A review by tasmanian_bibliophile
Black Glass by Meg Mundell

4.0

‘Right before bad stuff happens, there’s always a little warning, you just have to pay attention.’

Grace (aged 15) and Tally (aged 13) are sisters, living on the outskirts of society, dragged from one remote place to another by their father Max as he relocates his drug lab. But when the house blows up, with Max inside, the girls are separated. Grace thinks that Tally was inside so, thinking herself alone, she hitchhikes to the city. Travelling to the city was once a shared dream: the girls thought life would be better there. Tally travels to the city as well, in search of Grace. But the city is not the welcoming refuge the girls thought it would be.

In this near future dystopian world, one needs documentation to live in the city. Without documentation, Grace and Tally are restricted to a marginal and dangerous existence. Without documentation, they do not exist. Without documentation they are vulnerable. Everything has a price; everyone is under surveillance. Grace is focussed on survival, and finds some people willing to help her. Tally is trying to find Grace.

‘Being secret didn’t make a place safe.’

Behind the scenes in this city, a man known as Milk, can manipulate mood using light, scent and sound. Milk prefers to work behind black glass, to maintain his anonymity while working his magic to increase casino profits. Business and government are also interested in Milk’s skills: surveillance and manipulation are valuable tools. And there’s an investigative journalist named Damon who is after a big story.

So, where does it end? What kind of society have we entered, where a city is divided into zones, and undocumented people are ‘rounded up’? Will Tally and Grace ever find each other?

I found this novel unsettling. Some elements of this dystopian future are recognisable, other elements all too believable. The novel is narrated in a report format which heightens the effect of all-pervasive surveillance.

I finished the novel, and looked over my shoulder.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith