Playing With the Grown-Ups
Sophie Dahl Bloomsbury, 288pp, £12.99
Most first-time novelists could describe their work as “somewhat autobiographical”. But when the novelist in question is the supermodel offspring of a famously troubled writer, and the granddaughter of a much-loved children’s author, people pay more attention. And there is plenty in Playing With the Grown-Ups to pique the interest of Hello! readers.
Kitty is enjoying a charmed childhood among her lovably eccentric family (with Roald-like Scandinavian Bestepapa at the helm) when her mother, Marina, uproots her children and goes off in search of personal happiness. It’s a self-indulgent, semi-bohemian quest via London, New York and a dubious ashram, following in the footsteps of Sophie’s actual mother, Tessa. Meanwhile, the bespectacled ugly duckling Kitty is growing up. She begins dallying with unsuitable men and inadvisable substances – just like her mother. The outcome for Marina is just as grim as it was for real-life Tessa.
But don’t think for a second that this novel is a glimpse into Sophie’s soul. It is well executed, expertly edited chicklit-by-numbers: a framework of serious themes fleshed out with depictions of Kitty’s social life. If you’re a fan of the genre, it’s an insubstantial treat; otherwise it’s a damning indictment of modern publishing.
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