My Real Children by Jo Walton

It's 2015, and Patricia Cowan is very old. "Confused today," read the notes clipped to the end of her bed. She forgets things she should know-what year it is, major events in the lives of her children. But she remembers things that don't seem possible. She remembers marrying Mark and having four children. And she remembers not marrying Mark and raising three children with Bee instead. She remembers the bomb that killed President Kennedy in 1963, and she remembers Kennedy in 1964, declining to run again after the nuclear exchange that took out Miami and Kiev. Her childhood, her years at Oxford during the Second World War, those were solid things. But after that, did she marry Mark or not? Did her friends all call her Trish, or Pat? Had she been a housewife who escaped a terrible marriage after her children were grown, or a successful travel writer with homes in Britain and Italy? And the moon outside her window: does it host a benign research station, or a command post bristling with nuclear missiles?

Here are your options:
a satisfying sex life,
or a nuked planet.

This reads like a long list of things that happen to Patricia. Patricia went to Oxford. Tricia met Mark. Pat met Bee. Tricia had four children. Pat wrote travel books about Italy. The background of her life is interesting, such as nuclear attacks on Miami and Kiev, an alternate assassination of Kennedy, but the overall style of the book becomes tedious. The parallel lives are an interesting concept, but are barely addressed, leading to a feeling of reading two plotlines simultaneously without a satisfying intersection. You might as well read two books at the same time to get a similar effect.

This was a lovely book. I had no idea what I was in for when I started reading, but very soon could not put it down.

The brilliance of this book is in the details. Both lives of Patricia contrast in obvious, clichéd ways. The details of both her lives is what made this book lovely. The awful, soul-destroying relationship, and the wonderful, supportive relationship. The life with no career and the life being financially independent. The life with children who love and respect her in her elderly years, and the life where her children shove her in a home.

The book isn't without flaws. Most of the dialogue was stilting and felt unnatural. The awfulness of one life in contrast to the ‘fantastic' other life really was predictable and annoying. The threesomes with Michael without the need for making babies? Ehhh. I'm also really not a fan of alt history at all, although that isn't really a big thing in the book (think Forrest Gump: the story is about his life, rather than the history that happens around him).

But, I love that things happened to Patricia at the same time in both lives. The description of those lives is the best part. The tedium of a boring life with a boring husband. The joy of finding an equal to spend your life with. The awfulness of pregnancy and childbirth and raising toddlers. The wonderfulness of finding something fulfilling to do with your life and time. I relate to a lot of those things. I cried a lot.