The Mermaid Chronicles: A Midlife Mer-moir is billed as an exploration of geriatric motherhood (the unfortunate term for anyone who becomes a mother after the age of 35) and post-natal depression, through the lens of the mermaid. Half fish, half alluring woman, these mystical creatures have inspired everything from folklore and poetry to sham science and film. Today, numerous recreational and professional mermaids don elaborate tails and frolic in the waves. And, courtesy of the 1984 romantic comedy movie Splash, mermaids have also long-captivated artist and critic Megan Dunn (Tinderbox and Things I Learned at Art School). 

Megan picks up her story in a fertility clinic, where – facing down 40, a dead-end office job and fluctuating feelings of inadequacy – her eggs are being assessed for IVF viability. The first round of treatment is a success, and soon Megan and her partner, Rich, are navigating the uncertain waters of parenthood. The birth of their daughter, Fearne, re-charts the course and priorities of their lives. 

The trick to approaching memoirs is to remember that the ‘main character’ in the book is, in fact, a real person. To suspend value judgments about their choices and thoughts (or what you would have done) and engage – critically! – with what they  choose to present. Megan’s voice is candid and honest, occasionally to a self-deprecating fault. The tapestry she weaves is of a woman who is complex, inquisitive and persistent.  

The strongest section of The Mermaid Chronicles is its first quarter, where Megan struggles with the expectations and challenges of parenthood. “[The counsellor] ended up seeing me once a week all through that first sleepless year, when I wore trackpants and a black sweatshirt that read AWFUL in white capital letters. The crying, the crying, my daughter like a Rubik’s cube always handed back to me, and I loved her, adored her, but I also wanted to sleep for more than four unbroken hours in a row.” 

Between bottle feeds and a part-time archive job, Megan explores her fascination with mermaids and what they represent. In 2017-18, she reaches out to mermaids and mermen via Skype, querying them about their passions and goals and what draws them to bring a fantasy to life. Their insights are some of the highlights of this book. The quest takes Megan far afield – to a mermaid conference in Copenhagen and then on a cross-America trek to visit several in person and try out swimming in a tail herself. Her research occurs in spurts, slotting in around the requirements of daily life. 

In the middle, Megan’s narrative suffers somewhat, as her tendency to chronicle minutia down to the composition and caption of various Instagram posts, obstructs the memoir’s stronger emotional elements. You get the sense she is struggling to condense her memories into cohesive themes, rather than a simple chronological recording. She admits that: “Increasingly, I felt my book had to solve all the problems of the world, address climate change, honour and celebrate the individual achievements of every mermaid, and merman.” 

It’s clear Megan is putting pressure on herself to achieve, and that strain seems to impact even her own love for the mermaid – her recollection of meeting Hannah Mermaid (who graces the cover) is remote, detached. “I was impressed but removed, somehow still so distant from reality. Her beauty and authenticity and athleticism set her apart from me – she seemed so comfortable in her own skin.”

The heartbreaking recurrence of her mother’s cancer towards the end of the memoir is a return to Megan’s emotional strengths. Throughout, you’ve learned a lot about her – and mermaids of all shapes and sizes – and what it’s like to be stuck in the many  “betweens” of middle-age, mythology and motherhood. 

Reviewed by Claire Williamson