Lou’s Review: Lives Like Mine, by Eva Verde

There isn’t really a way for me to review this book – to convey its full emotional resonance – without revealing parts of myself only regularly shared in therapy. Which is a terrifying prospect. In the beginning I’d planned only to import the shiniest and most professional bits into my life as a romance author. But if this genre has taught me one thing it’s the power of authenticity. A quality which shines through every page of Lives Like Mine. And besides, Eva Verde deserves every possible accolade. She’s written one hell of a book.

Monica has the family she dreamed of as a child, full of love and warmth. With her husband Dan she has pre-teen twin boys and a five year-old daughter, Fran. They work well as a little unit. But Monica’s family of five doesn’t exist in isolation. She’s got a troubled relationship with her own parents because of an argument spanning decades. And Dan’s family, all white, have never quite been able to accept their golden boy grafting Blackness onto the family tree.

Monica’s spent years swallowing their racism to keep the peace. Dan never defends her. And now Fran has started school, Monica’s life as a stay-at-home mum feels even more stifling. But sparks fly at the school gates. Monica can’t stop thinking about a silver fox of a father. Joe shares Monica’s sense of humour, her interests, and – best of all – her attraction. This affair helps Monica see her life in a new light; to stand up for herself with Dan’s family, and prioritise her own needs. But it also threatens to destroy everything Monica holds dear.

I found out about Lives Like Mine from Sara-Jade Virtue’s tweets, and knew immediately that I had to read it. Identity and belonging are major themes in my own work (and life) – and I’m always keen to hear what other women of colour have to say about them. And from the opening chapter I was completely hooked by Verde’s gorgeous writing.

The narrative voice is unlike any other I’ve ever encountered. Monica’s rhythm of speech and turn of phrase bring an unbeatable level of authenticity to this story – and also an incredible beauty. She’s playful, self-deprecating, and perceptive, sharing her story with razor-sharp insight into the social dynamics of parenthood, small town life, and what it means to be part of a racially blended family.

Lives Like Mine isn’t an easy read. At least, not for me it wasn’t. The conversational style and short chapters make it intensely readable, and Monica is a lovable heroine from the beginning. The stakes feel higher than Snoop Dogg when he smoked up with Willie Nelson, and every last aspect of the story packs a powerful emotional punch. But the exploration of racism in a family setting, the dynamic between Monica and her in-laws, rings with terrible truth. Which meant I had to pace myself.

Verde’s characterisation is spot on. Dan’s mum Penny never shied away from overt racism when she and Monica were alone in the early years, calling her slurs and claiming no Black woman (not the phrase Penny used) could ever be good enough for her son. But now in the family setting she sticks mostly to sly digs, microaggressions subtle enough that Dan doesn’t understand (or pretends not to). And when Monica challenges her, Penny plays the victim, crying white tears to mobilise the men on her behalf.

There are layers to these relationships. The ties of love and resentment that bind many a family. Every character’s actions have a knock-on effect, influencing others. Which makes Lives Like Mine so realistic. It’s a beautiful kaleidoscope of a story.

There will be plenty of readers who pick this book up wondering whether Monica chooses her husband or her lover. And, I’ve got to be honest, I never liked Dan. In fact there were points in Lives Like Mine when I actively hated him. Allowing his family to racially abuse his wife and even his kids with impunity is, in my opinion, completely unforgivable. But I don’t like Joe either – while he sees Monica in ways Dan’s incapable of, he’s problematic in other areas. And it’s not insignificant, that a posh white man gets his thrills from hooking up with a working-class Black woman.

In another book, apathy towards the two major love interests might be a problem. But Lives Like Mine isn’t about which man Monica chooses. It’s about whether or not she finds the strength to choose *herself*. Which is incredibly powerful.

The plot, themes, style, and characterisation are all excellent. There’s only one part of this story which didn’t work for me: the ending.

How I felt reading the ending

Over the course of this novel, Monica grows and changes in extraordinary ways. Everything she experiences changes her – for better or worse. She shares raw and vulnerable thoughts, practicing a kind of radical honesty that left me breathless. Monica is an unconventional heroine with a revolutionary character arc. But its conclusion feels safe to the point of being conservative. Monica deserves more from life, and she’s learned enough to realise that.

Still, I adored Lives Like Mine. As a lesbian who predominantly reads and writes sapphic stories, I hadn’t expected a book about a heterosexual housewife to be among of my favourite books in 2023. That’s not to say I think straight mothers’ lives are basic or insignificant – just that I’m hungry for the affirmation of sapphic books.

But it was good to read a story so far removed from my own life in terms of sexuality and class. To absorb other Black experiences, alike and unlike. As Malorie Blackman said: “Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.”