapter 42, with "don't read this chapter" on it.

When I was questioned elsewhere about why blubbering pathetically made me take away 1/2 a star, not add 1/2 a star, it's because I get all mean when I feel emotionally manipulated to that extent. This was more subtle than a Spielberg movie, but I still resented being pushed that far emotionally. (I pay Spielberg back by not crying during his movies, and by eternally calling him "Senor Spielbergo", a Simpsons reference.)

Plus, it left me with piggy red eyes, and I've got a very shallow streak. ( )

If I was to choose one word to describe my feelings while reading it, it would be - confronting. Wow, reading it is like they say people are when coming up to a car crash scene. You know you don't want to see but there is this morbid curiosity to look.

This books rips apart the insulation that we wrap ourselves in when it comes to the subject of death. Its uncomfortable reading some parts and some bits are downright macabre but she also makes you feel a bit less afraid of death by tackling the subject so matter of factly.

I also loved the way she imbueds mundane tasks as washing, ironing and cleaning with such reverence and meaning. It made me want to get the mop and iron out!! (scary)

She is a wonderful writer.

I was quite amused when I saw the American cover for The Household Guide to Dying on the Internet. Debra Adelaide’s publishers, apparently out of fear that the title might put readers off, have added the cheery caption ‘A novel about life’ to counteract the macabre subject matter. The novel does, indeed, begin softly enough, as our narrator’s particular but gentle voice guides us through a visit to the family chickens. Adelaide, however, makes no attempt to hide the awful truth, which strikes without warning or euphemism, just as it did for Delia Bennet. While the writing may flow easily from page to page, with engaging personality and enjoyable wit, there are a number of quite confronting passages to remind us that death is by no means an easy subject. Like Delia, readers will have to accept that.

It is fortunate, then, that their guide to the ups and downs of dying is perfect for the task. Our picture of Delia does not form immediately, but Adelaide’s characterisation rings true throughout, creating a slightly obsessive, wry but still tender and very human narrator. As the quintessential Australian superwoman, she will have mothers across the country laughing and nodding in unison at her anecdotes of household chaos. These priceless passages are interspersed through chapters of reflection and storytelling, as three different time periods in Delia’s life run simultaneously, each contributing to the others and helping to balance life and death, humour and heartbreak. Then there are Delia’s written admonishments of hapless letter-writers, and the no-nonsense passages from her Household Guides, indicative perhaps of her meticulous personality, or perhaps of the professional façade she creates.

With its many narrative techniques, its control, its dignity and authenticity, Adelaide’s writing is a worthy addition to modern Australian literature. My sole criticism is for the lack of quotation marks, which hovers initially on the verge of pretentiousness, but is easily accommodated once the novel has gained some momentum. It is a thoroughly well-constructed look at a difficult subject, and one which never reduces itself to excessive or contrived sentimentality. Not too sickly, not too bleak – the balance, I think, is perfect. ( )