We live in a society that is obsessed with celebrity and success. We like to think this is somehow new, but it was as true in 1999 – when Home Truths was first published – as it is now.
Adrian and his wife Eleanor live in a nice home in the English countryside. Adrian once wrote a good book, but hasn’t done much since. Their friend Sam, a successful screenwriter, shows up looking for sympathy after a journalist writes a scathing article about him. Adrian agrees to allow the unscrupulous journalist, with the unlikely name of Fanny Tarrant, to interview him as a way of trying to get some dirt on her. All does not go to plan.
Basically, middle class, middle aged people living in middle England have mid-life crises. If that’s not dull enough, the cast is made up the usual suspects: a writer, a screenwriter, a journalist and a wife. Write what you know I suppose.
The novel started life as a play, where possibly it was less awful, where you can rely on staging, direction and actors to add nuance and subtlety. As a novella, however, Home Truths is a disaster.
