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A review by josephinecatherinem
Finding Gene Kelly by Torie Jean
5.0
Disclaimer: I was given an ARC of this release by the author in return for my honest opinion and review.
This is an Own Voices review for endometriosis representation.
I was in love at first sight (sight of the dedication and the content warnings).
Over a year ago, I ventured into a university project which was entirely self-inflicted. The unit I was taking focused on disability and inclusivity and the coordinator asked us to create an assignment related to the unit theme. As an avid romance reader and person with disability, I decided to read the good, the bad, and the ugly of disability representation in romance novels.
Most of the ten books I read fell into the ‘bad’ or ‘ugly’ category, leaving me rather pessimistic. Even books I classified as ‘good’ were limited in their representation of my disability experience . I believe many chronic pain sufferers will, like me, relate to the wider chronic pain and disability experience, but ache to feel drawn with detail. Detail that is not simply what we see echoed in pages of our medical history. Endometriosis is nowhere in romance books. I discount those instances wherein endometriosis is used as a throwaway plot point to explain infertility or miscarriage. These cases do not fit my definition of 'representation', as they never explore endo symptoms in a manner representative of most the condition as a whole. The symptoms are simply convenient and a means to justify tragedy by one’s own body.
As a young woman who is in daily pain, Finding Gene Kelly is a lifeline. I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 14 years old after years of misdiagnosis. Six years later, I am still learning how to navigate a life shadowed by my pain. In my many years of reading romance, I have needed to omit endometriosis from my character background when imagining myself as a romance heroine. It is another way in which my invisible disability remains invisible. In this case, it is even invisible from my character arc. I want to give my fourteen-year-old self a copy of this book. I want that girl to have known that spending half your high school in hospital does not deem you in any way ‘unlovable’.
This could have easily been an angst-filled romance novel which mirrored the darkness of endometriosis. Torie Jean’s decision to lean against the inherently dark content was an expert one. I admit that I had hesitation when I saw a pink cartoon cover attached to the tag ‘endometriosis representation’. I thought that my condition could never be represented authentically in a romantic comedy, or any romance with ‘soft’ connotations. I never imagined an endometriosis romance could take place in the City of Lights as opposed to my hospital room...of fluorescent lights. I will forever be grateful to Torie Jean for proving me wrong.
Romance comes from your partner noticing the timer on your heat pack so that warmth doesn't leave the invisible bruises lining your skin. Romance is being recognised for your strength when you feel your most fragile. Romance is writhing in pain but being held. Romance is being loved through pain with words and with actions. Romance is knowing that you can safely surrender. Romance is the knowledge that these things does not mean a relationship lacks reciprocity.
For Evie, Liam is her Gene Kelly. This book, however, shows every Endowarrior (and disabled person) that we will find romantic love, and not only through a television or book. We will find our Gene Kelly. A person who we love and who loves us in return.
This book does not only explore romantic relationships, nor chronic pain from a purely romantic lens. It explores how endometriosis bleeds (pun intended) into every part of life.
Moments of celebration are simultaneously moments of pain.
The realities of pacing.
Surrendering to your body.
The anger, the sadness, the isolation, the self-loathing.
The pregnancy announcements.
The fatigue.
The nausea.
The bloating.
The brain fog.
The feeling out of control… constantly.
The relationships with family.
The relationships with friends.
The perseverance.
The constant decisions (if I take this medication now, I can’t do this, but if I don’t take it now etc).
This book could not have been written without Torie Jean's lived experience. You can feel the pain in these pages, but you can also feel the power. No one else can articulate the endometriosis experience like endometriosis sufferers can. In writing this book, Torie Jean has taken her pain and given us her heart. This would have been physically and emotionally draining, and yet I am grateful. I never thought this book would exist. If I did, I thought it would have to be my own.
This book made me cry and I am so glad that they were mostly happy tears. Happy because this book even exists. It hugged me through a flare up and understood. Torie – thank you for showing me my story can exist outside the tragedy genre. I wish I were more eloquent in my gratitude, but I look forward to seeing you grow. Thank you.
This is an Own Voices review for endometriosis representation.
I was in love at first sight (sight of the dedication and the content warnings).
Over a year ago, I ventured into a university project which was entirely self-inflicted. The unit I was taking focused on disability and inclusivity and the coordinator asked us to create an assignment related to the unit theme. As an avid romance reader and person with disability, I decided to read the good, the bad, and the ugly of disability representation in romance novels.
Most of the ten books I read fell into the ‘bad’ or ‘ugly’ category, leaving me rather pessimistic. Even books I classified as ‘good’ were limited in their representation of my disability experience . I believe many chronic pain sufferers will, like me, relate to the wider chronic pain and disability experience, but ache to feel drawn with detail. Detail that is not simply what we see echoed in pages of our medical history. Endometriosis is nowhere in romance books. I discount those instances wherein endometriosis is used as a throwaway plot point to explain infertility or miscarriage. These cases do not fit my definition of 'representation', as they never explore endo symptoms in a manner representative of most the condition as a whole. The symptoms are simply convenient and a means to justify tragedy by one’s own body.
As a young woman who is in daily pain, Finding Gene Kelly is a lifeline. I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 14 years old after years of misdiagnosis. Six years later, I am still learning how to navigate a life shadowed by my pain. In my many years of reading romance, I have needed to omit endometriosis from my character background when imagining myself as a romance heroine. It is another way in which my invisible disability remains invisible. In this case, it is even invisible from my character arc. I want to give my fourteen-year-old self a copy of this book. I want that girl to have known that spending half your high school in hospital does not deem you in any way ‘unlovable’.
This could have easily been an angst-filled romance novel which mirrored the darkness of endometriosis. Torie Jean’s decision to lean against the inherently dark content was an expert one. I admit that I had hesitation when I saw a pink cartoon cover attached to the tag ‘endometriosis representation’. I thought that my condition could never be represented authentically in a romantic comedy, or any romance with ‘soft’ connotations. I never imagined an endometriosis romance could take place in the City of Lights as opposed to my hospital room...of fluorescent lights. I will forever be grateful to Torie Jean for proving me wrong.
Romance comes from your partner noticing the timer on your heat pack so that warmth doesn't leave the invisible bruises lining your skin. Romance is being recognised for your strength when you feel your most fragile. Romance is writhing in pain but being held. Romance is being loved through pain with words and with actions. Romance is knowing that you can safely surrender. Romance is the knowledge that these things does not mean a relationship lacks reciprocity.
For Evie, Liam is her Gene Kelly. This book, however, shows every Endowarrior (and disabled person) that we will find romantic love, and not only through a television or book. We will find our Gene Kelly. A person who we love and who loves us in return.
This book does not only explore romantic relationships, nor chronic pain from a purely romantic lens. It explores how endometriosis bleeds (pun intended) into every part of life.
Moments of celebration are simultaneously moments of pain.
The realities of pacing.
Surrendering to your body.
The anger, the sadness, the isolation, the self-loathing.
The pregnancy announcements.
The fatigue.
The nausea.
The bloating.
The brain fog.
The feeling out of control… constantly.
The relationships with family.
The relationships with friends.
The perseverance.
The constant decisions (if I take this medication now, I can’t do this, but if I don’t take it now etc).
This book could not have been written without Torie Jean's lived experience. You can feel the pain in these pages, but you can also feel the power. No one else can articulate the endometriosis experience like endometriosis sufferers can. In writing this book, Torie Jean has taken her pain and given us her heart. This would have been physically and emotionally draining, and yet I am grateful. I never thought this book would exist. If I did, I thought it would have to be my own.
This book made me cry and I am so glad that they were mostly happy tears. Happy because this book even exists. It hugged me through a flare up and understood. Torie – thank you for showing me my story can exist outside the tragedy genre. I wish I were more eloquent in my gratitude, but I look forward to seeing you grow. Thank you.