The title can be read as a pun:
- There is still life.
- A still-life painting.
- The implication of a stillborn baby.
From what I remember, I found the book rather moving. We're all part of that biology of childbirth, and you don't normally want to read about the biological details every day, but it will have been autobiographical on A.S. Byatt's part. One of those erstwhile babies is now - or was until recently - a leading officer in the literary section of the Arts Council of England, and is also called Antonia Byatt like her famous-author mother.
As for her politics, which Lionel disapproves of, I was always under the impression that she was a Labour supporter. I am not, but when reading literature there has to be a broad church. Otherwise the Left would never read Balzac, Céline, Hamsun, or Vargas Llosa, and the Right would never read Neruda, Saramago, Gorky, and all those other writers with Communist sympathies, from East and West.