Ladybird is a poignant and brutally honest memoir that tries to take the reader into the world of grief, despair and depression; filled with a host of some of the most colourful characters, it succeeds somewhat in developing a delicate blend of comedy and tragedy.

Unfortunately, this 290+ page personal account by Janita Sakoschek hums constantly with a great potential that is never quite achieved.

Fire and Downfall
The book traces Janita’s mental, spiritual and physical downfall following the fire which destroyed her house, possessions and material memories. As she sinks further into her despair at the loss of her home and the sudden uprooting of her life, she slips further away from her duties to both herself and her family, allowing her existence to rot through self-indulgence and pity, until she is involuntarily committed to a rehabilitation centre, where her journey to recovery and redemption begins.

No-Holds-Barred Honesty

The premise itself is very intriguing, and Janita peppers the tale with a no-holds-barred attitude, laying siege to even the most rudimentary of her human dignities in the process of recounting her experiences. The opening line of the memoir sets fast the tone of the entire account - base and without glamour, but sincere and unaffected.

Admittedly there is much appeal in this for some, who believe the autobiography or memoir must sacrifice for the sake of truth what the novel will protect for the sake of art, and depending on one’s taste one will either admire the brave exposure of everyday crudities, or be put off and embarrassed by them (in many cases one will feel both.)

Lack of Artistry

Similarly, the style of Ladybird is one which will appeal perhaps only to those who care more about the details of the story than the way in which the story is written. Janita Sokoschek’s writing is very smooth, and the memoir flows over the reader very easily, but it lacks any form of artistry, being more of a report than a prose to paint the reader a scene of all the emotions and turmoil experienced at the time.

One is exposed to sensations on a matter-of-fact level only, and so comments from the author on herself and her surroundings come across as flat and bland. One would be forgiven for thinking that the author might have given that little bit more to her prose to recommend it had she written in third person perspective, instead of the obvious choice of first, thereby creating more of an air of mystery about herself and better illustrating her sense of total disconnection from the world.

The choice of the present tense, too, seems a mistake, as the unusualness of the style to the mind of the reader makes all the more stark the lack of colour of the words, which might have been more effective within the comfort and familiarity of the past tense.

Vivid Characters

Strangely enough, however, the characters of Janita’s story do not suffer at all from the disability of the writing in general. She has managed to give each and every person in her account an individual spark and voice which sets him or her distinctly apart from any other, and makes him or her so strangely tangible to the reader.

These are the pillars of Ladybird, and are its redemption by no small degree. They give all the poignancy and life to the reader, which, oddly, Janita alone could not. The bitter-sweet frailty of the small, old and abandoned Nora, and the simple innocence of the child-minded Samuel spark like electricity through the memoir and touch the reader profoundly.

All in all, Ladybird is a good tale which sadly had so much potential to be great. It’s enjoyable to read and flows with admirable pace, and had the writing in general been better, a little more artistic and a little more engaging, its combination with such vivid characters would have made Ladybird a complete emotional, heart-rending success.