Reviews

If You Still Recognise Me by Cynthia So

Only show reviews with written explanations

greengaybles's review against another edition

5.0

I don't feel able to be very coherent about this book yet, since I've just finished it and it made me cry twice and my heart is very full and raw, but I loved it so, so much and I would die for every single one of the messy queers that make up the story. I found them frustrating in the way of almost all YA protagonists, and also deeply relatable and sweet. I want to live in the world this book created around me, a world where epic love stories are not only possible for queer people, but are inevitable and around every corner.

I need more books with middle-aged to elderly queer people, also. I've known this for a while and haven't found many, but the ones in this story both healed and hurt me simultaneously and I want so many more of these narratives. Even if they also break my heart because I lose a little more faith each day that it will ever happen for me.

And if you want realistically flawed family dynamics that still manage to make you feel hopeful, they're here too. I've seen a lot of people complain about how easily previously homophobic family members accept their relatives' queer relationships in some of my other favorite books, and while I think there's a place for worlds where that can happen, this is better in that respect. There's a sense by the end that it's not hopeless and the possibility for acceptance is there, but it's hard-won and never a guarantee.

And, god, the central love story. I don't want to spoil how it all unfolds, so I'll just say that it was everything I ever want from books like this, and I can clearly see the fandom DNA all over it. That's not an insult. I adore fanfiction and the ways fanfic writers find to yo-yo our emotions and wring our hearts dry. And for a young adult novel, it was so incredibly romantic. Please go read it if you haven't already. I waited for so long for it to be released in the US after I first heard about it, and it was beyond my expectations.

Look at this!

...

I open the door to let her out. For a moment, I stand in the doorway with her just outside, turning back to look at me. The skyline above the row of houses is almost purple, and Joan’s face looks soft, scattered with the pink dusk light. We’ve been seeing so much of each other, but it doesn’t seem like enough. Each day with her is like a big bowl of perfectly cooked rice I’ve scoffed down, herding the fluffy grains straight into my mouth with hasty chopsticks. Every time, I feel sorry that I’ve eaten it all too quickly. Every time, I want to hold my clean bowl out and ask for seconds.

When I was little, my mum used to tell me that I had to make sure to eat up every last grain of rice in my bowl. If I left any sticking to the ceramic, those grains would represent the warts on the face of the man I was going to marry when I grew up. A clean bowl is the smooth face of my future husband. I’ve never viewed this as an effective threat or found it as funny as it’s presumably intended to be. As a child, I was possessed by a clear conviction that marriage had nothing to do with me. I still feel like that now. But Joan is walking backward off my doorstep, and my heart is an emptied bowl, squeaky clean and cupped in both hands, and I want to hold it out to her and say, “Tim faan.”

More rice, please.