Pig by Andrew Cowan

Pig by Andrew Cowan took me back to where things were different. It was a time when the less tolerant around us could air their negative views, and nobody would see anything wrong. I recollect being with my best friend, aged twelve, and a man thinking it was okay to comment about our diverse colours. (We are besties today, nearly thirty-eight years later).

That being said, the seventies and eighties weren’t all terrible. I remember my parents being fine with me being out all day, but the moment it got dark, I had to be in. Or my mum saying, don’t come crying to me if you break your legs and fall. I’m not sure how I would manage if I had broken them. More importantly, understanding, I couldn’t have everything because it was more important to eat than to have cool toys.

He wrote his first novel in first person, and it is about a teenage boy going through puberty. He has an Indian girlfriend, and they look after his grandfather’s pig when his grandmother dies and he goes into a home. His brother, Richard, and many of his family are racist. His pregnant sister does not hold the same views. The young couple spend hours in their home, feeding Agnes, and tidying the unkempt house. Growing close, but a summer together is all they have.

I loved this book because it was an honest portrayal of what it was like.

The good and the bad.