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nannahnannah's reviews
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The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi
challenging
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Pet was my introduction to Akwaeke Emezi, and I fell in love with their creativity. Here, their prose has matured in leaps and bounds (which makes sense in a way, since Pet was YA), and they’ve included themes that I’ve found very challenging. Even if it wasn’t a book I particularly enjoyed, I found it a rewarding read.
Representation:
- most characters are Nigerian, and several are biracial
- Vivek is Nigerian and Indian, as well as gay and gender fluid
- Osita is a closeted gay/bi man
- other secondary characters are sapphic
Vivek Oji was born the day his grandmother died, and he carries the same starfish-shaped scar on his foot that she did, a possible sign of reincarnation. He grows up experiencing strange mysterious blackouts and periods of dissociation, but the only one who knows about it is his cousin, Osita.
Even as he gets older, more reclusive, more strange to his parents, and befriends the daughters of the “Nigerwives”, the foreign-born women who, like his own mother, married Nigerian men, he and Osita have the closest bond. But when their relationship deepens and transforms, and Vivek decides not to hide who is anymore outside of the home, his life is cut short.
The book is told in multiple PoVs, through the eyes of Vivek’s loved ones. It uses Vivek’s point of view maybe once or twice, when the emotional impact is highest. Even then, it’s maybe a few sentences. He’s meant to be a kind of enigmatic figure, his ambiguousness manifested through his illness that is neither named nor ever explained, the possible reincarnation, and his “odd” behavior that’s described by each PoV character.
Although I understand the reason for his mysteriousness (that he’s possibly the reincarnation of his grandmother), I don’t necessarily like the fact that part of it has to include an illness. But there could be cultural factors here that I’m not aware of, so that will be all I’ll say on it.
I’ll get to the incest in a bit, but one thing that did really bother me was the treatment of Elizabeth. Something happened to her when she was younger that was largely Vivek’s fault Vivek literally watched her and Osita have sex, without her consent, and then came into the room. . Vivek is considered blameless because he has those blackouts, but he still chose to spy on them! Then, much later, when they’re all older and Elizabeth is dating a woman (and it’s hinted at that she became a lesbian due to trauma, which is a mood), Vivek makes a dismissive comment about how Elizabeth should just be better or less traumatized from that childhood event. It’s weird how the book makes a sort of sinless being of Vivek, when we the readers can see, or at least I hope everyone is seeing, that he’s actually quite flawed.
But that might be the point. Even though everyone in the book seems to see him as a sort of angelic, larger-than-life creature, we can see him as a complete person--a completed picture through the eyes of everyone who loved him.
Everyone in this book is flawed, actually, and I love that. Osita in particular has flaws by the bucketful, and even though I didn’t really like him, I very much appreciated him as a character. He was written very well.
However, the wonderfully crafted characters hit a little bump when Vivek’s friends shows his parents pictures of him as he truly was, Vivek and Nnemndi, a gender fluid person. That night, Vivek’s mother denies it completely. She says things like, “he was sick”, “that’s not my son”, etc., but then the next day she has this passionate speech to her husband about trans rights. She then chips part of Vivek’s gravestone off with the hoe (is that even possible?), to include the name Nnemndi on his grave.
Okay, now before I end this thing, I’ll touch upon the incest. It’s a major part of this book. I’m not sure why, other than I remember seeing someone say that the author wanted you to be uncomfortable with it while you were reading and to almost examine that feeling a little bit. Well, they succeeded. I was definitely uncomfortable. I’m not sure, though, why incest is more normalized in the text than same-sex attraction. I know in other cultures that romance between first cousins isn’t considered incest, but I don’t think that’s the case with Igbo people (also side note, but WHAT was the deal with the leads having anal sex using spit as lube ??).
Despite my criticisms, this is a very good book. It just wasn’t an enjoyable one for me. However, I was so ecstatic to read a nonlinear plot! I was just talking to a friend about how much I needed that.
Representation:
- most characters are Nigerian, and several are biracial
- Vivek is Nigerian and Indian, as well as gay and gender fluid
- Osita is a closeted gay/bi man
- other secondary characters are sapphic
Vivek Oji was born the day his grandmother died, and he carries the same starfish-shaped scar on his foot that she did, a possible sign of reincarnation. He grows up experiencing strange mysterious blackouts and periods of dissociation, but the only one who knows about it is his cousin, Osita.
Even as he gets older, more reclusive, more strange to his parents, and befriends the daughters of the “Nigerwives”, the foreign-born women who, like his own mother, married Nigerian men, he and Osita have the closest bond. But when their relationship deepens and transforms, and Vivek decides not to hide who is anymore outside of the home, his life is cut short.
The book is told in multiple PoVs, through the eyes of Vivek’s loved ones. It uses Vivek’s point of view maybe once or twice, when the emotional impact is highest. Even then, it’s maybe a few sentences. He’s meant to be a kind of enigmatic figure, his ambiguousness manifested through his illness that is neither named nor ever explained, the possible reincarnation, and his “odd” behavior that’s described by each PoV character.
Although I understand the reason for his mysteriousness (that he’s possibly the reincarnation of his grandmother), I don’t necessarily like the fact that part of it has to include an illness. But there could be cultural factors here that I’m not aware of, so that will be all I’ll say on it.
I’ll get to the incest in a bit, but one thing that did really bother me was the treatment of Elizabeth. Something happened to her when she was younger that was largely Vivek’s fault
But that might be the point. Even though everyone in the book seems to see him as a sort of angelic, larger-than-life creature, we can see him as a complete person--a completed picture through the eyes of everyone who loved him.
Everyone in this book is flawed, actually, and I love that. Osita in particular has flaws by the bucketful, and even though I didn’t really like him, I very much appreciated him as a character. He was written very well.
However, the wonderfully crafted characters hit a little bump when Vivek’s friends shows his parents pictures of him as he truly was, Vivek and Nnemndi, a gender fluid person.
Okay, now before I end this thing, I’ll touch upon the incest. It’s a major part of this book. I’m not sure why, other than I remember seeing someone say that the author wanted you to be uncomfortable with it while you were reading and to almost examine that feeling a little bit. Well, they succeeded. I was definitely uncomfortable. I’m not sure, though, why incest is more normalized in the text than same-sex attraction. I know in other cultures that romance between first cousins isn’t considered incest, but I don’t think that’s the case with Igbo people (also side note, but WHAT was the deal with the leads having anal sex using spit as lube ??).
Despite my criticisms, this is a very good book. It just wasn’t an enjoyable one for me. However, I was so ecstatic to read a nonlinear plot! I was just talking to a friend about how much I needed that.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Domestic abuse, Homophobia, Incest, Rape, and Sexual assault
Moderate: Misogyny and Sexism
Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
dark
emotional
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
4.5
I can absolutely understand how this won a Goodreads Choice Award. It’s engrossing and addictive, sharing the relevant message that white supremacy is like a cult.
Representation:
- the protagonist and her cousin are Mexican and indigenous
Noemí, socialite and flirt, receives a letter from her cousin begging for help and saying she hears voices in the walls of her new husband’s house. When Noemí arrives at High Place, her cousin’s new English family are inhospitable, save for the patriarch, whose interest in her is racist and fetishistic, and the younger son, who might prove to be her only ally in the search for what is turning her once cheerful cousin listless and ill.
I really enjoyed this one! Every character felt very distinct, as did the setting, which transported me to a place I could clearly imagine. I didn’t always like the protagonist, but I loved that she so clearly stood out from other characters I’ve read recently (especially the ones who exist to spout a moral. Don’t get me wrong, I love works of fiction that have something to say, but they should present stories and characters first). The writing overall was strong, although at times it could be inconsistent, with passages reading very awkwardly.
The book isn’t science fiction, but it’s almost written like one. By that, I mean it feels like Moreno-Garcia approached the book not from within the more rigid barriers of historical fiction, but from within the almost limitless taps of possibility that sci-fi allows. It’s cool to see that writers are looking at the new discoveries in science (and, okay, I know that they aren’t all that new by now) and applying it to the past, rather than just the future. We don’t always have to go to outer space to find things we’d think of as “alien”--but Moreno-Garcia makes the mycelium work here just as well as any alien in a sci-fi thriller that I’ve ever read.
I also really love that she incorporated the “mestizo” issue into the story. A couple months ago I heard the finer details of the issue from an indigenous friend for the first time, and I remember wishing more people outside of Mexico knew the awful history of the word. When Spain and England colonized the area now known as Mexico, they mixed with the indigenous populations. These people of mixed heritage had been called “mestizos” to separate them from the Spanish and the English (and the rest of the indigenous population). They were of lower social standing than the whites, but stood higher than the indigenous people. My friend said there were those who considered them to be a superior race, or products of whites experimenting to find a superior race (like the patriarch hints at in the novel).
This book is told by someone who is "mestizo". While I can’t really comment on how well any of this is done, I do love how the author incorporates the issue. It’s never preachy, and the plot always comes first.
All in all, this was a wholly absorbing read. I loved the slower pace, especially. It was like stepping in muck, becoming slowly engulfed in the atmosphere and setting, being slowly pulled into the deteriorating mental state of the MC. I didn't want to stop reading.
Okay, so … after reading a few reviews, I’m disappointed that so many people found the reason behind the cousin’s condition cheesy. Even if they know about mycelium being the network of forests, and how mycelium work in general! Because that’s what makes the story believable! To each their own, I guess.
Representation:
- the protagonist and her cousin are Mexican and indigenous
Noemí, socialite and flirt, receives a letter from her cousin begging for help and saying she hears voices in the walls of her new husband’s house. When Noemí arrives at High Place, her cousin’s new English family are inhospitable, save for the patriarch, whose interest in her is racist and fetishistic, and the younger son, who might prove to be her only ally in the search for what is turning her once cheerful cousin listless and ill.
I really enjoyed this one! Every character felt very distinct, as did the setting, which transported me to a place I could clearly imagine. I didn’t always like the protagonist, but I loved that she so clearly stood out from other characters I’ve read recently (especially the ones who exist to spout a moral. Don’t get me wrong, I love works of fiction that have something to say, but they should present stories and characters first). The writing overall was strong, although at times it could be inconsistent, with passages reading very awkwardly.
The book isn’t science fiction, but it’s almost written like one. By that, I mean it feels like Moreno-Garcia approached the book not from within the more rigid barriers of historical fiction, but from within the almost limitless taps of possibility that sci-fi allows. It’s cool to see that writers are looking at the new discoveries in science (and, okay, I know that they aren’t all that new by now) and applying it to the past, rather than just the future. We don’t always have to go to outer space to find things we’d think of as “alien”--but Moreno-Garcia makes the mycelium work here just as well as any alien in a sci-fi thriller that I’ve ever read.
I also really love that she incorporated the “mestizo” issue into the story. A couple months ago I heard the finer details of the issue from an indigenous friend for the first time, and I remember wishing more people outside of Mexico knew the awful history of the word. When Spain and England colonized the area now known as Mexico, they mixed with the indigenous populations. These people of mixed heritage had been called “mestizos” to separate them from the Spanish and the English (and the rest of the indigenous population). They were of lower social standing than the whites, but stood higher than the indigenous people. My friend said there were those who considered them to be a superior race, or products of whites experimenting to find a superior race (like the patriarch hints at in the novel).
This book is told by someone who is "mestizo". While I can’t really comment on how well any of this is done, I do love how the author incorporates the issue. It’s never preachy, and the plot always comes first.
All in all, this was a wholly absorbing read. I loved the slower pace, especially. It was like stepping in muck, becoming slowly engulfed in the atmosphere and setting, being slowly pulled into the deteriorating mental state of the MC. I didn't want to stop reading.
Okay, so … after reading a few reviews, I’m disappointed that so many people found the reason behind the cousin’s condition cheesy. Even if they know about mycelium being the network of forests, and how mycelium work in general! Because that’s what makes the story believable! To each their own, I guess.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Incest, Racism, and Sexual assault
also: eugenics (graphic), someone being drugged
Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space by Amanda Leduc
Things I disliked:
I’m so sorry. This has become so long, and I still have many more points. I’m going to end this by saying that Leduc claiming she has never read or seen a fictional woman with power who hasn’t gone mad reveals just how narrow her media experience has been. She is an example of how the media we consume shapes us. There are, in fact, many stories about disabled characters by disabled people out there, and it continues to grow! This book proves that, too, and adds to a list of growing nonfiction about disability. I’m glad it’s getting attention as well, and I’m happy for Leduc. I hope our community continues to produce more and more. I didn’t like this one in particular, but I will cheer Leduc on through her career.
informative
reflective
slow-paced
1.5
I’m going to be very honest … I’ve never been so frustrated at a book before. I had maybe thirty pages of notes when I finished reading! I feel bad, because as someone who’s disabled and crippled myself (someone with mobility problems), I really wanted to love this book and support the author.
Okay, so again, I’m crippled, multiply disabled, and have a few mental health issues (one of them being depression, like the author). The most frustrating and troublesome symptom for me, though, is pain, which will become relevant later in the review. I wanted to get this out of the way first, so it’s more clear where I’m coming from.
I was so, so excited to read this book. Just reading the printed quotes after the dedication made me teary eyed. But then Leduc says in the intro that the book isn’t a work of fairy tale scholarship, and it also isn’t meant to be a work of disability scholarship. But then what is it? Isn’t that what it’s advertised to be? After finishing the book, it’s only slightly clearer. It’s divided into different parts, some with different fonts (like the medical records her doctor wrote, which help you understand the way doctors think about and classify disabled people) There are many memoir-like elements throughout the novel--my favorite parts overall--as well as essay-like reflections on a variety of subjects from Disney to Kate Middleton to Marvel movies, and finally, to actual Western European fairy tales.
But one of my main problems is that it’s so ridiculously unorganized. She repeats her points over and over--in random sections of the book--without adding anything new. All of her sections (memoir, doctor’s notes, analyzing media, talking about ableism and disability in general) are in what seems to be random order as well, with the few exceptions being an introduction to disability terms in the beginning leading into the most structured part: a look at ableism in specific fairy tale examples. Honestly, the book feels stream-of-consciousness, as if Leduc is talking to us in a cafe, saying, “And another thing!”
In the afterword, I learned that some chapters were printed independently as essays and thinkpieces, which then made things clearer. It’s why she kept repeating herself, why some elements seemed completely separate from her actual title and main ideas (superheroes as modern-day fairy tales? A stretch) … it was because she tried to connect a bunch of separately published works into one without enough editing.
Which then got me thinking about her actual title. “Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space” … does that actually make sense, when you think about it? But this is getting too nitpicky, so that’ll be something I’ll talk about with my own friend in a cafe or something.
Now this is where things get subjective, and it’s why I listed a few of my disabilities upfront: I disagree with many of her points and takes on disability (& disability activism). Leduc writes all these chapters/essays with two models of disability in mind, while remaining firmly rooted in the idea that one model (the social model) is superior to the other. In her words, the social model of disability is “maintained by barriers, exclusion, and negative attitudes toward these disabilities more than the physical limitations of the conditions themselves. (If a building has elevators and accessible entryways the fact that a person uses a wheelchair doesn't limit them in the building in any way.)” She then defines the medical model of disability as linking “a body directly to a diagnosis and places emphasis on the intervention of medicine as a way of solving or eradicating the particular disability or condition.”
However, she does mention a third model--and sadly, it’s just a brief mention: something called “complex embodiment” by disability activist Tobin Siebers. The theory “raises awareness of the effects of disabling environments on people's lived experience of the body, but emphasizes as well that some factors affecting disability, such as chronic pain, secondary health effects, and aging, derive from the body.”
This theory is never brought up again. But it’s the intersection where I--and so many other disabled people--live. I understand that it’s not possible to encompass every disabled person’s experience in a single book like this, and Leduc does mention that in a little disclaimer upfront, but then she should have perhaps made her topic less broad. And more importantly, she should probably avoid making sweeping statements about disabled people as a whole. Throughout the entire book, she barely mentions pain being an accessibility issue for people, or honestly as being a symptom at all. When she does, it’s in passing, a “there are some people who experience pain,” and that’s about it.
She spends so much time in the book with a black-and-white look at these theories (the medical model is BAD, the social model is GOOD), when a more nuanced discussion could help provide a more thorough education on what disabled people need, who they are, and also leave less disabled people out. Especially when so many people wouldn’t be alive without medical intervention, whether that be surgery like Leduc had herself or medication like I take for my autoimmune diseases.
Which brings me to the next point: sometimes our bodies really do need help, sometimes our bodies are different, and cause us to be “disadvantaged”, as Leduc constantly says isn’t the case. Just because there’s nothing wrong with “different” doesn’t mean the difference isn’t there. Leduc herself quotes the website Disabled World in her book, which defines a disability as a “condition or function judged to be significantly impaired relative to the usual standard of an individual or group.”
The medical model’s obsession with curing is something that should be criticized, though, I agree with Leduc there. But if there truly is nothing wrong with being disabled or different, like Leduc constantly says, then there should be nothing wrong with literally inhabiting a body that needs help, whether that be social and/or medical.
I mentioned earlier that I thought the overall topic should have been a little more focused. It’s been almost a month since I finished the book, and I think this is increasingly becoming the biggest issue I have with it. The author wants to write about so much in this one book, and I applaud her enthusiasm, because we need more people like her in our community actively trying to make change. But trying to cover so much (analysis of older Grimm-style Western European fairy-tale ableism, real-life ableism, models of disability, memoir-like sections, doctor’s notes, analysis of Disney movies, analysis of superhero media, discussions about how anyone who looks different and/or has scars also falls within the umbrella of disability, etc.) just means barely touching on each point before rushing off to the next one, which happened in every chapter, but increasingly toward the end.
It also feels like maybe Leduc should have written this about what she’s obviously more passionate about: media representation and ableism. Only one chapter discusses actual fairy tales, but it also mostly devotes its page time to long-winded summaries. Most of the time, when Leduc discusses examples of ableism in media, she’s talking about Disney representation, Marvel movies, and then toward the end, Game of Thrones (where she tries to say that being a woman in that world means being disabled. Technically, using the theory she puts forward, it “works”, but I don’t buy it). But why does she try to cover traditional W. European fairy tales--going so far as to use them in the title--when she admits that she’s not very familiar with them? I think a qualitative approach would have worked much better for her rather than quantitative … but then again, I’m in the minority, looking at all these reviews.
I know this is getting very long already, but I want to mention sexism before I end the review. Reading the memoir sections, it seemed to me that a good deal of what she struggled from, in addition to ableism, was sexism and stiff gender roles. I spent the whole book hoping she would talk about the intersection of ableism and sexism or ableism and gender, but she never did. Instead of using old material and reaching to justify how superheroes are kind of like modern-day fairy tales, she could have talked about how Disney movies made her obsessed with happy endings, weddings, a prince and romantic love, etc., and how her body and her limp bred internal ableism inside her from a young age.
Okay, I’ve been working on this review for a long while, and my arthritis has made it incredibly difficult to finish it in the way I’d like. Instead, I think I’m just going to make a couple annoying lists to end it. Sorry about that! You have to do what you have to do.
Things I liked:
Okay, so again, I’m crippled, multiply disabled, and have a few mental health issues (one of them being depression, like the author). The most frustrating and troublesome symptom for me, though, is pain, which will become relevant later in the review. I wanted to get this out of the way first, so it’s more clear where I’m coming from.
I was so, so excited to read this book. Just reading the printed quotes after the dedication made me teary eyed. But then Leduc says in the intro that the book isn’t a work of fairy tale scholarship, and it also isn’t meant to be a work of disability scholarship. But then what is it? Isn’t that what it’s advertised to be? After finishing the book, it’s only slightly clearer. It’s divided into different parts, some with different fonts (like the medical records her doctor wrote, which help you understand the way doctors think about and classify disabled people) There are many memoir-like elements throughout the novel--my favorite parts overall--as well as essay-like reflections on a variety of subjects from Disney to Kate Middleton to Marvel movies, and finally, to actual Western European fairy tales.
But one of my main problems is that it’s so ridiculously unorganized. She repeats her points over and over--in random sections of the book--without adding anything new. All of her sections (memoir, doctor’s notes, analyzing media, talking about ableism and disability in general) are in what seems to be random order as well, with the few exceptions being an introduction to disability terms in the beginning leading into the most structured part: a look at ableism in specific fairy tale examples. Honestly, the book feels stream-of-consciousness, as if Leduc is talking to us in a cafe, saying, “And another thing!”
In the afterword, I learned that some chapters were printed independently as essays and thinkpieces, which then made things clearer. It’s why she kept repeating herself, why some elements seemed completely separate from her actual title and main ideas (superheroes as modern-day fairy tales? A stretch) … it was because she tried to connect a bunch of separately published works into one without enough editing.
Which then got me thinking about her actual title. “Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space” … does that actually make sense, when you think about it? But this is getting too nitpicky, so that’ll be something I’ll talk about with my own friend in a cafe or something.
Now this is where things get subjective, and it’s why I listed a few of my disabilities upfront: I disagree with many of her points and takes on disability (& disability activism). Leduc writes all these chapters/essays with two models of disability in mind, while remaining firmly rooted in the idea that one model (the social model) is superior to the other. In her words, the social model of disability is “maintained by barriers, exclusion, and negative attitudes toward these disabilities more than the physical limitations of the conditions themselves. (If a building has elevators and accessible entryways the fact that a person uses a wheelchair doesn't limit them in the building in any way.)” She then defines the medical model of disability as linking “a body directly to a diagnosis and places emphasis on the intervention of medicine as a way of solving or eradicating the particular disability or condition.”
However, she does mention a third model--and sadly, it’s just a brief mention: something called “complex embodiment” by disability activist Tobin Siebers. The theory “raises awareness of the effects of disabling environments on people's lived experience of the body, but emphasizes as well that some factors affecting disability, such as chronic pain, secondary health effects, and aging, derive from the body.”
This theory is never brought up again. But it’s the intersection where I--and so many other disabled people--live. I understand that it’s not possible to encompass every disabled person’s experience in a single book like this, and Leduc does mention that in a little disclaimer upfront, but then she should have perhaps made her topic less broad. And more importantly, she should probably avoid making sweeping statements about disabled people as a whole. Throughout the entire book, she barely mentions pain being an accessibility issue for people, or honestly as being a symptom at all. When she does, it’s in passing, a “there are some people who experience pain,” and that’s about it.
She spends so much time in the book with a black-and-white look at these theories (the medical model is BAD, the social model is GOOD), when a more nuanced discussion could help provide a more thorough education on what disabled people need, who they are, and also leave less disabled people out. Especially when so many people wouldn’t be alive without medical intervention, whether that be surgery like Leduc had herself or medication like I take for my autoimmune diseases.
Which brings me to the next point: sometimes our bodies really do need help, sometimes our bodies are different, and cause us to be “disadvantaged”, as Leduc constantly says isn’t the case. Just because there’s nothing wrong with “different” doesn’t mean the difference isn’t there. Leduc herself quotes the website Disabled World in her book, which defines a disability as a “condition or function judged to be significantly impaired relative to the usual standard of an individual or group.”
The medical model’s obsession with curing is something that should be criticized, though, I agree with Leduc there. But if there truly is nothing wrong with being disabled or different, like Leduc constantly says, then there should be nothing wrong with literally inhabiting a body that needs help, whether that be social and/or medical.
I mentioned earlier that I thought the overall topic should have been a little more focused. It’s been almost a month since I finished the book, and I think this is increasingly becoming the biggest issue I have with it. The author wants to write about so much in this one book, and I applaud her enthusiasm, because we need more people like her in our community actively trying to make change. But trying to cover so much (analysis of older Grimm-style Western European fairy-tale ableism, real-life ableism, models of disability, memoir-like sections, doctor’s notes, analysis of Disney movies, analysis of superhero media, discussions about how anyone who looks different and/or has scars also falls within the umbrella of disability, etc.) just means barely touching on each point before rushing off to the next one, which happened in every chapter, but increasingly toward the end.
It also feels like maybe Leduc should have written this about what she’s obviously more passionate about: media representation and ableism. Only one chapter discusses actual fairy tales, but it also mostly devotes its page time to long-winded summaries. Most of the time, when Leduc discusses examples of ableism in media, she’s talking about Disney representation, Marvel movies, and then toward the end, Game of Thrones (where she tries to say that being a woman in that world means being disabled. Technically, using the theory she puts forward, it “works”, but I don’t buy it). But why does she try to cover traditional W. European fairy tales--going so far as to use them in the title--when she admits that she’s not very familiar with them? I think a qualitative approach would have worked much better for her rather than quantitative … but then again, I’m in the minority, looking at all these reviews.
I know this is getting very long already, but I want to mention sexism before I end the review. Reading the memoir sections, it seemed to me that a good deal of what she struggled from, in addition to ableism, was sexism and stiff gender roles. I spent the whole book hoping she would talk about the intersection of ableism and sexism or ableism and gender, but she never did. Instead of using old material and reaching to justify how superheroes are kind of like modern-day fairy tales, she could have talked about how Disney movies made her obsessed with happy endings, weddings, a prince and romantic love, etc., and how her body and her limp bred internal ableism inside her from a young age.
Okay, I’ve been working on this review for a long while, and my arthritis has made it incredibly difficult to finish it in the way I’d like. Instead, I think I’m just going to make a couple annoying lists to end it. Sorry about that! You have to do what you have to do.
Things I liked:
- The author mentioning changeling folklore and how it originated from the ableist fear of having a disabled child (I’ve been wanting to read something about this for so long!)
- There are some sections of her memoir where I feel such genuine emotion from her. The part where one of her editors asks, “Are you sure it isn’t a big deal?” held so much feeling.
- Loved her insight on the old belief that autistic children were the product of fairies because of the way they like to do repetitive tasks (it was believed in the 19th century in W. Europe that fairies were obsessed with repetitive tasks, like counting gold coins)
- Her points on productivity and usefulness in relation to disability
Things I disliked:
- The use of Hans My Hedgehog as a fairy tale example … Hans seems to violently attack a woman for reacting badly to his disfigurement, and the author takes his side.
- Her memoir sections also contradicting what she says in the other sections (i.e. people need accessibility tools like wheelchairs to have the same freedoms as abled people, but then she seems to resent her own wheelchair)
- It bothers me that she got interviews from people who are diverse in almost every way except for how they’re disabled, which is almost always cerebral palsy, like the author. The disabled community is so vast and holds such a variety of experiences and opinions, and she picked the few who are and think like her. It feels less like a discussion/nonfiction book, and more like a persuasive speech.
- She has a tendency to pit representation against each other: “It took seventy-two years for Disney to make a film starring a Black princess. Fifty-five years for a princess who was South Asian. Fifty-eight years for an Indigenous princess. Sixty-one years for a princess from China. No disabled princess yet, so far as I can see.” That’s not okay. Especially because many of those aren’t even great--or even okay--representations.
- When she talks about Ariel from The Little Mermaid being disabled, she only mentions her mutism in passing. Instead, she spends her time on Ariel’s legs. Why? Similarly, when she says Steve Rogers from Captain America has a disability pre-supersoldier, she fixates on his physical appearance, how he looks weaker in relation to the other soldiers, saying that’s his disability. A friend told me Steve Rogers canonically has disabilities: asthma, scoliosis, rheumatic fever, and pernicious anemia.
- Cherry picking. She does this a lot.
- Also forcing quotes to fit her points. An example: “She is speaking of fairy tales here. But she could have just as easily been speaking about superheroes--which is, after all, nothing more than the fairy tale revamped for the present day.”
- Using disability as some kind of umbrella term. Maybe I’m just not up to date with disability justice or something? But saying someone having any kind of scar means they’re disabled is wild. Same with saying Jafar from Aladdin is disabled for having “sharper” features--and making the reach that being left handed used to be considered a disability (by the quote she used, it was likened to being savages; I see racism and classism, not ableism). Our community’s experiences are already so vast and diverse … I feel like this doesn’t help us.
I’m so sorry. This has become so long, and I still have many more points. I’m going to end this by saying that Leduc claiming she has never read or seen a fictional woman with power who hasn’t gone mad reveals just how narrow her media experience has been. She is an example of how the media we consume shapes us. There are, in fact, many stories about disabled characters by disabled people out there, and it continues to grow! This book proves that, too, and adds to a list of growing nonfiction about disability. I’m glad it’s getting attention as well, and I’m happy for Leduc. I hope our community continues to produce more and more. I didn’t like this one in particular, but I will cheer Leduc on through her career.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Ableism and Suicidal thoughts
also: nazi mention, ableist slurs
Monstress, Vol. 5: Warchild by Sana Takeda, Marjorie Liu
dark
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
I keep forgetting how much I love this world, the world building, and the characters. I was saving this volume for an unlucky bad-book streak (like now), but I might actually enjoy binge-reading this comic rather than reading it with large breaks in between each volume. There's just so much information and detail that's lost--and it takes a while to get back into it, to understand what's going on.
Representation:
- the protagonist is South Asian and sapphic
- many other characters are sapphic
- this comic takes place in an alternate 1900s Asia, so everyone is Asian, from all over the continent
The Human Federation marches on Ravenna to begin the war against the Arcanics, and Maika's friends plan to help the Arcanics fight. To protect them, Maika must embrace Zinn's power--her own power--and its horrifying cost.
I honestly don't have much more to say other than this world is so lusciously created and wonderfully realized. I always love the little history lesson inserts by Tam Tam the cat that add additional depth and helps us understand more about the characters and the story.
The plot always seems to center around a war, but I end up drawn in and invested, despite that repetition. This is honestly the world building I've been hungering for from adult fantasy for years and years. It's dark and it's horrific, but also inspiring and beautiful.
I look forward to the next volume!
Representation:
- the protagonist is South Asian and sapphic
- many other characters are sapphic
- this comic takes place in an alternate 1900s Asia, so everyone is Asian, from all over the continent
The Human Federation marches on Ravenna to begin the war against the Arcanics, and Maika's friends plan to help the Arcanics fight. To protect them, Maika must embrace Zinn's power--her own power--and its horrifying cost.
I honestly don't have much more to say other than this world is so lusciously created and wonderfully realized. I always love the little history lesson inserts by Tam Tam the cat that add additional depth and helps us understand more about the characters and the story.
The plot always seems to center around a war, but I end up drawn in and invested, despite that repetition. This is honestly the world building I've been hungering for from adult fantasy for years and years. It's dark and it's horrific, but also inspiring and beautiful.
I look forward to the next volume!
Content Warnings
Graphic: Gore, Slavery, Violence, and War
also: eye horror, body horror
Seeing Ghosts by Kat Chow
dark
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
4.5
Initially, I was drawn to this memoir because of the similarities between Kat Chow’s life and mine, despite us also being very different: the death of a parent in late high school/early college due to cancer and us having very <i>interesting</i> fathers. Selfishly, I wanted to see how someone else (and someone else's family) handled all that grief. Strangely enough, reading this made me feel more connected to people. It’s a very beautiful book with lovely writing, especially in the second half.
<i>Seeing Ghosts</i> is a memoir, but it’s also a tribute to Kat Chow’s mother, who died of cancer when the author was in her senior year of high school. It’s a very poignant look at the way grief affects different people, and it shows the--I’m quoting the Goodreads summary here, as it captures it perfectly--”strength of sisterhood and the complicated duty of looking after parents, even after death.”
This is the first memoir I’ve read where an author included actual photos of themself with their family. At first I very much loved the added intimacy, but after a few pictures I kind of felt like it became too personal. I know it was Kat Chow’s decision to share them, but it’s almost like I wanted to look away or stop reading (similar to the way that I don’t like to make eye contact for long in some intimate social situations ... yes I'm autistic).
Immediately, Kat Chow’s style grabbed me. The short chapters were fairly disjointed and made following the story hard sometimes, but her humor and writing kept me glued to the pages late into the night. There’s a dark humor that underlies her style that’s so very appropriate for what she was talking about, and it’s something that, for some reason, touched me because it reminded me of her mother (and her mother’s hilarious and uncomfortable morbid comments). Or, at least, the mother Kat Chow writes about. Or maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself. This is the best memoir I’ve read yet, and it resonated with me a lot. And like the ghosts inside it, the memoir has still stuck with me and haunted my thoughts since I finished it in early October. I expect it will for a good while yet.
I’ll have to keep an eye out for what she writes next!
<i>Seeing Ghosts</i> is a memoir, but it’s also a tribute to Kat Chow’s mother, who died of cancer when the author was in her senior year of high school. It’s a very poignant look at the way grief affects different people, and it shows the--I’m quoting the Goodreads summary here, as it captures it perfectly--”strength of sisterhood and the complicated duty of looking after parents, even after death.”
This is the first memoir I’ve read where an author included actual photos of themself with their family. At first I very much loved the added intimacy, but after a few pictures I kind of felt like it became too personal. I know it was Kat Chow’s decision to share them, but it’s almost like I wanted to look away or stop reading (similar to the way that I don’t like to make eye contact for long in some intimate social situations ... yes I'm autistic).
Immediately, Kat Chow’s style grabbed me. The short chapters were fairly disjointed and made following the story hard sometimes, but her humor and writing kept me glued to the pages late into the night. There’s a dark humor that underlies her style that’s so very appropriate for what she was talking about, and it’s something that, for some reason, touched me because it reminded me of her mother (and her mother’s hilarious and uncomfortable morbid comments). Or, at least, the mother Kat Chow writes about. Or maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself. This is the best memoir I’ve read yet, and it resonated with me a lot. And like the ghosts inside it, the memoir has still stuck with me and haunted my thoughts since I finished it in early October. I expect it will for a good while yet.
I’ll have to keep an eye out for what she writes next!
Content Warnings
Graphic: Cancer
Moderate: Suicide
Minor: Rape
The Lost Child by Sarah Ash
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
I’ve loved Sarah Ash’s books, her writing, and her creativity since I was in grade school and first read her Tears of Artamon trilogy, which is still my favorite. Unofficially, I have kind of made it a goal to read all of Sarah Ash’s books since then, but they’re a bit hard to find! At long last I’ve got my hands on The Lost Child.
Representation:
- many main and secondary characters are Jewish (called “Tsiyon” in the book’s world)
When a non-Tsiyonim child is found dead on a Tsiyonim doorstep, all of Arcassanne seeks to blame the tailor’s apprentice, Rahab. Rahab escapes the city with the help of a girl named Lia and makes for the secluded community of Tsiyonim scholars deep in the mountains. But Arcassanne’s prejudice and hatred of the Tsiyon has reached a boiling point, and Rahab may have brought danger right to the mountain community’s door while leaving his own community to fend for themselves back home.
The plot of The Lost Child seems to be based on old Christian and Jewish conflicts, going by the (not-so-subtle) hints from the text. It also seems to be a fantasy version of a city in Italy (?), but it kind of has a 1:1 ratio world building, where words are just slightly changed from their real-world counterparts, or the book concept/fantasy item/etc. is the same thing and simply given a fantasy name (making this historical fantasy? alternate fantasy? I’m actually not sure … if someone does know, can you comment please?). However, Ash’s worlds are still incredibly detailed and realized whether they’re closely based on the real world or not, and it’s very easy to get lost in them.
The story starts out a bit slow--or, at least, it takes a little while for me to get into it--but once Rahab and Lia get to the hidden community of Tifereth it starts to pick up. If not by the actual pacing then by way of heightened emotion, character depth, and tension. Wonderful, wonderful reading experience in the second half!
I also love the way that Ash creates the contrast between the scholars of Tifereth and the tradesmen/people from the Arcassanne ghettos … and the ways that contrast then creates drama between them, who are meant to be allies in this fight. For example, when discussing the Holy text, the scholars call Rahab nearly illiterate, that his opinions don’t matter, and that his opinions aren’t as important as the Tifereth elders who have studied their entire lives. It’s things like this that really add depth to a world and story.
I <i>am</i> a little disappointed at how Jaufre almost became a bad anime villain near the end, though (“‘Well, well well,’ came a dry, mocking voice from the shadows”). I don’t, and am not sure I ever really did, understand his motivations, either. I know the amulets had a big hold over him, but I think I need a little more.
Surprisingly, my favorite character is Beregar, Lia’s fiance! I didn’t expect that. He’s a lot more complex and well rounded, especially considering the page time he was given. Although, with that reasoning, Zallaïs, Lia’s mother who hides her heritage and buries her religion so that Lia can have a better life, comes close. For every flaw this book has there are two or three more blazing-bright positives.
The writing also can be a little bit stilted at times. And though Ash’s vocabulary is and always has been delicious, it might not actually help those moments; some words almost seem out of place when considering the sentences and paragraphs around them. However … I have learned so many words from this book alone. Great, great words (escutcheon, oubliette, catarrh, frowst, etc.).
This book also has an older style of prose that I adore (which makes sense, as it was published in the 90’s), one that I’ve sorely missed and have only noticed now after realizing I’ve only been reading contemporary writers for a while. I forgot how lovely older fantasy books can sound.
And strangely enough, I love how and when the PoVs change. Sometimes a PoV will last for an entire chapter, and sometimes they’ll change several times in a single chapter--or a single page!--so that a single night or event shares all the PoV characters seemingly at once. This highlights that event’s importance and creates that sort of breathless quality similar to shortening the length of sentences in action scenes. I’d never seen that done before! Taking note of it for sure.
Speaking of notes: I can’t really be a voice on this, because I’m not Jewish--honestly I’m not sure if Sarah Ash is, either--but I’m not actually sure how respectful all elements of this are toward Jewish people. There are magic talismans and actual magic tied to the religion, things I think I remember seeing people list as “what to avoid when writing Jewish characters.” But again … this was written a while back, and I’m not sure of Sarah Ash’s beliefs. I’ll wait for more people to read.
The book wrapped up a bit too neatly and sweetly for my personal liking, and I felt like so much emotional tension was just rationalized away. It seemed that, almost magically, most of Rahab’s issues with a character he had trouble getting along with in Tifereth were resolved in just a few exchanges. However, I did like Rahab’s personal sacrifice so that the ending <i>did</i> become slightly bittersweet for him--mostly because I’m a sucker for bittersweet endings.
A great book from Sarah Ash, and I’m so glad I managed to get my hands on it! Now to find the next one …
(note no.2: take a look at that gorgeous cover art!)
Representation:
- many main and secondary characters are Jewish (called “Tsiyon” in the book’s world)
When a non-Tsiyonim child is found dead on a Tsiyonim doorstep, all of Arcassanne seeks to blame the tailor’s apprentice, Rahab. Rahab escapes the city with the help of a girl named Lia and makes for the secluded community of Tsiyonim scholars deep in the mountains. But Arcassanne’s prejudice and hatred of the Tsiyon has reached a boiling point, and Rahab may have brought danger right to the mountain community’s door while leaving his own community to fend for themselves back home.
The plot of The Lost Child seems to be based on old Christian and Jewish conflicts, going by the (not-so-subtle) hints from the text. It also seems to be a fantasy version of a city in Italy (?), but it kind of has a 1:1 ratio world building, where words are just slightly changed from their real-world counterparts, or the book concept/fantasy item/etc. is the same thing and simply given a fantasy name (making this historical fantasy? alternate fantasy? I’m actually not sure … if someone does know, can you comment please?). However, Ash’s worlds are still incredibly detailed and realized whether they’re closely based on the real world or not, and it’s very easy to get lost in them.
The story starts out a bit slow--or, at least, it takes a little while for me to get into it--but once Rahab and Lia get to the hidden community of Tifereth it starts to pick up. If not by the actual pacing then by way of heightened emotion, character depth, and tension. Wonderful, wonderful reading experience in the second half!
I also love the way that Ash creates the contrast between the scholars of Tifereth and the tradesmen/people from the Arcassanne ghettos … and the ways that contrast then creates drama between them, who are meant to be allies in this fight. For example, when discussing the Holy text, the scholars call Rahab nearly illiterate, that his opinions don’t matter, and that his opinions aren’t as important as the Tifereth elders who have studied their entire lives. It’s things like this that really add depth to a world and story.
I <i>am</i> a little disappointed at how Jaufre almost became a bad anime villain near the end, though (“‘Well, well well,’ came a dry, mocking voice from the shadows”). I don’t, and am not sure I ever really did, understand his motivations, either. I know the amulets had a big hold over him, but I think I need a little more.
Surprisingly, my favorite character is Beregar, Lia’s fiance! I didn’t expect that. He’s a lot more complex and well rounded, especially considering the page time he was given. Although, with that reasoning, Zallaïs, Lia’s mother who hides her heritage and buries her religion so that Lia can have a better life, comes close. For every flaw this book has there are two or three more blazing-bright positives.
The writing also can be a little bit stilted at times. And though Ash’s vocabulary is and always has been delicious, it might not actually help those moments; some words almost seem out of place when considering the sentences and paragraphs around them. However … I have learned so many words from this book alone. Great, great words (escutcheon, oubliette, catarrh, frowst, etc.).
This book also has an older style of prose that I adore (which makes sense, as it was published in the 90’s), one that I’ve sorely missed and have only noticed now after realizing I’ve only been reading contemporary writers for a while. I forgot how lovely older fantasy books can sound.
And strangely enough, I love how and when the PoVs change. Sometimes a PoV will last for an entire chapter, and sometimes they’ll change several times in a single chapter--or a single page!--so that a single night or event shares all the PoV characters seemingly at once. This highlights that event’s importance and creates that sort of breathless quality similar to shortening the length of sentences in action scenes. I’d never seen that done before! Taking note of it for sure.
Speaking of notes: I can’t really be a voice on this, because I’m not Jewish--honestly I’m not sure if Sarah Ash is, either--but I’m not actually sure how respectful all elements of this are toward Jewish people. There are magic talismans and actual magic tied to the religion, things I think I remember seeing people list as “what to avoid when writing Jewish characters.” But again … this was written a while back, and I’m not sure of Sarah Ash’s beliefs. I’ll wait for more people to read.
The book wrapped up a bit too neatly and sweetly for my personal liking, and I felt like so much emotional tension was just rationalized away. It seemed that, almost magically, most of Rahab’s issues with a character he had trouble getting along with in Tifereth were resolved in just a few exchanges. However, I did like Rahab’s personal sacrifice so that the ending <i>did</i> become slightly bittersweet for him--mostly because I’m a sucker for bittersweet endings.
A great book from Sarah Ash, and I’m so glad I managed to get my hands on it! Now to find the next one …
(note no.2: take a look at that gorgeous cover art!)
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse and Antisemitism
Minor: Abortion
also: drugging
Myth & Middle-Earth: Exploring the Medieval Legends Behind J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings by Leslie Ellen Jones
informative
reflective
slow-paced
3.0
The Downstairs Girl by Stacey Lee
hopeful
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.5
Another find at the huge local library sale! I was intrigued because I haven’t read much YA historical fiction that wasn’t also fantasy--and because Stacey Lee is a founder of <a href="https://diversebooks.org/">We Need Diverse Books</a>, and I was absolutely obsessed with that site and its mission when it came out. It probably caused my interest to swing toward YA from adult (funnily enough, I never read YA when I was an actual young adult).
<b>Representation</b>:
- a Chinese-American protagonist
- a Chinese-American secondary protagonist
- a Black secondary protagonist
When the newspaper that 17yo Jo Kuan loves needs more subscribers, she anonymously sends them advice columns as “Miss Sweetie”--signing it in her real name as an Asian girl in the New South would be dangerous. As her column begins to address riskier topics, interest in the identity behind Miss Sweetie grows from both fans and new enemies. But Joe has an interest in her own identity and in the parents who abandoned her as an infant, and the lessons she’s learned from being Miss Sweetie might be able to help her when that search draws the attention of a ruthless criminal.
Right away I was impressed with the writing style and quality (actually, even the dedication made an impact). I was also taken with all the witty lines and turns of phrases. Stacey Lee can certainly write good ones, but maybe she could use them more sparingly, because they can get to be a little exhausting.
But speaking of what Stacey Lee can write well, her characters are very memorable. Old Gin, in particular, is one of the warmest and most realistic characters I’ve read in a long time. With faults and strengths and a huge (but not overdone) personality, he stole every scene he was in--as well as played off other characters well. Jo’s employer and the lady she served were also well written--actually, there were very, very few people in this novel I didn’t love or find interesting.
I’ve also loved this look into what life for an Asian-American immigrant would have looked like in the New South (Alabama, ~late-ish 1800s, I think? I don’t have the book with me). My education on this time period before reading was mostly been limited to black and white, so this has been very valuable--and if it has been valubale for me, I can’t imagine how wonderful it is for Asian-American young adults.
But, of course, there are things I didn’t like …
This book contains one of my “quadruple-p’s”, or period-piece-pet-peeves: when characters’ lines sound way too modern for the time period they’re in. This is definitely more common in YA than adult fiction … perhaps done to appeal to modern readers? Or to sound like the latest Marvel/blockbuster, maybe? Or perhaps because it’s so commonplace and in fashion now that the author might not have considered it at all? I feel as though every “best friend” character in YA (the main offender of this pet peeve), despite the setting, has a similar personality, one that lends itself to more modern dialogue; it might be almost automatic at this point for them to speak this way. I could be thinking <i>way</i> too much into this, though. And considering it <i>is</i> one of my major pet peeves, this book really didn’t bother me with it all that often. It’s just that when it did, it stuck out terribly.
Now this is a bit strange to admit, but thinking back on it, this is way worse an issue now than it was while reading. But the plot might be a little bit of a mess. There’s too much going on in a single novel. Besides Jo’s search for her family/identity and her secret job writing anonymously for an advice column in the newspaper (despite having no prior experience or aspirations for writing in general and despite her previous dream of becoming a hatter that she may have forgotten about), there’s the romantic side plot and there's the mystery surrounding what her (step?)father/guardian might be involved with, and then suddenly she’s able to race horses to grapple with the newest plot point, etc. It just gets to be a lot.
I also did <b>not</b> like the way sexual assault starts to be used as a plot device. First, it helps Jo bond with Caroline, the hateful lady she serves--through brief flashbacks, which would be okay by itself. But then when Jo tries to get information from the villain, he’s in the middle of taking a bath. Not only does he (spoiler for sexual assault) stand up and grab her hair, but he <i>gets an erection and moans</i> . It goes from very YA to adult way too fast. I’m not saying YA can’t have this kind of content (or especially have conversations about it, because this happens to kids!), but there was very little discussion about it afterward, either, besides Jo telling her best friend, who said she’d smack [the antagonist] with a Bible. And that was that, I guess.
Stacey Lee seems like a wonderful person, but I almost enjoyed her very heartfelt acknowledgements and her author’s notes more than the book. Then again, I’m learning I might just be done with YA for the most part. I’ll have to wait to see if the YA authors I like ever write outside the genre. Till then I’ll support them in other ways!
(And although I know this probably isn’t Stacey Lee’s doing, the inner novel design is gorgeous! I’m in love with those illustrations.)
<b>Representation</b>:
- a Chinese-American protagonist
- a Chinese-American secondary protagonist
- a Black secondary protagonist
When the newspaper that 17yo Jo Kuan loves needs more subscribers, she anonymously sends them advice columns as “Miss Sweetie”--signing it in her real name as an Asian girl in the New South would be dangerous. As her column begins to address riskier topics, interest in the identity behind Miss Sweetie grows from both fans and new enemies. But Joe has an interest in her own identity and in the parents who abandoned her as an infant, and the lessons she’s learned from being Miss Sweetie might be able to help her when that search draws the attention of a ruthless criminal.
Right away I was impressed with the writing style and quality (actually, even the dedication made an impact). I was also taken with all the witty lines and turns of phrases. Stacey Lee can certainly write good ones, but maybe she could use them more sparingly, because they can get to be a little exhausting.
But speaking of what Stacey Lee can write well, her characters are very memorable. Old Gin, in particular, is one of the warmest and most realistic characters I’ve read in a long time. With faults and strengths and a huge (but not overdone) personality, he stole every scene he was in--as well as played off other characters well. Jo’s employer and the lady she served were also well written--actually, there were very, very few people in this novel I didn’t love or find interesting.
I’ve also loved this look into what life for an Asian-American immigrant would have looked like in the New South (Alabama, ~late-ish 1800s, I think? I don’t have the book with me). My education on this time period before reading was mostly been limited to black and white, so this has been very valuable--and if it has been valubale for me, I can’t imagine how wonderful it is for Asian-American young adults.
But, of course, there are things I didn’t like …
This book contains one of my “quadruple-p’s”, or period-piece-pet-peeves: when characters’ lines sound way too modern for the time period they’re in. This is definitely more common in YA than adult fiction … perhaps done to appeal to modern readers? Or to sound like the latest Marvel/blockbuster, maybe? Or perhaps because it’s so commonplace and in fashion now that the author might not have considered it at all? I feel as though every “best friend” character in YA (the main offender of this pet peeve), despite the setting, has a similar personality, one that lends itself to more modern dialogue; it might be almost automatic at this point for them to speak this way. I could be thinking <i>way</i> too much into this, though. And considering it <i>is</i> one of my major pet peeves, this book really didn’t bother me with it all that often. It’s just that when it did, it stuck out terribly.
Now this is a bit strange to admit, but thinking back on it, this is way worse an issue now than it was while reading. But the plot might be a little bit of a mess. There’s too much going on in a single novel. Besides Jo’s search for her family/identity and her secret job writing anonymously for an advice column in the newspaper (despite having no prior experience or aspirations for writing in general and despite her previous dream of becoming a hatter that she may have forgotten about), there’s the romantic side plot and there's the mystery surrounding what her (step?)father/guardian might be involved with, and then suddenly she’s able to race horses to grapple with the newest plot point, etc. It just gets to be a lot.
I also did <b>not</b> like the way sexual assault starts to be used as a plot device. First, it helps Jo bond with Caroline, the hateful lady she serves--through brief flashbacks, which would be okay by itself. But then when Jo tries to get information from the villain, he’s in the middle of taking a bath. Not only does he (spoiler for sexual assault)
Stacey Lee seems like a wonderful person, but I almost enjoyed her very heartfelt acknowledgements and her author’s notes more than the book. Then again, I’m learning I might just be done with YA for the most part. I’ll have to wait to see if the YA authors I like ever write outside the genre. Till then I’ll support them in other ways!
(And although I know this probably isn’t Stacey Lee’s doing, the inner novel design is gorgeous! I’m in love with those illustrations.)
Content Warnings
Graphic: Racism, Sexism, and Sexual assault
also: CSA, fetishization