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A review by tommysyk
Boy Parts by Eliza Clark
5.0
TW: sexual violence, self-harm.
I loved the hell out of this book. Refreshing to experience a narrative where a female protagonist is anything but likable - we've entered a space in time where somehow people are afraid to make that work. And they shouldn't, because we're all human and the concept of a morally tainted character has (and never should have) no gender.
[On a side-note: a "strong female character" doesn't necessarily equal an untouchable one - I'd argue that a character's strength, regardless of gender, shows more in their vulnerability and their struggle, because that's what makes them relatable (and/or realistic). Don't get me wrong, I love a great girlboss narrative (my unconditional love for stuff like Birds of Prey reaches unheard of levels of annoyance, but that's one where you actually feel character growth), but I think we need to take a step back and figure out why stuff like Wonder Woman, The Invisible Man, Promising Young Woman and Titane work while a character like Captain Marvel makes you feel or think nothing other than admiration and "oh, I guess they're invincible". (I also apologize for only listing films as references on a website about books, but it's fitting, as Clark seems to be a big cinephile as well, judging by the amount of horror deep-cut references she dropped in this novel.)]
Either way, Boy Parts was incredible. The main character is astoundingly well-constructed, and I was entranced by her discourse throughout. She's a narcissist with a big secret and a penchant for blood, and she takes pleasure in messing with people's emotions, especially her best friend's. You know she's a bad apple, and there'll probably be no redemption in the end, but you can't stop turning the pages. And this book goes to some weird and dark places... what I liked the most about it is that there isn't exactly an escalation of events leading up to some big, shocking finale. It's a character study, a perfect circle, and a damn well drawn out one at that.
What I found really interesting, as well, is the way Clark explores power dynamics here. The protagonist makes a living out of photographing young "beta males" (as she describes them) in submissive/vulnerable poses, and the way she commands them reveals a lot about how she perceives people, how she approaches them, really. It's not the same with those she calls the "alpha males", or with other women. A lot of food for thought regarding consent and (toxic) masculinity too. It's a thought-provoking book, a terribly intelligent one too.
Plus, Clark's writing has the greatest sense of humor. Had a major laugh with this quote, for instance:
Or this one:
I loved the hell out of this book. Refreshing to experience a narrative where a female protagonist is anything but likable - we've entered a space in time where somehow people are afraid to make that work. And they shouldn't, because we're all human and the concept of a morally tainted character has (and never should have) no gender.
[On a side-note: a "strong female character" doesn't necessarily equal an untouchable one - I'd argue that a character's strength, regardless of gender, shows more in their vulnerability and their struggle, because that's what makes them relatable (and/or realistic). Don't get me wrong, I love a great girlboss narrative (my unconditional love for stuff like Birds of Prey reaches unheard of levels of annoyance, but that's one where you actually feel character growth), but I think we need to take a step back and figure out why stuff like Wonder Woman, The Invisible Man, Promising Young Woman and Titane work while a character like Captain Marvel makes you feel or think nothing other than admiration and "oh, I guess they're invincible". (I also apologize for only listing films as references on a website about books, but it's fitting, as Clark seems to be a big cinephile as well, judging by the amount of horror deep-cut references she dropped in this novel.)]
Either way, Boy Parts was incredible. The main character is astoundingly well-constructed, and I was entranced by her discourse throughout. She's a narcissist with a big secret and a penchant for blood, and she takes pleasure in messing with people's emotions, especially her best friend's. You know she's a bad apple, and there'll probably be no redemption in the end, but you can't stop turning the pages. And this book goes to some weird and dark places... what I liked the most about it is that there isn't exactly an escalation of events leading up to some big, shocking finale. It's a character study, a perfect circle, and a damn well drawn out one at that.
What I found really interesting, as well, is the way Clark explores power dynamics here. The protagonist makes a living out of photographing young "beta males" (as she describes them) in submissive/vulnerable poses, and the way she commands them reveals a lot about how she perceives people, how she approaches them, really. It's not the same with those she calls the "alpha males", or with other women. A lot of food for thought regarding consent and (toxic) masculinity too. It's a thought-provoking book, a terribly intelligent one too.
Plus, Clark's writing has the greatest sense of humor. Had a major laugh with this quote, for instance:
The boyfriend she had when we first met was this NME cut-out, landfill-indie looking cunt with a porkpie hat and a huge fringe. She liked Harry Styles a few years ago, and now she likes that white-bread, absolute fucking baguette of a lad from Call Me By Your Name.
Or this one:
I go to the bar. They're playing The Smiths, on purpose, in this post-racist-Morrissey economy. I mean, there's an argument to be made that he's been racist for fucking ages, and shit for even longer, and I don't know why we're all deciding now that it's bad.
I watch the young white people dance badly to the bloated old racist's music while I wait to get served. This is a white-as-fuck club, and I like... I know I'm white, but there's just a lot of white people White People-ing in a very small area, like it's just some very, very densely packed mayo, you know? Densely packed mayo, jiggling about, doesn't know what to do with its arms, doesn't know what to do with its feet, undulating loosely, barely in time to the rhythm.