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jenhurst's review against another edition
3.0
I liked bringing up the conversation about disability (or rather ableism) in fairy tales and Disney. I think it brought up some good discussion points and bringing in personal stories. But I just found the story lacking in parts. It did stay in the start that this was not an academic approach and more a layman’s approach. Which, I didn’t initially think was an issue but I found this to be more of an opinion piece without a thesis. Obviously I can’t fault an opinion or an experience since this isn’t my experience or opinion. But It could’ve gone so much deeper and brought some lesser known fairy tales to the table. Beauty and the beast and the little mermaid were talked to death, but what about hook in Peter Pan or some of the characters in Robin Hood. There was one character trying to escape the jail cell with a crutch. There’s probably more that I’m forgetting right now as well. I just think this scratched the surface
honnari_hannya's review against another edition
1.0
I had incredibly high hopes for this book but they unfortunately fell flat. I was expecting an in-depth, fully formed analysis of various fairly tale narratives and tropes—and the specific ways ability and disability are reinforced as part of larger cultural structures. There was some of that, of course, but it was all surface level and often tedious to slog through a reading of various fairy tales whose moral purpose is flattened (unjustly imo) to "beautiful is good, ugly is bad" in order to prove her point. I think it does a disservice to both the intelligence of the writers and orators of said fairytales but also of the consumers of said fairytales who have passed on said media when taken in this light.
I also have very specific points of divergence with Leduc's perspective on disability, as someone who is neurodiverse and suffers from chronic illness. Oftentimes, her book reads as particularly against medical models in favor of social models of of disability, particularly in one section where she actually pits them against each other. She describes proponents of the medical model as those who see "disabled life as an unhappy ending because the medical model can fix it; proponents of the social model see the prospect of a cure as an unhappy ending because it removes the responsibility of bettering the social environment from society at large and places the onus on the individual to transform, thus eradicating the physical differences and accompanying memories that so often tether the disabled person's experience of the world."
I find this perspective quite baffling for a couple of reasons. For one, Leduc herself is alive particularly because of medical intervention in her childhood. Two, I don't believe that life-shaping experiences borne out of physical and mental struggles are necessarily worth it just so we can virtue signal that "everyone is good just the way they are." Of course the experiences of disabled people are valuable in every way, but searching for cures to diseases that impact the quality of life for those who have to endure trauma through every day acts of living is vital and important for advancement of the human species.
The idea that it is somehow unhappy to not want to subject a child to medical trauma from surgery and physical therapy at a young age—because even if it doesn't cause emotional trauma, it is a stressor to the body that does not need to happen—when it does not need to happen boggles the mind.
The medical and social models can work together—there is no need for competition, and Leduc herself is proof of that in action.
This also dovetails with another section in which she mentions that she "would not be who [she is] today" if she was not born with the cyst in her brain, and thus did not undergo her surgeries, the wheelchair, crutches, and the eventual bullying. The message that "trauma makes you who you are" is one that I hope we are trying to actively move away from, as a community and as a society, and this just reinforces it on the level of disability.
The most interesting parts of this book were the portions that could be categorized as "memoir," but even then I had my gripes—particularly with her descriptions of other (able-bodied) women. I thought it strange that in book that was supposed to be a deconstruction of the ways in which fairytales shape our ability to perceive good and bad in every day life by making things too clear-cut, Leduc sets up her own narrative in which the reader feels morally obligated to take her side in every situation. Against everyone else. In the most weirdly antagonistic fashion sometimes. There was a particular paragraph that struck me, in which she compares herself to a young girl named Grace when they were 9-years-old. Grace was "not mean to me, not exactly, but I do not belong in the popular circles, and she fits in there right away." And there's an ongoing tirade against herself that ends with "I know that I am not the kind of girl that anyone could love." What does Grace have to do with this? Other than the blank space upon which the author projects and lashes out against? And this happens again and again, even as the author grows up and becomes an adult. It happens when she's an adult woman and she sees an able-bodied author with whom she shares a stage at a literary event wear high heels that she cannot. And she feels defeated.
As the kids say, she has bad vibes.
I also have very specific points of divergence with Leduc's perspective on disability, as someone who is neurodiverse and suffers from chronic illness. Oftentimes, her book reads as particularly against medical models in favor of social models of of disability, particularly in one section where she actually pits them against each other. She describes proponents of the medical model as those who see "disabled life as an unhappy ending because the medical model can fix it; proponents of the social model see the prospect of a cure as an unhappy ending because it removes the responsibility of bettering the social environment from society at large and places the onus on the individual to transform, thus eradicating the physical differences and accompanying memories that so often tether the disabled person's experience of the world."
I find this perspective quite baffling for a couple of reasons. For one, Leduc herself is alive particularly because of medical intervention in her childhood. Two, I don't believe that life-shaping experiences borne out of physical and mental struggles are necessarily worth it just so we can virtue signal that "everyone is good just the way they are." Of course the experiences of disabled people are valuable in every way, but searching for cures to diseases that impact the quality of life for those who have to endure trauma through every day acts of living is vital and important for advancement of the human species.
The idea that it is somehow unhappy to not want to subject a child to medical trauma from surgery and physical therapy at a young age—because even if it doesn't cause emotional trauma, it is a stressor to the body that does not need to happen—when it does not need to happen boggles the mind.
The medical and social models can work together—there is no need for competition, and Leduc herself is proof of that in action.
This also dovetails with another section in which she mentions that she "would not be who [she is] today" if she was not born with the cyst in her brain, and thus did not undergo her surgeries, the wheelchair, crutches, and the eventual bullying. The message that "trauma makes you who you are" is one that I hope we are trying to actively move away from, as a community and as a society, and this just reinforces it on the level of disability.
The most interesting parts of this book were the portions that could be categorized as "memoir," but even then I had my gripes—particularly with her descriptions of other (able-bodied) women. I thought it strange that in book that was supposed to be a deconstruction of the ways in which fairytales shape our ability to perceive good and bad in every day life by making things too clear-cut, Leduc sets up her own narrative in which the reader feels morally obligated to take her side in every situation. Against everyone else. In the most weirdly antagonistic fashion sometimes. There was a particular paragraph that struck me, in which she compares herself to a young girl named Grace when they were 9-years-old. Grace was "not mean to me, not exactly, but I do not belong in the popular circles, and she fits in there right away." And there's an ongoing tirade against herself that ends with "I know that I am not the kind of girl that anyone could love." What does Grace have to do with this? Other than the blank space upon which the author projects and lashes out against? And this happens again and again, even as the author grows up and becomes an adult. It happens when she's an adult woman and she sees an able-bodied author with whom she shares a stage at a literary event wear high heels that she cannot. And she feels defeated.
As the kids say, she has bad vibes.
proofofruin's review against another edition
2.0
definitely found this book to be worth my time, but there were a number of things i was unhappy with.
first, i felt there were a lot of stray paragraphs. the author likes to philosophize just as much as (maybe more than) she likes to analyze, and though i really really think the personal anecdotes and experiences enhance the text, sometimes things got really far away from the point and felt out of place.
second, there was only a very brief nod to queerness in the very last chapter, and its intersection to the topic is left completely untouched. i was willing to let this go for most of the text because it felt like it would be a very specific read on disability, but the back half of the book spends a lot of time examining the intersection of gender and disability. i feel pretty strongly that issues of queerness are inextricable from issues of gender in this context. i’m unfortunately affirmed in my feelings that i generally do not want to read what straight people have to say about gender.
third, the author spends the last chapter and the afterword calling for a different world and different stories where disability is represented differently. i’m disappointed that she named a full paragraph of disability justice advocates who are making this new world, and neglected to name a single fantasy creator who’s making the kind of fiction she’s demanding (there are plenty). leads me to believe she isn’t looking at much of the contemporary queer fantasy, sci-fi and superhero fiction that’s out there (these genres have SO MUCH positive disability rep) which makes me all the more disappointed that she didn’t explore that intersection in the first place. massive blind spot.
otherwise, this book made me cry. a lot. especially in the first three chapters. the personal reflections on disability hit me REALLY hard, and there was a lot of relatability as well as a lot of very solid content analysis.
first, i felt there were a lot of stray paragraphs. the author likes to philosophize just as much as (maybe more than) she likes to analyze, and though i really really think the personal anecdotes and experiences enhance the text, sometimes things got really far away from the point and felt out of place.
second, there was only a very brief nod to queerness in the very last chapter, and its intersection to the topic is left completely untouched. i was willing to let this go for most of the text because it felt like it would be a very specific read on disability, but the back half of the book spends a lot of time examining the intersection of gender and disability. i feel pretty strongly that issues of queerness are inextricable from issues of gender in this context. i’m unfortunately affirmed in my feelings that i generally do not want to read what straight people have to say about gender.
third, the author spends the last chapter and the afterword calling for a different world and different stories where disability is represented differently. i’m disappointed that she named a full paragraph of disability justice advocates who are making this new world, and neglected to name a single fantasy creator who’s making the kind of fiction she’s demanding (there are plenty). leads me to believe she isn’t looking at much of the contemporary queer fantasy, sci-fi and superhero fiction that’s out there (these genres have SO MUCH positive disability rep) which makes me all the more disappointed that she didn’t explore that intersection in the first place. massive blind spot.
otherwise, this book made me cry. a lot. especially in the first three chapters. the personal reflections on disability hit me REALLY hard, and there was a lot of relatability as well as a lot of very solid content analysis.
rereader33's review against another edition
5.0
2022 September Grab Bag Reading Challenge
Prompt: read a book that has your favorite color on the cover
Damn. Holy fucking SHIT, this was so good.
Leduc does a phenomenal job of weaving in fairy tales, real life events, historical data, and glimpses of her own life to create an amazing, thought-provoking book that will stay with me for years to come. Her discussions on disability representation in fairy tales (past and present) and the frankly disheartening lack of progressed made in creating space for disabled individuals is painful (and rightfully so), but important. While she isn't abrasive or self-righteous, she also doesn't pull any punches nor does she sugarcoat the issues disabled people experience in fairy tales and real life. Seeing fairy tales discussed for this perspective was eye-opening (mostly in abject horror of how disabled people were perceived and treated) but was a huge learning experience for me in more ways than I can count. This book is up there with In the Dream House and Born a Crime as one of the most important books I've ever read and highly recommend others check it out, it is absolutely worth it.
Prompt: read a book that has your favorite color on the cover
Damn. Holy fucking SHIT, this was so good.
Leduc does a phenomenal job of weaving in fairy tales, real life events, historical data, and glimpses of her own life to create an amazing, thought-provoking book that will stay with me for years to come. Her discussions on disability representation in fairy tales (past and present) and the frankly disheartening lack of progressed made in creating space for disabled individuals is painful (and rightfully so), but important. While she isn't abrasive or self-righteous, she also doesn't pull any punches nor does she sugarcoat the issues disabled people experience in fairy tales and real life. Seeing fairy tales discussed for this perspective was eye-opening (mostly in abject horror of how disabled people were perceived and treated) but was a huge learning experience for me in more ways than I can count. This book is up there with In the Dream House and Born a Crime as one of the most important books I've ever read and highly recommend others check it out, it is absolutely worth it.
okjaaaaa's review against another edition
3.0
This is a memoir trying its hardest to hold up the world.
With that I mean, it's trying to be something it's not (a well founded academic text), while trying to say it's not being that - to excuse its own shortcomings and sometimes fantastical leaps. It should have stayed a memoir, instead of something floundering between said genre and a foundational academic and philosophical text on the stance of disabilities in modern and historical societies and context.
It's standing on the shoulders of a woman, arguing, correctly, that she and other disabled people (myself included) have struggled needlessly to either fit into or be accepted by the society they live in. This, the author does through a premise that would make a really interesting thesis, but it's somewhat clumsy and a little too flimsy for what it's trying to be and do.
A lot of the analysis is m surface-level, conflating definitions she so carefully defines pages earlier, and she often glosses over points. The points are good and interesting, but few of them are afforded enough time to be properly expanded upon and given the nuance they need.
This book has been caught underneath its own weight and is struggling to stand on its own legs.
With that I mean, it's trying to be something it's not (a well founded academic text), while trying to say it's not being that - to excuse its own shortcomings and sometimes fantastical leaps. It should have stayed a memoir, instead of something floundering between said genre and a foundational academic and philosophical text on the stance of disabilities in modern and historical societies and context.
It's standing on the shoulders of a woman, arguing, correctly, that she and other disabled people (myself included) have struggled needlessly to either fit into or be accepted by the society they live in. This, the author does through a premise that would make a really interesting thesis, but it's somewhat clumsy and a little too flimsy for what it's trying to be and do.
A lot of the analysis is m surface-level, conflating definitions she so carefully defines pages earlier, and she often glosses over points. The points are good and interesting, but few of them are afforded enough time to be properly expanded upon and given the nuance they need.
This book has been caught underneath its own weight and is struggling to stand on its own legs.
tuesday_evening's review against another edition
challenging
informative
reflective
medium-paced
4.25
graveyardpansy's review against another edition
4.0
this wasn’t written for me (because i already know a lot abt DJ/disability in general and i don’t even like fairy tales or disney or superheroes) but i can definitely appreciate it for what it is!! and for anyone looking to learn more abt disability through a unique and informed lens, i could definitely see this book being really lovely!
mikahmae's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
reflective
medium-paced
4.5