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nancy_ql 's review for:
Tell the Wolves I'm Home
by Carol Rifka Brunt
I especially love the way this novel captures the voice and perspective of its 15-year-old narrator, June. She is a serious girl who lives most comfortably in her imagination, where she can pretend to be in a different time and place, far away from the present day realities of high school and 1987. June is grieving the death of her uncle, confused by her mother's anger about it, teased and harrassed by her more beautiful and popular older sister, Greta. It's tax season, and with both accountant parents at work until late every night, June is left to sort out the mysteries surrounding Uncle Finn's life and death and their impact on June's family. The gaps and questions left unanswered that drive the plot might have seemed contrived, but instead they work perfectly to help illuminate the emotional landscape of being 14-15 and alone with one's feelings.
Another thing that really struck me about this novel is its depiction of the early years of the AIDS epidemic. In the context of today's battles for marriage equality, it was strange to recall a time when one's partner could be viewed as a "murderer," when news stories and police officers and medical professionals joined everyone else in assuming one might "catch AIDS" from sharing lip balm or wiping a tear from someone's cheek. Brunt does a wonderful job evoking this time in history, with all its ignorances and anxieties, without trying to correct it. She leaves certain questions unanswered, certain secrets unrevealed, which makes sense in a narrative that focuses ultimately on the value of love and human connection over material things.
This is also a novel about art: making art, selling art, deciding what is "valuable" and what is "defaced." The painting that serves as an anchor for this narrative is in some ways a narrative itself: it tells the story of a brother and sister, the story of one man's deep love for another, the story of two sisters in battle, the story of all the other stories that can be discovered in the negative space most people never notice.
Another thing that really struck me about this novel is its depiction of the early years of the AIDS epidemic. In the context of today's battles for marriage equality, it was strange to recall a time when one's partner could be viewed as a "murderer," when news stories and police officers and medical professionals joined everyone else in assuming one might "catch AIDS" from sharing lip balm or wiping a tear from someone's cheek. Brunt does a wonderful job evoking this time in history, with all its ignorances and anxieties, without trying to correct it. She leaves certain questions unanswered, certain secrets unrevealed, which makes sense in a narrative that focuses ultimately on the value of love and human connection over material things.
This is also a novel about art: making art, selling art, deciding what is "valuable" and what is "defaced." The painting that serves as an anchor for this narrative is in some ways a narrative itself: it tells the story of a brother and sister, the story of one man's deep love for another, the story of two sisters in battle, the story of all the other stories that can be discovered in the negative space most people never notice.