Growing up, all Liz Scheier had was her mother. In the New York City of the 1970s and ’80s, Judith Scheier was both traditional and eccentric. Known always as Mrs. Scheier, never just Judith, she raised Scheier in an observant Jewish household and had high expectations for her only child. But she was also temperamental, strange and mysterious. And, as Scheier recounts in her affecting memoir, NEVER SIMPLE, her mother was a pathological liar who most likely suffered from a set of mental illnesses that made their home and relationship frightening and unpredictable.

It is true that Judith was a lawyer, but beyond that, Scheier knew little about her mother’s life. She didn’t work, and their source of income was never quite clear. However, in the days of rent-controlled New York, this was less of a conundrum. There seems to have been little record of Scheier’s own early life: her mother failed to file paperwork and often forged what she needed. Scheier was told that her biological father died before she was born and that her mother, surprisingly, remembered little about him. She had his name, Warren Steven Livingston, and not much else.

"Scheier’s debut is heartbreaking and compelling. The writing is insightful and candid, and the style is crisp and frank, threaded with both an aching sorrow and a droll perspective."

While Scheier wondered about her father, her life was consumed by her mother. Judith was mercurial and antagonistic, lashing out at strangers and school administrators alike. Scheier knew Judith kept some secrets, and as she got older, she began to realize that much of what her mother told her and others were lies. There were some constants in Scheier’s life: a couple of family friends, Hebrew school and Jewish rituals. There was also a lack of honesty.

As time goes on, Scheier grew more suspicious of her mother’s stories and less tolerant of her abuse, but she remained powerless to get to the truth or assert emotional independence until young adulthood. Even then, what she learns is not always satisfying. The revelation --- or partial revelation --- of some of Judith’s secrets is a key aspect of NEVER SIMPLE, so there will be no spoilers here. But the overarching themes are related to the wrestling that Scheier does within her relationship with her mother.

Judith was not just unusual; it becomes apparent to readers, and eventually to her daughter, that she was not well. While she was often boastfully proud of her daughter and a fierce (if unhelpful) advocate for her, behind closed doors, Judith could be emotionally and physically abusive to Scheier. Leaving for college gave her much-needed distance and perspective, but then Judith’s health deteriorated. By the end of her life, she went from shutting herself in her apartment to being homeless, forcibly evicted after years of refusing to pay her rent. Her former beauty and elegance were lost, and much of her persona of a sophisticated and educated woman was tarnished by her anger, paranoia and erratic behavior.

Even at a distance, Scheier finds herself struggling against the dangerous storm that was her mother, conflicted about how much responsibility she should take for her and how much Judith should be allowed around Scheier’s young children. It is an impossibly devastating situation, one that is recorded here with honesty and a deft gallows humor.

Scheier’s debut is heartbreaking and compelling. The writing is insightful and candid, and the style is crisp and frank, threaded with both an aching sorrow and a droll perspective. The relationship between Scheier and her mother is complex and complicated, and Scheier doesn’t shy away from her frustrations or anger. What begins as an exploration of identity as she searches for the truth about her father ends up being a rumination on trauma and maternal love.

The book’s subject matter is charted territory, but Scheier sets her own course here. NEVER SIMPLE is a worthwhile contribution to the library of stories about dysfunctional families, survival and compassion.