



Never Simple
A Memoir
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- €10.99
Publisher Description
This gripping and darkly funny memoir “is a testament to the undeniable, indestructible love between a mother and a daughter” (Isaac Mizrahi).
Liz Scheier’s mother was a news junkie, a hilarious storyteller, a fast-talking charmer you couldn’t look away from, a single mother whose devotion crossed the line into obsession, and—when in the grips of the mental illness that plagued her—a masterful liar. On an otherwise uneventful afternoon when Scheier was eighteen, her mother sauntered into the room and dropped two bombshells. First, that she had been married for most of the previous two decades to a man Liz had never heard of and, second, that the man she had claimed was Liz’s dead father was entirely fictional. She’d made him up—his name, the stories, everything.
Those big lies were the start, but not the end; it had taken dozens of smaller lies to support them, and by the time she was done she had built a fairy-tale, half-true life for the two of them. Judith Scheier’s charm was more than matched by her eccentricity, and Liz had always known there was something wrong in their home. After all, other mothers didn’t raise a child single-handedly with no visible source of income, or hide their children behind fake Social Security numbers, or host giant parties in a one-bedroom Manhattan apartment only to throw raging tantrums when the door closed behind the guests.
Now, decades later, armed with clues to her father’s identity—and as her mother’s worsening dementia reveals truths she never intended to share—Liz attempts to uncover the real answers to the mysteries underpinning her childhood. Trying to construct a “normal” life out of decidedly abnormal roots, she navigates her own circuitous path to adulthood: a bizarre breakup, an unexpected romance, and the birth of her son and daughter. Along the way, Liz wrestles with questions of what we owe our parents even when they fail us, and of how to share her mother’s hilarity, limitless love, and creativity with children—without passing down the trauma of her mental illness. Never Simple is the story of enduring the legacy of a hard-to-love parent with compassion, humor, and, ultimately, self-preservation.
APPLE BOOKS REVIEW
In her biting debut memoir, Liz Scheier struggles to reconcile her mother Judith’s love with her obsessive behavior and abuse. Scheier recounts her Manhattan childhood, which was defined by her mother’s mental illness and financial uncertainty. It’s only after she escapes from home that Scheier begins to unravel the decades of massive lies that Judith built their lives on, all while her mother continues to careen in and out of her life. We felt Scheier’s anger and heartbreak as she searches for the good in her mother, but her clever asides help relieve the tension, breaking through even the most shocking recollections with moments of welcome humor. Touching on issues of religion, class, and aging, Never Simple is a brutally poignant and funny story about the struggle to really see and understand our parents—for better or for worse.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Scheier, a PW contributor, debuts with a stunning and generous account of living with her mother's mental illness. "Telling exorbitant lies was easier in the 80s," she recounts of her New York City childhood. "There was no internet, no way to track down the clues." And lie her mother, Judith, did—endlessly: about the identity of Scheier's father; her marital status; and about her daughter's birth certificate (born at home, Scheier didn't have one). It wasn't until college that Scheier found out her mother was a master of deception, a revelation followed by another explosive discovery—that Judith suffered from borderline personality disorder. As Scheier writes, "People suffering from borderline personality disorder live in a world on fire." In crisp and commanding prose, she traces how, until her mother's death in 2019, that fire swept through her own life—her childhood enduring Judith's "all-consuming wrath," her own suicide attempts as a teen, later selling her eggs to keep her aging mother from becoming homeless. Yet, strikingly, compassion trumps anger: "I loved her smoky cackle and her jokes... her whole-body storytelling," she writes. "Now that I have my own children, I see how much of her best my mother did." Readers will find it hard to part with this one.