Piglet: A Novel

Hated this book. The food descriptions were never ending (and became nauseating in my opinion). And I love to read reviews of restaurants and enjoy lots of different cuisines. But this was over the top. Hated the characters - none of them were fully developed. Less food description - more character description.

This is not the the most important point, but it annoyed me so much that it needs to be said first: I was so sick of reading the words Le Cruset and croquembouche. For the first one, just say dutch oven. Why does the brand of the dutch oven matter? We know they have money. May as well call out the KitchenAid fridge. The Pottery Barn candlestick. The name dropping just got annoying.

But not as annoying as Piglet. She was massively selfish when dealing with everyone around her. I understand that she had trauma around weight and self image but she was a lousy daughter, a lousy sister, a lousy friend, a lousy employee. We are given no details about Kit’s betrayal but we also aren’t given any details about how he got to the point of betrayal. The author says their relationship was a façade but we don’t see any of that until he’s already confessed. I was never rooting for Piglet. She went through with a wedding she knew was wrong - never taking the time to work through it or heal from what had happened - and took everyone down with her.

Also you could tell the author loves to discuss food. I was bored by all of the meal descriptions and wish more of that page space was used to explain more of the plot.

Another unimportant detail that nagged at me: You’re telling me that Piglet wanted desperately to be a part of Kit’s posh family and she allowed herself to be referred to as PIGLET in front of them?! This makes no sense.

All of that being said, I think the author is a good writer. I think if I read something nonfiction by her, I would enjoy it.

A wonderful read about the messiness of life, but her descriptions of food are absolutely rapturous! Can't say the same for the hubby.

There are some truths you can’t tell your friends. There are some truths you can’t tell your family. Truths, once spoken, have the power to strip you of a life carefully constructed, smugly shared. Truths, once spoken, have the power to return you to the life you’ve determined to escape. When the truth of Pippa (Piglet)’s fiance rends her heart and shreds her personhood like fallen confetti two weeks before their wedding date, she discovers the delicious life she had been savouring turned maggoty in her mouth. And yet, she could not disclose how her future husband, her house, her life were not so delicious after all. Piglet compares the layers of him–fiance, confidant, liar–to the disintegrating croquembouche she makes on their wedding day: moisture-bored holes in the caramel, buns leaking custard, integrity gone. Her impending marriage is like the tower of pastry, choux affixed with caramel and glue, oozing cream across her fingers and onto the flabbily pale buns below. Marriage is a commitment, but being in it together and being over it is like eating a birthday cake that isn’t yours. You begin with honourable, manageable intentions, but when things start to fall apart and spin out of control, you can't stop yourself. Instead of putting the fork down and wiping your hands, you keep going, consuming until nothing remains. You’ll deal with the consequences later, but the cake is all gone for now. At least you had ate away the problem until it eviscerated into nothing. Like croquembouche cake, Piglet has the urge to eviscerate the problem–their marriage–into nothing. Her fiance’s betrayal compels Piglet to consider what she wants and the weight of her desires as long as she could choose. Instead of living happily ever after, Piglet ate until she was satisfied. Sugar, spice, and subordination: Lottie Hazell’s Piglet is like reading a recipe book turned novel. A gastronomic masterpiece.