A wry, propulsive, exquisitely observed debut about a singularly eccentric family and the sibling rivalry, generational divides, and long-buried secrets that shape them. This is an extraordinary novel from a seasoned playwright with a flare for dialogue and, in the end, immense empathy for the mysterious intimacies of marriage, family, and love.

‘An account of two ageing, secretive, disputatious and thoroughly maddening parents – poignant, funny and brilliantly told through gritted teeth’

Autorentext
Camilla Barnes was born and brought up in England but moved to France in her twenties. She lives in Paris and works in theatre, doing every job possible there except act. She writes for the stage in both English and French. The Usual Desire to Kill is her first novel.

Klappentext

'Witty, moving' Ann Napolitano

'Hilarious and heartbreaking' Monica Ali

'Made me hoot with laughter' TLS

'Reminds me of Nancy Mitford' Telegraph

Miranda's parents live in a dilapidated house in rural France that they share with two llamas, eight ducks, five chickens, two cats, and a freezer full of food dating back to 1983. 

Miranda's father is a retired professor of philosophy who never loses an argument. Her mother likes to bring all conversation back to the War, although she was born after it ended. Married for fifty years, they are uncommonly set in their ways. Miranda plays the role of translator when she visits, communicating the desires or complaints of one parent to the other and then venting her frustration to her sister and her daughter. 

This wry, moving, exquisitely observed novel introduces a singularly eccentric family and the long-buried secrets that have shaped them. 

'The usual desire to kill your exasperating old parents - that's the implied full title of Camilla Barnes's wickedly delightful debut novel' New York Times

'Barnes has a wise and radiant sensibility... the balance between gaiety and hidden sorrow is deliciously judged' TLS

'Highly engaging, very funny... Will strike a chord with anyone who has elderly parents or difficult relations' Telegraph