Deborah Levy is a most generous writer. What is wonderful about this short, sensual, embattled memoir is that it is not only about the painful landmarks in her life – the end of a marriage , the death of a mother – it is about what it is to be alive. I can’t think of any other writer aside from Virginia Woolf who writes better about the liminal, the domestic, the non-event, and what it is to be a woman… This is a little book about a big subject. It is about how to find a new way of living

Extraordinary and beautiful, suffused with wit and razor sharp insights

It is the story of every woman throughout history who has expended her love and labour on making a home that turns out to serve the needs of everyone except herself… A piece of work that is not so much a memoir as an eloquent manifesto for what Levy calls ‘a new way of living’ in the post-familial world

Ingenious, practical and dryly amused… This is a manifesto for a risky, radical kind of life, out of your depth but swimming all the same

Wise, subtle and ironic, Levy is a brilliant writer… Each sentence is a small masterpiece of clarity and poise. That shed should be endowed with a blue plaque

A heady, absorbing read

This, from Deborah Levy, is exceptional. A memoir of life, art and separation. How to write when you’re broke, have no writing space, are a parent. Also: crushed chickens, electric bikes, plumbing. Out in May and an early contender for one of the books of the year

Both memoir and feminist manifesto, her writing focuses so sharply on what it means to be alive that she’s given me much-needed clarity…Levy subtly informs us about what it is to be a woman.