Book Review

All Stirred Up by Brianne Moore

Content warnings: Everyone in this book is reacting, one way or another, to the death of Susan’s mother at the start of the book. There is a character with disordered eating and she plays a large role in the book. Another character has untreated anxiety which manifests itself as hypochondria. There is also an enormous amount of snobbery and classism.

2020 seems to be the year for food-themed, contemporary re-tellings of Jane Austen’s Persuasion, and All Stirred Up is an excellent one. It hits every beat of the original story, and does so in very clever ways. Indeed if anything I found it a little bit too true to the original – at the start of the book, Susan is surrounded by truly awful people, and this means that we, as readers, are also surrounded by them. I honestly came close to abandoning the book early on, because there are enough awful, snobbish, self-centred people out there in the real world without seeking them out in fiction.

But the food was far too good for me to be able to stop reading (yes, I’m easy) and I’m glad of that, because the payoff was worth it. The second-chance romance is slow-burn but believable, and the modern take on Wentworth’s ‘half agony, half hope’ letter is heartbreaking and swoonworthy, combining a sense of deep love and regret for lost time. The denouement left me smiling far more than I had expected to, and was sufficiently prolonged to make up for the desperately slow pace of the painful parts.

I should perhaps step back for a moment and give you some of the plot. Susan has come to Edinburgh to try to save her family’s restaurant, Elliot’s. Founded by and named for Susan’s grandfather, Elliot’s was once the finest restaurant in Edinburgh, with daughter restaurants in Glasgow, York and London. The intention was always for Susan to take over their management when Elliot retired – she had an MBA and trained as a pastry chef during her gap year in Paris – but she was deemed too young to take over when Elliot died, and her father Bernard handed the restaurants’ management over to an old friend whose only qualification was that he had been ‘secretary of the Plimsopps for three years when we were at school…’

This went about as well as you might expect; the restaurants were run into the ground, the friend took an early retirement with a generous pension, and Susan was left to deal with a business on the verge of bankruptcy. The only remaining restaurant is now the original Elliot’s on the Royal Mile, but after years of mismanagement, the food is boring, the staff are demoralised, and the ambience includes dim lighting and dry rot. Between firing misogynist chefs and trying to find a safe project for her extravagant elder sister, it isn’t long before Susan finds herself managing the restaurant, overseeing its renovation, and standing in as pastry chef, while they try to relaunch the restaurant with a new staff and a new menu.

I am not sure how realistic it is for one person to do all these things, but I’m not going to complain, because the result of this is that Susan spends a lot less time trying to manage her terrible family and a lot more time thinking about desserts:

Susan is doing battle with sea buckthorn.

She wants to make this work: everyone’s going mad for the stuff because apparently it’s a superfood. And it’s local – harvested from wild plants right in East Lothian – so it fits their new goal to source at least three-quarters of their ingredients from within fifty miles of the restaurant…

Susan got it into her head to turn some of its juice into jellies to serve alongside a rich pound cake, flavoured with thyme, but she’s having trouble getting the consistency right. One batch of jelly refused to set, and another set so hard you’d need a hatchet to get through it. She wonders if there’s something in the chemistry of the juice that’s interfering. Baking is a delicate chemical science; the littlest thing can throw a whole recipe off. Or maybe it’s her. Maybe jelly is her Waterloo.

There’s a big bag of coral-colored buckthorn berries in the refrigerator, which she considers turning into a sort of jam. Perhaps she can do a nutty tart crust to go with it – a spin on a linzer torte. Or maybe she’s overthinking this and needs to get away from the buckthorn for a while…

This is not a book to read when you are hungry, because in addition to wondering what buckthorn tastes like, you will find yourself craving peanut fairy floss, and rhubarb custard verrines, and pavlovas flavoured with pink peppercorns and filled with strawberries and mint and sumac (a recipe I will be trying the moment strawberries get properly into season around here). Or, if you don’t have a sweet tooth, you might instead find yourself hankering for sourdough bread, or a smokey, whiskey-infused soup that reinvents haggis and bashed neeps and tattie scones, or trout mousse on seaweed biscuits, or spaghetti with chilli and garlic and olive oil…

But I digress. In my defense, the food in this book is *extremely* distracting.

Anyway. The relaunch of the restaurant is made more complicated by the fact that celebrity chef Chris Baker has just returned from the US to start his own restaurant in Edinburgh. Chris got his start at Elliot’s as the protégé of Susan’s grandfather, but he doesn’t think very highly of the food there now, and isn’t shy about saying so in interviews.

And then there is the little fact that Susan and Chris were once very much in love, until they were separated by the death of Susan’s mother and the rather brutal interference of Susan’s Aunt Kay. Naturally, they met in the kitchen…

The day of [her grandfather’s] funeral, Susan managed to hold herself together long enough to be polite at the reception. But as soon as she could, she slipped away into the kitchen, where she found Chris. He was still in his funeral clothes, with his sleeves rolled up and tie tucked into his shirt, to keep it out of the way of the enormous pile of vegetables he was reducing to mirepoix.

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting down his knife as soon as he saw her. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” she responded, joining him. She understood. He needed to stay busy. Keep his mind occupied somehow. “I thought that I might bake something.”

He looked up at her, and she saw the puffy, reddened eyes that had been her own constant companions the past week. He, too, had loved her grandfather, a man who took a gamble on the kid who showed up at the Edinburgh restaurant one day, eager to do any work so long as he could learn. And learn he did.

She smiled at him, a gentle, sad smile of camaraderie in distress, and he responded in kind. He made soup, and she baked Elliott’s brownies, and they sat and talked for hours with their simple feast. And that’s how it all began.

The romance in this story was lovely, so long as you like a REALLY slow burn – Susan and Chris don’t even meet again until 37% of the way through the book, and even after that, it’s a long time before they spend any significant time in each other’s company. Their memories of each other have to do a lot of the heavy lifting, which works, but it’s slow going.

The problem, at least for me, is that this means that we spend most of the book not watching the slow growth of the relationship between Chris and Susan, but rather obtaining a close and detailed journey into the dynamics of Susan’s family. Here they are at the start of the story:

“I’m not selling the Aston Martin,” he informed her as she laid out the drastic plan necessary to save them from bankruptcy.

“Dad, we need to cut back,” she insisted, not for the first time. With each repetition, it became harder to keep her voice even. “We’ve talked about this—no unnecessary expenses.”

“A car is not unnecessary! How am I supposed to get around?”

Susan hadn’t even bothered bringing up public transport. The mere notion probably would have killed him on the spot.

At last, Kay intervened. “All right, Bernard, if it means that much to you, keep the Aston. But Julia’s car will have to go.”

Julia gaped at her aunt. “That’s not fair!” she screeched.

Bernard reached over and patted Julia’s hand. “Now, now, Julia, sacrifices must be made.”

This is so illustrative of the dynamic in the family. Snobbish, vain, self-centred, Bernard; practical and unappreciated Susan; voice-of-reason Aunt Kay, whose voice of reason is only actually reasonable in comparison to Bernard; and Julia, who shares her father’s snobbery and obsession with appearances – but who is, when all is said and done, far less important to Bernard than Bernard himself. No wonder Margaret married the first person she could find who might get her out of this mess. (Which didn’t really work, because the mess is partially located inside her own head, so she took her share of it with her when she left.)

I have to say, as Austen retellings go, this one is extremely faithful to the original in terms of characters and relationship dynamics, and for me this made it very hard to read. I’ve always found Anne’s family in Persuasion very painful to read about, and All Stirred Up does an impeccable job of reinventing these characters in all their awful glory, though it does leave a bit more room for their redemption. Persuasion was the last book Jane Austen wrote, and she was dying when she wrote it. As with her other novels, the characters were drawn from people she knew in real life, their edges softened for publication; but with Persuasion she never had time to do that softening, and her characterisation is sharp, even cruel at times. In All Stirred Up, we have, perhaps, something closer to the compassion that Austen would have added to her work had there been time for another draft.

For example, one thing that All Stirred Up makes explicit is the ways in which the death of Susan’s mother affected the whole family.

Margaret… turns to smile at her youngest, who drools a little and smiles back.

“Oh, he’s got teeth now,” notes Susan.

“Four. All came at once. They do come on fast,” Margaret sighs. “I only hope I get to live to see the next stage.” She reaches up and massages her neck again, making fretting noises.

“Meg”—Susan catches and clasps her sister’s hand—“it’s okay. You’ll be here to see them grow up.”

“We used to think that about Mum,” Meg retorts. “And then she got a cough—a cough!— and that was it.” She and Susan know, better than most people, how horrifyingly fast someone can be there—and then gone. Six weeks they’d had. Barely enough time to arrange hospice care, let alone say or do everything that needs to be said and done.

Meg’s hypochondria and anxiety about the health of everyone around her make perfect sense when you consider what happened to their mother. And the story does a pretty good job of handling her anxiety sensitively, while also making it clear how screamingly self-centred she is. Meg isn’t an asshole because she has anxiety – she has anxiety and she also happens to be an asshole. This was a nuance I appreciated. It was also interesting watching the dynamics between Meg, her husband, her children and Susan play out in a modern setting. Meg has a lot more options, in the end, than Mary ever did.

Julia, the eldest sister, has issues around food and dieting and eating which I suspect rise to the level of being an eating disorder. To my mind, the story handles this less well – Julia’s utter horror at the prospect of ever eating something that might make her fat is treated rather judgmentally, and almost as a point of humour (and as a contrast with Susan who would rather be able to eat cake than fit into skinny jeans). But again, Julia’s eating issues are separate to her grief, and both of these things are separate from the fact that she is a self-centred, entitled snob, who considers their move to a mansion in Edinburgh to be “cutting right back to the bone… practically on bread and water!” She was disgusted when a young Susan brought Chris home to meet the family for the first time.

“A line cook? Are you kidding me? Why not the dishwasher while you’re at it? Why not a plumber?”

Julia doesn’t really stop being a snob with food issues, but she does get better at being a sister to Susan, and I liked watching that relationship develop. And I could describe other characters similarly – they may not be likeable people, but they are complex personalities, and not caricatures.

In addition to the fairly terrible people who are related to Susan, we can also add a smattering of obnoxious minor characters who she isn’t related to, from the misogynist chefs who Susan fires from Elliot’s early in the book, and who subsequently make it their mission to needle and undermine her at every turn; to the manipulative gossip blogger, Rufus Arion, who is the sort of person who thinks it is witty to call his blog Arion Nation. Yes, really. There is a bit of tut-tutting over this from Susan’s (posh, Tory) set, but somehow he is still acceptable – because, after all, he is rather entertaining even if one probably shouldn’t encourage that sort of thing…

(Did I mention that this book is full of TERRIBLE PEOPLE? I mean, I don’t really know how to properly make clear that Susan is just surrounded by a background ambience of people who are sometimes nice and sometimes appreciative of Susan, but who, even in these instances, are just low key entitled and awful and a little bit racist. It’s completely appropriate to the story, but oh God, make it stop…)

To be fair, the book isn’t ALL terrible people. I really enjoyed Gloria, the sous-chef who rises to become executive chef at Elliot’s – she is energetic, passionate and creative, and when she makes a big mistake in management early on, she accepts the reprimand and doesn’t repeat her error. I liked Chris’s extremely Scottish sister, too, even though I am completely opposed to surprise gifts of puppies to people in busy jobs. Even Kay, who is the textbook definition of someone who means well, has redeeming qualities. And there is Elliott, who we only meet as a memory, but who was formative for both Chris and Susan.

“To make great food, you have to love food. You can’t just like it or tolerate it. It’s a bit like marriage in that way.”

In any event, once Susan and Chris finally start to interact, it’s worth the wait. Their relationship is compelling and believable, perhaps because we feel the weight of that past relationship colouring not just their interactions with each other, but so much of what they are thinking and feeling. Did they really stop thinking of each other in the years apart? Maybe a little, but only because they had other things on their minds – and nothing was forgotten in that time. And there is still a lot of kindness between them, despite everything. While Chris in particular has some (justified) feelings of anger towards Susan, he is also too fair-minded to blame her for things that aren’t her fault, and he has her back when she needs it, and vice-versa. And even when he hasn’t seen her for years, and still believes that she treated him badly, Chris trusts Susan’s kindness and integrity enough to ask her to help teach an apprentice who is interested in pastry.

One thing I liked was the way Susan and Chris actually build a really strong, collegial, professional relationship before they build a romantic one. It fits very well with where they are in life – they are grown-ups with careers and people depending on them, and they know that they will have to live and work in the same rather small circles for some time, no matter what else happens. That foundation of mutual respect is essential. I also liked that Susan is not, really, Anne Elliott. She is a much more assertive heroine, and not afraid of confrontation, at least in a professional setting. She and Chris are able to be quite direct and straightforward with one another when they need to be – they have a lot of shared values, which also helps.

All Stirred Up is not a book that sparkles – the atmosphere is more melancholy, with glimmers of sweetness and humour. Much of the brightness in it comes from the fact that Susan and Chris are people for whom one wants happiness. I loved their passion for food, their basic decency and kindness even when they didn’t much like each other, and their commitment to helping the next generation of young chefs. This was a sweet, gentle, somewhat angsty story about two people finding their way back to each other amid people who are truly awful, though nuanced in their awfulness. It’s a story that requires patience – more patience, honestly, than I have – but if Persuasion is your favourite Jane Austen novel, I suspect you will love All Stirred Up. I don’t think I’ve ever read a retelling that captured the mood of the original so well.

This book is available from:
  • Available at Amazon
  • Order this book from apple books

  • Order this book from Barnes & Noble
  • Order this book from Kobo

As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases.
We also may use affiliate links in our posts, as well. Thanks!

All Stirred Up by Brianne Moore

View Book Info Page

Add Your Comment →

  1. Katty says:

    Oh no, this doesn’t come out for another week! You had me at “hits every beat of the original story” and I went to immediately check its availability but alas, I’ll have to be patient.

  2. LN says:

    This is for me! I love Persuasion. My absolute favourite. That letter at the end…

  3. Sarah Peach says:

    Great review…since Persuasion is my favorite Austen, you’ve definitely convinced me to read this!

  4. Lisa F says:

    Oh, this sounds delightful!

  5. Juhi says:

    Persuasin re-telling and food means I have to give this one a try! thx!

  6. Gillian B says:

    *looks at TBR pile*

    *looks at other piles*

    *realises that the reason I can see all of those is because they’re on top of other piles*

    Bother you.

    *Places order*

Add Your Comment

Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

*


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

↑ Back to Top