Margaret Forster's...novel about mothers and daughters...is one of the most painfully honest I have ever read. It raised agonising questions about female identity, asking whether the role of mother leaves anything over for the individual woman, and whether daughters can ever shake off the past

A new work by Margaret Forster always gives me a tingle of anticipation. Her books are consistently good reads, packed with originality and imagination

Forster is remarkably honest, skilful and perceptive

An honest portrait of the generation gap and the perennial irritations that bedevil this most powerful and idealised of all blood ties

Roars and leaps through the London streets with thrilling energy...the result is tremendous. Ackroyd is a wonderful guide and torchbearer, bringing light to the darkest corners of humanity