On the face of it, Maddie Ballard’s debut book, Bound: A Memoir of Making and Remaking (out from Birmingham-based independent publisher The Emma Press in October 2024), is a memoir about her sewing journey, started during the 2020 lockdowns. But making her own clothes quickly became a consistent thread – lame pun intended – in Ballard’s life. Overall, though, Bound is about the makings and remakings of your own identity and feeling comfortable in your own skin.

From her very first seam, stitched on a machine borrowed from her then-partner’s mother, sewing enabled Ballard to exercise intentionality in a time of upheaval. Like many pandemic hobbies (fancy focaccia, endless walks around the local park, writing fanfiction), it began as an escape from uncertainty. “I lower the needle and the world recedes,” she writes of her mindset during one of her early projects. “The process of sewing a garment – printing the pattern, tracing and cutting, sewing the first and the second and the fiftieth seam – is a lesson in taking your time.”

The Emma Press is known for its essay collections, all coming in well under 200 pages and inhalable in a single sitting, and Bound is no exception. Ballard explores the various facets of sewing – from its environmental consciousness to body positivity and as a way we can inhabit and challenge our identity – and how they intersect with our lives. 

Each chapter begins with a list of the fabric, thread and pattern of a particular garment (“Recycled black nylon, multi-coloured viscose, charcoal polyester thread, 20mm brass snaps // Hacked Paola Workwear Jacket” opens a chapter called “Use,” which is ostensibly about sewing a raincoat fit for the Wellington weather but is really about perseverance) and charming line drawings of the author’s creations are scattered throughout. 

The prose is lyrical without being trite, and Ballard has a particular knack for exploring how clothing and creation impacts the way we feel about ourselves – and how sewing forces you to examine yourself without judgment and then consciously treat yourself with love. After a period where her weight shifts, she decides to make a pair of proper fitted denim trousers – a fiddly and time-consuming prospect.

“Every garment is bespoke by default, and your figure, not some ‘ideal’ figure, is the centre. Homemade trousers should hold your living and singular body with tenderness. You do not have to settle for something fitting quite well,” she writes. Laid out like this, it seems obvious: none of us should settle for clothes that make us feel less than ourselves. 

Sewing continues when Ballard lands a stable editing role at a notable food magazine, pivoting to making aprons and work dresses. But as her career thrives, her long-term relationship frays, depicted in a story of moths nibbling at their clothes and Ballard’s collection of fabric. She frets; he doesn’t seem to mind. Eventually they split, and contending with being newly single and an overwhelming need for both softness and fun, Ballard quits her job to pursue a degree in writing. Always the question is: “Who does she want to be?” 

“Like gardening, sewing is an investment in the future – in what sort of person your future self will be and how she will feel about her body, and what she will want to wear. I choose this grey plaid [for a Poppy Coat] and cut it to my size thinking unashamedly of myself and how I want to feel, which is not how I feel now.”

Importantly, sewing isn’t depicted as a panacea – no hobby is. As someone with mixed Chinese heritage, Ballard grapples with the intersection of clothing and cultural identity. In an early chapter, “Second Skin,” she embroiders the names of her ancestors in red thread on the inside of a jacket. A later vignette, “Common Thread” explores the difficulties she faces finding a cheongsam pattern she feels truly comfortable in, rather than a performance of heritage.

“It looks – the words I’m thinking are too Chinese. I prickle with shame. Somehow I look like I’m performing myself, like I don’t quite have a right to this outfit. It makes me feel terribly sad that I could feel more comfortable in a bias-cut slip dress than even a modernised cheongsam.”

But overall, sewing emerges as a main way Ballard demonstrates her values and acknowledges her metamorphosis over time. When recovering from a bad bout of COVID-19, mending garments is a way to show kindness to her past self (a reminder we all need now and again): “Every garment is one I made when I knew less: I find I can forgive myself now for my earlier errors.”

Tightly and thoughtfully crafted, Bound is the gentle, insightful read we all need when times are tough and a little kindness, to ourselves and others,  is in order.

Reviewed by Claire Williamson