While the history lesson in The Mothers was wonderful, I felt there was too much attention to the information and I didn't feel like I was connecting with the characters the way I thought I would. The best way I can think of to describe The Mothers is dull.

During my undergraduate studies, I did an urban history / town planning subject. Part of our assessment involved choosing a street in an inner-city suburb of Melbourne and, using historical maps, records and census data, we had to research how the social fabric of the street had changed over time.

The Mothers felt a like I was reading an urban history project. A very-well researched urban history project. There was a lot of information in this book –

On the corner of George Street there was a milk bar run by a family of Greeks. At one end of Napier Street, near Gertrude Street, were the grim blocks of flats. Across a front wall, someone had daubed in black paint: Smash the Housing Commission. Towards the other end of the street was the Perfect Cheese factory, with its faintly nauseous aroma of parmesan.

The problem with all the information was that it did little to further the stories of the characters – three generations of women and their role as mothers – and instead became tedious. It seemed that it was easier to describe life in Fitzroy and the township of Cockatoo than the pain of giving up a child for adoption. I want the pain, not the history. I want the interior lives, not the exterior.

My understanding is that the book is semi-autobiographical. I was left thinking that Jones has kept his own story at a safe distance, where it can be analysed and described but not entirely felt.

I accept that I may have completely misinterpreted this book so pop over to ANZ LitLovers where Lisa gave it a four-star review.

2/5 Dry.

I received my copy of The Mothers from the publisher, Text Publishing, via NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.

Thank you for the opportunity to review this publication.