Miranda Hart’s latest book feels unexpected coming from a comic actor famed for her on-screen pratfalls and love of all things silly. I had assumed it would be a joke-filled memoir reflecting on the Call the Midwife star’s path to success, the kind of which are regularly churned out by comics in the run-up to Christmas. But while I Haven’t Been Entirely Honest With You has its confessional moments, it is intended as a serious manual for living. For Hart, the wisdom is hard won, coming as it does after a decade of darkness and misery during which her career was put on hold.
We learn how, for much of her life, Hart has been unwell. From her late teens onwards she suffered from “too many itises” – bronchitis, tonsilitis, pericarditis, gastroenteritis, labyrinthitis – along with blood clots, adrenal fatigue, cysts, migraines and more. Many were the times she would wake up exhausted, wondering how she would get through the day. Matters reached a head a decade ago when she collapsed at home, after which she was bedbound with a “total ghost-like weakness”. Just a short walk outside “was as hard as anything I had done. I would stand in the road feeling as if I had to remind my brain how to put one foot in front of the other. I would look at a cup of tea on the table and wonder if I had the strength to take a sip.”
In 2020, after years of having her symptoms downplayed or disbelieved by doctors, Hart finally got a diagnosis. She’d had Lyme disease, most likely contracted at the age of 14 when the Hart family briefly relocated to Virginia in the US, a well-known Lyme hotspot. It had manifested as a severe bout of flu and, this being the 1980s, was left untreated. That wreaked havoc on her immune system and caused a number of secondary conditions.
Hart’s book, then, is about what she has learned from being chronically ill and the thought processes, practices and research that have helped in her recovery. Having been let down by doctors, Hart sought answers in self-help literature, which is extensively referenced and quoted here.
As is often the way with self-help, some of the advice is sage and lodged in science while some is trite and blindingly obvious. Hart has organised what she has learned into sections she calls “treasures”. These include the benefits of talking about your suffering (as opposed to trying to hide it), surrendering to a negative or challenging situation (rather than stoically soldiering on) and the importance of self-compassion (instead of berating yourself for all that has gone wrong).
In a narrative that moves between funny observation and treacly truism (plus a scattering of fart jokes), Hart embraces the language of living “authentically”, understanding her “unique identity”, finding the “loved and loving” person within and revealing her “wild, true self”. Playing the part of jolly confidante, Hart insists on addressing the reader as “My Dear Reader Chum” (MDRC for short) and talking of revelatory moments in her learning as “heavy revvies”. Depending on your temperament, this will either delight you or drive you mad.
The altruism of the project is clear, however. I Haven’t Been Entirely Honest With You isn’t just about Hart explaining her absence over the past decade. It is also an attempt to make the best of a terrible situation by coaching others who may be struggling with long-term health conditions, and the grief and loss of confidence that often accompanies them. It’s all very well to consult a therapist about, say, facing down the physical symptoms of anxiety, but sometimes you just want to hear from someone who has been there.
Hart tells another story here with a coyness that suggests even her tendency to overshare has its limits. Some years ago, at a point when she had all but resigned herself to remaining single, she began tentatively dating someone whom she refers to as “The Boy”. Her account of slowly letting her guard down, being vulnerable and “open[ing] the Hart heart up to love” is sweet and moving, and proof that happiness is possible even in the most trying times.