The Unreliable Narrator is originally from Northamptonshire and has lived in Penarth for almost five years. They will be writing a book review for Penarth Nub News every Saturday, whether it's based on a treasure found in a second-hand book shop or a glossy hardback from Griffin Books.

I disown so I can never be disowned – Avni Doshi Sometimes I am lucky. Something I have read about (read: something recent) is stumbled upon during my meditative bookshop browsing. This is one. "Shortlisted for the Booker Prize 2020" emblazoned upon its cover. I know this does not necessarily mean it is a work I will treasure but it always piques my interest. And the cover, muted green and bright block writing, is more than enough to keep it. I take it to the till; this is one I will be sampling. However, reading the reviews on the jacket is dangerous, double-edged, and tricky. "Impossible to put down" is a gauntlet, guilting me into the picking up the book in every in-between time. It is only when I give myself permission to relax, stretch out and unfurl among the strenuous syntax, does the majesty of the text unveil itself to me. I read. I pause. I ruminate. I dive in again. Jumping between 1980s Pune and present time, the book moves back and forth between eras, asking what it means to be a daughter of a mother who refused to be confined by the restrictions of her sex and conservative Indian society, and what this teaches (or fails to teach) the narrator about how to care for the same mother when dementia begins to claim her. The book examines the complexities of human emotion and, when the narrator has her own daughter, what society expects of women (daughter, wife, mother, daughter-in-law) and what a mother expects of themselves when they are trying to preserve their own sense of self; when they are trying to learn how to exist in relationships of love when they have seemingly been denied the same. Reading Burnt Sugar, I cannot help but draw parallels with the documentary Wild Wild Country for its references to the guru at the local ashram, and Rachel Cusk's A Life's Work for its mediations on motherhood and the struggle to remain a voice you recognise. If you are looking for a likeable narrator, you may struggle with this one. But I hope that we are moving past the myth of likeability into something deeper. The narrator's honesty should not be avoided. Instead, we should hold her gaze and respect the revelations that have been mapped out on the page. Click here to read The Unreliable Narrator's review of The Hare with Amber Eyes.