By Polly Hember
Dolly Alderton’s debut novel Everything I Know About Love is the book everyone seems to be talking about – and with good reason, too. It’s a beautifully rich autobiographical wander down Alderton’s memory lane, astutely exploring notions about love. Strikingly honest and intimate, Alderton’s reflections on disordered eating, the way she acts in relationships, the jealousy of a best friend’s new boyfriend, her alcohol abuse, anxiety and personal experiences of therapy all feel like secret thoughts that she might be telling a best friend in confidence. These are postulations about intimacy that are astoundingly relatable; in their unbounded honesty, they leap off the page and act as comforting lifelines to the reader’s own experiences that they might be too embarrassed or afraid to confront themselves. This novel is a handbook, an inspiring tale, a hilarious read, a comforting friend, a mirror the reader can hold up to oneself, and more.
Starting from ‘Everything I Knew About Love as a Teenager’, Alderton presents little snapshots of how she interacted with love throughout her life. As a teen, she states “Romantic love is the most important and exciting thing in the entire world. If you don’t have it when you’re a proper grown-up then you’ve failed, just like so many of my art teachers who I have noted are ‘Miss’ instead of ‘Mrs’”. Exploring the psychological and emotional effects of MSN on modern day life; that faceless line of clumsy communication where song lyrics squeezed into your screen-name and logging yourself in and out again until your crush would strike up a conversation was a perfectly acceptable tactic – all of this taught us how to first interact with members of the opposite sex. Flashing forward to 21, “Orgasms are easy to fake and make both parties feel better”, and “When you’re thin enough, you’ll be happy with who you are and then you’ll be worthy of love”, recounting wild university days and a continuing abusive relationship with alcohol. At 25, “Always bring a man back to your house, then you can trick him into staying for breakfast and trick him into falling in love with you”. Then, sound and cathartic advice arrives at 28: “It is no person’s job to be the sole provider of your happiness”. The book is structured around these key phases and punctuated with recipes (‘Apple Pizza’ has been tried and tested and I can’t wait to sample the rest; especially the Hangover ‘Mac n’ Cheese’) and side-splitting made-up group emails arranging dinner parties and hen do’s.
It does what it says on the tin. It is a book about Alderton’s musings on love. However, the magical epiphany comes when Alderton realises self-love and platonic love are the key pillars to a happy and fulfilled life. It’s as if Alderton answers her teenage self that thinks the entire world revolves around men and sex, and tells her softly that happiness has to come from within and not from external validation or playing along to the heteronormative ideal of marriage and maternity that Western culture reinforces is the only direct way of achieving happiness.
The most touching moments in the entire novel are those that describe Alderton’s best friend, Farly. This book is an ode to female friendships, singing their praises, their healing powers as well as the immense fun and fulfilment they bring. I read this book after a particularly difficult breakup and I can’t emphasise the amount of joy and hope it provided in its first reading. Whether you’re in a relationship or single, this book will speak to you in ways a novel so rarely manages to do. It’s warm, it’s heart-breaking, it’s confrontational and asks us (in Alderton’s perfectly witty vernacular) to really examine and reflect on the way we act and the way we think about love and intimacy.
About the Author
Polly is a Freelance Writer, Editor-in-Chief of On the Beat, Art Editor at the The Rational Online, a coffee-drinker and country-music listener. She holds an MA in English Literature from the University of Bristol where she focused on feminism and early twentieth-century women’s writing.