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patchy_at_best's Reviews (1.47k)
For the purpose of this review, I will use the gender neutral pronoun “they” when referring to protagonist Riley, to acknowledge the non-binary nature of Riley’s gender identity.
Symptoms of Being Human is a timely novel for young adults. Our protagonist, Riley, is gender fluid, meaning their gender identity moves along a spectrum between male and female. This book explores Riley’s identity on multiple platforms, and how they learn to express themselves authentically despite fear of violent backlash. While far from perfect, this book should inspire important discussions.
After breaking down under the pressure of their dad’s political career and constant bullying, Riley is starting afresh at a new high school. In secret, Riley starts an online blog to share the struggles of not being “out” to friends and family while experiencing gender dysphoria. However, Riley’s overnight celebrity status soon becomes dangerous.
ONLINE COMMUNITIES
While it’s unlikely that any of us will ever experience Riley’s blogging success, the online aspect of this book is important. Current-day society isn’t restricted to one plane – it travels across multiple platforms. The freedom to anonymously connect to likeminded people around the globe makes online society vital to young adults – especially considering that sometimes being honest about one’s identity in real life puts one’s safety at risk. I know from personal experience that online communities are sometimes the safest and most accessible support network. However, the Internet can also be a place of hate. I love that Symptoms of Being Human acknowledges both the pros and cons of online communities, and the impact these have on young people’s lives.
MENTAL HEALTH EXPERIENCES
Since I’m cisgender (my gender identity corresponds with my biological sex), I can’t relate to Riley’s struggle with gender dysphoria. However, I hope that any readers who share this experience will find Jeff Garvin’s representation validating. That said, Symptoms of Being Human addresses a plethora of other symptoms of being human (ha ha), such as bullying, parental pressure, creating identity, starting at a new school, as well as anxiety and depression.
Personally, Riley’s mental health narrative is the closest to home. However, I constantly changed my mind about Doctor Ann, Riley’s psychiatrist. Doctor Ann controls Riley’s psychotropic drugs and teaches them techniques for managing anxiety and depression, including suggesting they start a blog. I felt Doctor Ann’s character conformed to the psychiatrist archetype – she avoids giving a straight answer but instead chronically nods and raises her eyebrows, and constantly resorts to upping Riley’s meds. Not to mention, the stress management meditation she recommends Riley doesn’t work (I feel this is a case of Riley not taking the time to find a meditation technique that they “click” with). I would have liked to see the therapy aspect developed more, instead of drugs always appearing to be the answer (which is only true in some cases, and has dangers that aren’t addressed).
WRITING AND REPRESENTATION
I love that Riley’s biological sex is never revealed. At first, I wondered if I’d mistakenly skipped over the gender pronouns. But they actually don’t exist! This makes a powerful point that an individual’s gender identity is final and nobody’s business.
Unfortunately, I didn’t find any of the characters likeable. Most of them are high school archetypes or unconvincingly perfect. Did anyone else get a Mean Girls vibe?
The plot is also predictable and cliched. The slow pace almost put me off. Overall however, I felt the ideas expressed were still worth engaging with. That said, the themes of Symptoms of Being Human need further discussion and better researched, more nuanced representation in the future. If you’re looking for your first LGBTQIA narrative, I recommend [b:George|24612624|George|Alex Gino|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1423358952s/24612624.jpg|44165520] by [a:Alex Gino|12881739|Alex Gino|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png] (for junior readers) or [b:For Today I Am a Boy|17165961|For Today I Am a Boy|Kim Fu|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1364865496s/17165961.jpg|23670281] by [a:Kim Fu|6863138|Kim Fu|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1366918779p2/6863138.jpg] (for adult readers). Can anyone recommend me a good book with excellent gender fluid representation?
In reflection, the focus on online communities is by far my favourite aspect of Symptoms of Being Human. Unfortunately, I didn’t find the mental health narrative helpful or accurate. Considering that I didn’t find the characters likeable, believable, or memorable (what were their names again?), there are plenty of better LGBTQIA books to hunt down and read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
Symptoms of Being Human is a timely novel for young adults. Our protagonist, Riley, is gender fluid, meaning their gender identity moves along a spectrum between male and female. This book explores Riley’s identity on multiple platforms, and how they learn to express themselves authentically despite fear of violent backlash. While far from perfect, this book should inspire important discussions.
Girl. Or. Boy … The world isn’t binary. Everything isn’t black or white, yes or no. Sometimes it’s not a switch, it’s a dial. And it’s not even a dial you can get your hands on; it turns without your permission or approval – page 28
After breaking down under the pressure of their dad’s political career and constant bullying, Riley is starting afresh at a new high school. In secret, Riley starts an online blog to share the struggles of not being “out” to friends and family while experiencing gender dysphoria. However, Riley’s overnight celebrity status soon becomes dangerous.
ONLINE COMMUNITIES
While it’s unlikely that any of us will ever experience Riley’s blogging success, the online aspect of this book is important. Current-day society isn’t restricted to one plane – it travels across multiple platforms. The freedom to anonymously connect to likeminded people around the globe makes online society vital to young adults – especially considering that sometimes being honest about one’s identity in real life puts one’s safety at risk. I know from personal experience that online communities are sometimes the safest and most accessible support network. However, the Internet can also be a place of hate. I love that Symptoms of Being Human acknowledges both the pros and cons of online communities, and the impact these have on young people’s lives.
I can’t blame you for trying to categorise me. It’s a human instinct. It’s why scientists are, to this day, completely flabbergasted by the duck-billed platypus: it’s furry like a mammal, but lays eggs like a bird. It defies conventional classification. I AM THE PLATYPUS – page 28
MENTAL HEALTH EXPERIENCES
Since I’m cisgender (my gender identity corresponds with my biological sex), I can’t relate to Riley’s struggle with gender dysphoria. However, I hope that any readers who share this experience will find Jeff Garvin’s representation validating. That said, Symptoms of Being Human addresses a plethora of other symptoms of being human (ha ha), such as bullying, parental pressure, creating identity, starting at a new school, as well as anxiety and depression.
Personally, Riley’s mental health narrative is the closest to home. However, I constantly changed my mind about Doctor Ann, Riley’s psychiatrist. Doctor Ann controls Riley’s psychotropic drugs and teaches them techniques for managing anxiety and depression, including suggesting they start a blog. I felt Doctor Ann’s character conformed to the psychiatrist archetype – she avoids giving a straight answer but instead chronically nods and raises her eyebrows, and constantly resorts to upping Riley’s meds. Not to mention, the stress management meditation she recommends Riley doesn’t work (I feel this is a case of Riley not taking the time to find a meditation technique that they “click” with). I would have liked to see the therapy aspect developed more, instead of drugs always appearing to be the answer (which is only true in some cases, and has dangers that aren’t addressed).
WRITING AND REPRESENTATION
We’re all taught from a young age that there are only two choices: pink or blue, Bratz or Power Rangers, cheer-leading or football – page 59
I love that Riley’s biological sex is never revealed. At first, I wondered if I’d mistakenly skipped over the gender pronouns. But they actually don’t exist! This makes a powerful point that an individual’s gender identity is final and nobody’s business.
Unfortunately, I didn’t find any of the characters likeable. Most of them are high school archetypes or unconvincingly perfect. Did anyone else get a Mean Girls vibe?
The plot is also predictable and cliched. The slow pace almost put me off. Overall however, I felt the ideas expressed were still worth engaging with. That said, the themes of Symptoms of Being Human need further discussion and better researched, more nuanced representation in the future. If you’re looking for your first LGBTQIA narrative, I recommend [b:George|24612624|George|Alex Gino|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1423358952s/24612624.jpg|44165520] by [a:Alex Gino|12881739|Alex Gino|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png] (for junior readers) or [b:For Today I Am a Boy|17165961|For Today I Am a Boy|Kim Fu|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1364865496s/17165961.jpg|23670281] by [a:Kim Fu|6863138|Kim Fu|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1366918779p2/6863138.jpg] (for adult readers). Can anyone recommend me a good book with excellent gender fluid representation?
In reflection, the focus on online communities is by far my favourite aspect of Symptoms of Being Human. Unfortunately, I didn’t find the mental health narrative helpful or accurate. Considering that I didn’t find the characters likeable, believable, or memorable (what were their names again?), there are plenty of better LGBTQIA books to hunt down and read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
Every story in this collection is fresh and fantastical. They share a sad streak, using magical realism to tap into the nerve centre of the human condition.
DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME ★★★★★
A woman believes chopping her boyfriend in half will save their relationship. This funny but confronting story starts the collection with a bang. It lingered in my mind for weeks after reading.
CONCEPTUAL ★★☆☆☆
A family of artists falls apart when unhappy reality disrupts their utopia. The melodrama of the story got into the way with me emotionally connecting to it.
SURVIVING SAINTHOOD ★★☆☆☆
When his disabled sister becomes a saint, neglected teen Ben drifts away from his family. While I didn’t find the characters very convincing, I appreciate that Surviving Sainthood touches some sensitive topics that could lead to great book club conversations.
THERE’S A WOMAN WORKS DOWN THE CHIP SHOP ★★★★☆
One magical summer, a working-class mother transforms into Elvis. You can interpret this story any way you like, but I read it as a metaphor for the woman’s concealed sexual identity. I invested in the characters and loved the originality of this idea.
BIRDS WITHOUT WINGS ★★★☆☆
A failed vacation drives a wedge between a well-meaning mother and her overweight daughter. The pain and conflict in Birds Without Wings is well-developed even in so few pages. Although this story doesn’t include a magical element, it fits the themes of the collection perfectly, incorporating parent/child conflicts and a sense of the macabre.
SHINE ON ★★☆☆☆
A young woman with superhuman hearing is fighting a losing custody battle over her baby. The protagonist’s flaws make her pitiful but also realistic. This story left me with a strong sense of her despair.
WHEN WE WERE WITCHES ★★★☆☆
The local witch adopts a hunchbacked girl to teach her the ways of the wild. Unlike the previous magical realism stories, When We Were Witches is fantasy. I didn’t mind jumping genres, and enjoyed getting lost in this imaginative world.
EVERYWHERE YOU DON’T WANT TO BE ★★★☆☆
A successful woman is forced to rethink her life when she meets her alternate self. This idea reminds me of a comedy film cliché, but I still enjoyed the character development.
DOG YEARS ★☆☆☆☆
A girl covered with fur becomes a freak show attraction. This extremely short story felt jarring because it lacked the strong style of the rest of the collection.
THE KEEPER OF THE JACKALOPES ★★★★☆
A bankrupt man and his daughter sell taxidermied critters to save their trailer park from urban development. Throughout The Keeper of the Jackalopes, I enjoyed piecing together the characters’ world. I felt it had the most heart, and the deepest character development of any story in the collection.
CATWOMAN HAD SOMETHING ★★★☆☆
A young girl inherits her aunt’s secret to seduction. How would your personality change if suddenly the opposite sex found you irresistible? While sad, this idea is definitely fresh and compelling.
BOYS LIKE DOLLS ★★☆☆☆
A little boy’s GI Joe doll comes to life and gives him bad advice. Following such inventive ideas, I felt like this was a comparatively weak ending point for the collection.
Overall, Don’t Try This at Home is a thought-provoking collection, with a compelling pace and strong thematic backbone. Angela Readman combines whacky magical realism with her sense of the macabre to construct a unique look on life.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME ★★★★★
A woman believes chopping her boyfriend in half will save their relationship. This funny but confronting story starts the collection with a bang. It lingered in my mind for weeks after reading.
CONCEPTUAL ★★☆☆☆
A family of artists falls apart when unhappy reality disrupts their utopia. The melodrama of the story got into the way with me emotionally connecting to it.
SURVIVING SAINTHOOD ★★☆☆☆
When his disabled sister becomes a saint, neglected teen Ben drifts away from his family. While I didn’t find the characters very convincing, I appreciate that Surviving Sainthood touches some sensitive topics that could lead to great book club conversations.
THERE’S A WOMAN WORKS DOWN THE CHIP SHOP ★★★★☆
One magical summer, a working-class mother transforms into Elvis. You can interpret this story any way you like, but I read it as a metaphor for the woman’s concealed sexual identity. I invested in the characters and loved the originality of this idea.
BIRDS WITHOUT WINGS ★★★☆☆
A failed vacation drives a wedge between a well-meaning mother and her overweight daughter. The pain and conflict in Birds Without Wings is well-developed even in so few pages. Although this story doesn’t include a magical element, it fits the themes of the collection perfectly, incorporating parent/child conflicts and a sense of the macabre.
SHINE ON ★★☆☆☆
A young woman with superhuman hearing is fighting a losing custody battle over her baby. The protagonist’s flaws make her pitiful but also realistic. This story left me with a strong sense of her despair.
WHEN WE WERE WITCHES ★★★☆☆
The local witch adopts a hunchbacked girl to teach her the ways of the wild. Unlike the previous magical realism stories, When We Were Witches is fantasy. I didn’t mind jumping genres, and enjoyed getting lost in this imaginative world.
EVERYWHERE YOU DON’T WANT TO BE ★★★☆☆
A successful woman is forced to rethink her life when she meets her alternate self. This idea reminds me of a comedy film cliché, but I still enjoyed the character development.
DOG YEARS ★☆☆☆☆
A girl covered with fur becomes a freak show attraction. This extremely short story felt jarring because it lacked the strong style of the rest of the collection.
THE KEEPER OF THE JACKALOPES ★★★★☆
A bankrupt man and his daughter sell taxidermied critters to save their trailer park from urban development. Throughout The Keeper of the Jackalopes, I enjoyed piecing together the characters’ world. I felt it had the most heart, and the deepest character development of any story in the collection.
CATWOMAN HAD SOMETHING ★★★☆☆
A young girl inherits her aunt’s secret to seduction. How would your personality change if suddenly the opposite sex found you irresistible? While sad, this idea is definitely fresh and compelling.
BOYS LIKE DOLLS ★★☆☆☆
A little boy’s GI Joe doll comes to life and gives him bad advice. Following such inventive ideas, I felt like this was a comparatively weak ending point for the collection.
Overall, Don’t Try This at Home is a thought-provoking collection, with a compelling pace and strong thematic backbone. Angela Readman combines whacky magical realism with her sense of the macabre to construct a unique look on life.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
The Girls is an immersive coming of age story revolving around female relationships. Although this book is often reviewed as a psychological thriller, I found that its deep allure came from its worldly and intimate narrative voice.
In California ’69, Evie Boyd is an awkward, ordinary teen. When she falls under the spell of wild beauty Suzanne, she becomes obsessed with the older girl’s world – a free love cult led by Pied Piper figure, Russell. Mesmerised by her new way of life and navigating her budding womanhood, Evie is oblivious to the commune’s sinister undercurrents.
Past and present intertwine in this novel. In the opening pages, Evie is a mature-aged woman, reminiscing on her summer with Suzanne. The narrative voice reminds me of [b:The Virgin Suicides|10956|The Virgin Suicides|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1319032910s/10956.jpg|812415] – heady and nostalgic. Also, knowing where she ends up as an adult makes for an unusual angle on the story – we know the beginning and the end, but still need to piece together the middle. Personally, it wasn’t about finding out what happened; I was hooked trying to understand what went on in Evie’s head and heart to lead her to this current moment.
Evie’s coming of age story is an unhappy but relatable representation of girlhood. Hungry for affection, she is vulnerable to other people’s perceptions of her and desperate to fit in. At its core, The Girls is all about the relationships between girls – friends, lovers, mothers and daughters. Although the other girls are lured like moths to light by Russell’s hypnotic sexuality, Evie clings to the cold and distant Suzanne – as if being near her could turn Evie into a woman. While she’s not the most likeable person, I found the inner workings of Evie’s mind riveting and believable.
Within the commune, Evie is blind to the growing tensions. What she doesn’t realise is that saying “yes” when she means “no” adds up over time. As a mature-aged woman, she is sad to look back on how happily she walked into danger just to fit in, including the dark revenge plot that made the cult famous for years to come.
I also enjoyed the depth of the mother/daughter relationships in The Girls . Following her divorce, Evie’s mother embarks on a self-discovery quest, flinging herself into new romances and health fads at the cost of estranging her daughter. I was fascinated by the role reversal when Evie is an older woman, taking care of the girl who crashes overnight at her house – now that the tables have turned, she intends to show the motherly affection she never experienced. However, she finds the girl’s defences hard to breach, just as she barricaded her true self to adults at that age.
I feel like The Girls is the perfect stand-alone novel – the beginning, middle, and end form a complete and compelling story that haunted me after reading. Emma Cline clearly knows how to write raw characters motivated by strong inner beliefs.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
In California ’69, Evie Boyd is an awkward, ordinary teen. When she falls under the spell of wild beauty Suzanne, she becomes obsessed with the older girl’s world – a free love cult led by Pied Piper figure, Russell. Mesmerised by her new way of life and navigating her budding womanhood, Evie is oblivious to the commune’s sinister undercurrents.
Past and present intertwine in this novel. In the opening pages, Evie is a mature-aged woman, reminiscing on her summer with Suzanne. The narrative voice reminds me of [b:The Virgin Suicides|10956|The Virgin Suicides|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1319032910s/10956.jpg|812415] – heady and nostalgic. Also, knowing where she ends up as an adult makes for an unusual angle on the story – we know the beginning and the end, but still need to piece together the middle. Personally, it wasn’t about finding out what happened; I was hooked trying to understand what went on in Evie’s head and heart to lead her to this current moment.
I waited to be told what was good about me … All that time I had spent readying myself, the articles that taught me life was really just a waiting room until someone noticed you – the boys had spent that time becoming themselves – The Girls
Evie’s coming of age story is an unhappy but relatable representation of girlhood. Hungry for affection, she is vulnerable to other people’s perceptions of her and desperate to fit in. At its core, The Girls is all about the relationships between girls – friends, lovers, mothers and daughters. Although the other girls are lured like moths to light by Russell’s hypnotic sexuality, Evie clings to the cold and distant Suzanne – as if being near her could turn Evie into a woman. While she’s not the most likeable person, I found the inner workings of Evie’s mind riveting and believable.
At that age, I was, first and foremost, a thing to be judged, and that shifted the power in every interaction onto the other person – The Girls
Within the commune, Evie is blind to the growing tensions. What she doesn’t realise is that saying “yes” when she means “no” adds up over time. As a mature-aged woman, she is sad to look back on how happily she walked into danger just to fit in, including the dark revenge plot that made the cult famous for years to come.
Everyone, later, would find it unbelievable that anyone involved in the ranch would stay in that situation. A situation so obviously bad. But Suzanne had nothing else: she had given her life completely over to Russell, and by then it was like a thing he could hold in his hands, turning it over and over, testing its weight … It had been so long since any of them had occupied a world where right and wrong existed in any real way. Whatever instincts they’d ever had—the weak twinge in the gut, a gnaw of concern—had become inaudible – The Girls
I also enjoyed the depth of the mother/daughter relationships in The Girls . Following her divorce, Evie’s mother embarks on a self-discovery quest, flinging herself into new romances and health fads at the cost of estranging her daughter. I was fascinated by the role reversal when Evie is an older woman, taking care of the girl who crashes overnight at her house – now that the tables have turned, she intends to show the motherly affection she never experienced. However, she finds the girl’s defences hard to breach, just as she barricaded her true self to adults at that age.
I thought that loving someone acted as a kind of protective measure, like they’d understand the scale and intensity of your feelings and act accordingly. That seemed fair to me, as if fairness were a measure the universe cared anything about – The Girls
I feel like The Girls is the perfect stand-alone novel – the beginning, middle, and end form a complete and compelling story that haunted me after reading. Emma Cline clearly knows how to write raw characters motivated by strong inner beliefs.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Over the course of five decades, five guests walk into a terrifying trap. Slade House is nothing more than the facade for a deadly game of cat and mouse. Like flies in a web, the unwitting victims don’t stand a chance against the sinister powers at work here. Who are the residents of Slade House and what is their purpose? This grown-up equivalent of [a:Neil Gaiman|1221698|Neil Gaiman|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1234150163p2/1221698.jpg]’s [b:Coraline|17061|Coraline|Neil Gaiman|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1493497435s/17061.jpg|2834844] is creepy and compulsive.
[a:David Mitchell|6538289|David Mitchell|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1409248688p2/6538289.jpg] inhabits the minds of five different characters to give us five self-contained sections in nine year leaps between 1979 and 2015. The repetition of a nearly identical storyline in each section makes this novel feel like a recurring fever dream. Emotional investment in the characters and recognition of repeated motifs drive you mad on the boil to each nightmarish climax. It’s impossible not to appreciate the way the structure weaves a sense of foreboding.
I’m normally not a fan of split narratives, but Mitchell masters the diverse voices of his characters. I think this technique is much more compelling in Slade House than in his best known book, [b:Cloud Atlas|49628|Cloud Atlas|David Mitchell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1406383769s/49628.jpg|1871423]. The fact that he writes equally convincing male and female characters speaks volumes of his skill.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
[a:David Mitchell|6538289|David Mitchell|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1409248688p2/6538289.jpg] inhabits the minds of five different characters to give us five self-contained sections in nine year leaps between 1979 and 2015. The repetition of a nearly identical storyline in each section makes this novel feel like a recurring fever dream. Emotional investment in the characters and recognition of repeated motifs drive you mad on the boil to each nightmarish climax. It’s impossible not to appreciate the way the structure weaves a sense of foreboding.
I’m normally not a fan of split narratives, but Mitchell masters the diverse voices of his characters. I think this technique is much more compelling in Slade House than in his best known book, [b:Cloud Atlas|49628|Cloud Atlas|David Mitchell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1406383769s/49628.jpg|1871423]. The fact that he writes equally convincing male and female characters speaks volumes of his skill.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Through six short memoirs transcribed from interviews, Beyond Magenta explores what it’s like to come of age as a trans-spectrum teen. A crucial lesson this book teaches is to see gender and sexuality as something with infinite colourful shades. To really know someone’s story, you have to be humble and open-hearted enough to listen to them tell it in their own words.
Beyond Magenta celebrates and raises awareness of trans teen experiences by sharing the stories of six gender diverse young people. Some of their stories are funny and full of positivity for the future; others describe abuse, mental illness, and discrimination from which they are still healing. Some of their stories express self-love and confidence, while others describe how navigating a trans identity can feel like walking blind. A common discovery is that there’s always so much more to learn about themselves.
Although the memoirs are edited transcripts of face-to-face interviews, they sound raw and unfiltered. I love how each speaker’s personality and sense of humour shines through their words. I found it utterly engrossing slipping under the spell of each person’s story, as they led me through both painful and uplifting memories to reveal how they became the person they are today.
The teens tell their stories in roughly chronological order, exploring relationships with family and friends, the ‘coming out’ experience at school and at home, and the self-discovery journey of coming to terms with a non-binary gender identity. They also give insight into the physical and emotional journey of hormone replacement therapy. In this way, Beyond Magenta is extremely insightful and educating.
A common theme across the memoirs is parent-child relationships – how powerfully parents’ opinions and attitudes will impact the child’s journey. In Christina’s story, I loved reading about her mother’s evolving attitude towards gender diversity – gradually growing more open to understanding, and ultimately becoming her daughter’s most passionate supporter.
The language framing gender is crucial in the communication of these stories. The teens explain the nouns and pronouns they want others to use, and how crucial this is to their self-view, even their mental health. It’s eyeopening to realise that something as seemingly harmless as calling a trans woman “he” can be a horrible form of emotional abuse.
The majority of the memoirs feature photographs of the subjects, often to chronicle their physical transformations as they experiment with their self-expression or come closer to outwardly communicating their identity. In Cameron’s story, “Variables”, they pose for a series of photos, showing – regardless of where they currently sit on the gender spectrum – how comfortable they are in their own skin.
I enjoyed how the tone and mood of Beyond Magenta flows from story to story. The memoirs that are difficult to read due to confronting content are bookended by stories with hopeful tones. I felt that this helps the reader to see LGBTQIA issues from a range of perspectives and in several contexts. Overall, my impression was that the teens who speak out in this book have positive futures ahead of them – hopefully futures in which more people will be supportive of their journeys and be humble enough to get to know them before they assume to understand their struggles.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
When I first started my transition, I wanted it to be complete, from one side to the other. But now I’m embracing my in-between-ness. I’m embracing this whole mix that I have inside myself. And I’m happy. So forget the category. Just talk to me. Get to know me – Jessy “The House of my Soul”
Beyond Magenta celebrates and raises awareness of trans teen experiences by sharing the stories of six gender diverse young people. Some of their stories are funny and full of positivity for the future; others describe abuse, mental illness, and discrimination from which they are still healing. Some of their stories express self-love and confidence, while others describe how navigating a trans identity can feel like walking blind. A common discovery is that there’s always so much more to learn about themselves.
Although the memoirs are edited transcripts of face-to-face interviews, they sound raw and unfiltered. I love how each speaker’s personality and sense of humour shines through their words. I found it utterly engrossing slipping under the spell of each person’s story, as they led me through both painful and uplifting memories to reveal how they became the person they are today.
Transition? Everyone goes through one kind of transition or another. We go through transitions every day. Except mine is maybe a little more extreme – Mariah “The Real Deal”
The teens tell their stories in roughly chronological order, exploring relationships with family and friends, the ‘coming out’ experience at school and at home, and the self-discovery journey of coming to terms with a non-binary gender identity. They also give insight into the physical and emotional journey of hormone replacement therapy. In this way, Beyond Magenta is extremely insightful and educating.
A common theme across the memoirs is parent-child relationships – how powerfully parents’ opinions and attitudes will impact the child’s journey. In Christina’s story, I loved reading about her mother’s evolving attitude towards gender diversity – gradually growing more open to understanding, and ultimately becoming her daughter’s most passionate supporter.
I learned through Christina. I didn’t read a book or call anyone for information. I listened to my daughter. And I learned by letting her be – Christina’s mum “Every Girl is Different”
The language framing gender is crucial in the communication of these stories. The teens explain the nouns and pronouns they want others to use, and how crucial this is to their self-view, even their mental health. It’s eyeopening to realise that something as seemingly harmless as calling a trans woman “he” can be a horrible form of emotional abuse.
The majority of the memoirs feature photographs of the subjects, often to chronicle their physical transformations as they experiment with their self-expression or come closer to outwardly communicating their identity. In Cameron’s story, “Variables”, they pose for a series of photos, showing – regardless of where they currently sit on the gender spectrum – how comfortable they are in their own skin.
Gender is more fluid and more complex than society assumes … There are other genders out there that don’t fit on the spectrum range. Gender does not have endpoints; it’s three-dimensional. Males float around somewhere, females float around somewhere else, and some people just don’t float at all – they swim. What I mean is, unlike the floaters, swimmers control where they’re going. The swimmers DO their gender instead of BE their gender – Cameron “Variables”
I enjoyed how the tone and mood of Beyond Magenta flows from story to story. The memoirs that are difficult to read due to confronting content are bookended by stories with hopeful tones. I felt that this helps the reader to see LGBTQIA issues from a range of perspectives and in several contexts. Overall, my impression was that the teens who speak out in this book have positive futures ahead of them – hopefully futures in which more people will be supportive of their journeys and be humble enough to get to know them before they assume to understand their struggles.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
After reading [b:Eleven Hours|26096924|Eleven Hours|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1458601080s/26096924.jpg|46039773], [a:Pamela Erens|763626|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1455843636p2/763626.jpg]' newest novel, The Virgins fell short of my expectations. Her best-known book is ambitious, but failed to emotionally connect with me.
Aviva and Seung meet at their prestigious boarding school and start an illicit affair. Battling with low self-esteem and an eating disorder, Aviva is desperate to lose her virginity to her Korean American boyfriend. However, failed attempt after failed attempt pitches these star-crossed lovers into a whirlwind of shame that threatens to tear their lives apart.
The Virgins addresses countless taboo topics – eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, domestic abuse, self-harming, and sexual dysfunction to name a few. The story revolves around misperceptions many young people hold of sex, and how pivotal sexuality is in the coming-of-age narrative and construction of identity.
The Virgins is narrated in the first person by Bruce, one of Aviva and Seung’s colleagues at Auburn Academy. Infatuated with Aviva since the moment he first laid eyes on her, he describes her and Seung’s doomed love affair from an outsider’s point of view.
I don’t see the purpose of deliberately distancing us from the protagonists by using a dislikable – even repulsive – character as the narrator. As a result, the potential to connect with Aviva and Seung on a deep, personal level was wasted. This disappointed me because I wanted to know them deeper but never had the opportunity. Erens’ ambition is clear, but her execution was disjointed and frustrating. I hated being limited to Bruce’s shallow and self-absorbed point of view.
This book feels like a bad rip-off of [b:The Virgin Suicides|10956|The Virgin Suicides|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1319032910s/10956.jpg|812415] by [a:Jeffrey Eugenides|1467|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1374107943p2/1467.jpg]. Both are narrated from an outsider’s point of view and deal with painful aspects of growing up. However, The Virgins lacks the intimacy and rawness to get to the heart of such tricky topics. Which leaves me to wonder, what type of readership will benefit from reading this book? Even though it’s written about young adults, I doubt young adults could connect to Erens’ style.
The Virgins left me in despair for its characters. Erens doesn’t lift a finger to deliver them from their agony, and broke my heart for young people dealing with shame, mental illness, and abuse. Although this book gave me lots to reflect on and opened some difficult topics to discussion, the overall story is depressing and frustrating.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Aviva and Seung meet at their prestigious boarding school and start an illicit affair. Battling with low self-esteem and an eating disorder, Aviva is desperate to lose her virginity to her Korean American boyfriend. However, failed attempt after failed attempt pitches these star-crossed lovers into a whirlwind of shame that threatens to tear their lives apart.
The Virgins addresses countless taboo topics – eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, domestic abuse, self-harming, and sexual dysfunction to name a few. The story revolves around misperceptions many young people hold of sex, and how pivotal sexuality is in the coming-of-age narrative and construction of identity.
We beginners experienced sex as psyche more than body, as vulnerability and power, exposure and flight, being anointed, saved, transfigured. To fail at it – to do it wrong – was to experience (and please do not smirk; try to remember what it was like, once upon a time) the death of one’s ideal soul – page 49
The Virgins is narrated in the first person by Bruce, one of Aviva and Seung’s colleagues at Auburn Academy. Infatuated with Aviva since the moment he first laid eyes on her, he describes her and Seung’s doomed love affair from an outsider’s point of view.
I don’t see the purpose of deliberately distancing us from the protagonists by using a dislikable – even repulsive – character as the narrator. As a result, the potential to connect with Aviva and Seung on a deep, personal level was wasted. This disappointed me because I wanted to know them deeper but never had the opportunity. Erens’ ambition is clear, but her execution was disjointed and frustrating. I hated being limited to Bruce’s shallow and self-absorbed point of view.
Over the years I’ve come to understand that telling someone’s story – telling it, I mean, with a purity of intention, in an attempt to get at that person’s real desires and sufferings – is at one and the same time an act of devotion and an expression of sadism – page 59
This book feels like a bad rip-off of [b:The Virgin Suicides|10956|The Virgin Suicides|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1319032910s/10956.jpg|812415] by [a:Jeffrey Eugenides|1467|Jeffrey Eugenides|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1374107943p2/1467.jpg]. Both are narrated from an outsider’s point of view and deal with painful aspects of growing up. However, The Virgins lacks the intimacy and rawness to get to the heart of such tricky topics. Which leaves me to wonder, what type of readership will benefit from reading this book? Even though it’s written about young adults, I doubt young adults could connect to Erens’ style.
The Virgins left me in despair for its characters. Erens doesn’t lift a finger to deliver them from their agony, and broke my heart for young people dealing with shame, mental illness, and abuse. Although this book gave me lots to reflect on and opened some difficult topics to discussion, the overall story is depressing and frustrating.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
The Plain Janes is the delightful story of how art changed a small community’s outlook on life. With media constantly encouraging us to fear the unknown, this book reminds us that opening our eyes to everyday beauty can save our sanity.
After she survives a bomb attack, Jane’s family relocates from the city to the suburbs. At her new high school, she finds her tribe: Jane the theatre lover (TheatreJane), science whiz Jayne (BrainJayne), and Polly Jane (SportyJane). This odd bunch combine their unique talents to conquer the mundane through “art attacks”, ranging from knitted hats for fire hydrants, to turning the town into a replica solar system. They call themselves P.L.A.I.N. (People Loving Art in Neighbourhoods). Soon, their mini art revolution will have to contend with police crackdowns, being grounded, and, of course, their own demons of self doubt.
When the Janes and I are doing our art thing I feel like I’m giving a piece of joy to everyone. It’s like asking the world to keep me safe by making them pause for just one minute – The Plain Janes
The Plain Janes surprised me. After finishing it in one captivated sitting, I realised how completely it transformed my mood, like it had given me a getaway from my busy life. I even forgot to feel stressed! Which is, by the way, exactly the point of this book. Our narrator, (MainJane), uses art to ground herself whenever life gets overwhelming. Her aim is to make the world pause for a moment, and see life through a fresh lens. This is precisely what reading The Plain Janes did for me.
It’s a fact of life. Hearts are always hurting. And yet they still keep pumping. The best way to fix a broken heart is to do something beautiful. Something P.L.A.I.N. – The Plain Janes
Although the characters of The Plain Janes are archetypes, this didn’t impact my enjoyment one bit. Even if you’ve never heard the term before, we all know archetypes. They’re flat characters built on stereotypes e.g. the egocentric popular girl, the flamboyant gay guy, the shy but brilliant math nerd etc. I found that for such a short book, these archetypes serve a purpose – we launch into the story and immediately fall in step with characters we feel like we already know well. While these characters would be much too underdeveloped to satisfy readers of a full-length novel, the flatness of the characters highlights the message as the focus.
Although she’s not the deepest character ever written, MainJane’s journey inspires some important questions: What does your tribe look like? Is your dream worth fighting for? Can an attitude shift make the world a better place? The Plain Janes illustrates the power of collective passion and effort to change society, and how being mindful in the present moment is a demonstration of your personal power. What better way to share this message than a graphic novel? The art style of The Plain Janes is pared back, but with close attention to expressive facial detail. As with the story itself, the art is simple yet so emotive.
Despite its sweet outward appearance, the message of The Plain Janes is surprisingly moving. It uses a simple storyline and a cast of cute archetypes to drive home a crucial point. This book is for anyone who doesn’t quite fit the mould.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
Despite its chilling premise – fusing ancient Irish mythology with the contemporary dystopian genre – this debut horror story by young adult author [a:Peadar Ó Guilín|5032196|Peadar Ó Guilín|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1442598188p2/5032196.jpg] fell flat. Clichés, shallow characters, and its predictable plot made me cringe from cover to cover.
Until her 10th birthday, Nessa was sheltered from the horrific fate of Irish teenagers – at some point during her teen years, she will be “Called” from her world to be hunted and mutilated by the Sídhe, a fairy race banished to the Grey Lands by an ancient treaty. Despite her crippled legs, Nessa is a strong competitor at her survival school. However, even in her own world, danger lurks in the form of her distracting love interest Anto and the jealous brute Conor.
The idea behind this book hooked me, but by only the second page I knew the badly written characters would get on my nerves. Although I was tempted to put it down, I decided to persevere because the premise was so unique. My overall verdict is that the execution of the strong idea was extremely underwhelming.
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
Firstly, let’s chat about heroine Nessa. Taking obvious inspiration from Katniss Everdeen, Nessa wears an icy façade and is determined to survive against all odds. Disabled and forced to work harder than any other student, she is the clichéd underdog. Unlike Katniss however, she has zero emotional depth. The one attempt to make her relatable – her soft spot for poetry and her classmate Anto – is totally forced. Nessa’s connection with best friend Megan is far more believable, but made me question this unconvincing double standard – if she won’t be with Anto because she’s scared of losing him to the Call, why would she be so vulnerable and intimate with Megan?
Overall, the characters feel underdeveloped. Background characters are predictably flat, but I was underwhelmed by how little heart the main characters have. They all read like caricatures, and none stood out to me as empathetic. Even Nessa’s bestie, Megan, is a potty-mouth brat who refers to her friends as “whores” and “sluts”. Maybe what I’m struggling with is Peadar Ó Guilín’s representation of female characters. To generalise, they’re all backstabbing, butt-kissing bitches.
POINT OF VIEW
The Call largely follows Nessa’s point of view, but sometimes switches to other characters, especially when they are Called. I questioned this decision. We see the Grey Lands and experience the Call several times from the perspective of minor characters before Nessa’s own Call. While these sections are action-packed, I wasn’t invested in any of these background characters’ survival.
The narration style in all sections of the book feels contrived. Constant repetition of unimportant details – if I have to listen to how much the headmistress’s double chin makes her look like a turkey one more time… – destroys the flow of the story. Overall, the narration sounds like an adult attempting to write for children, having forgotten how seriously young people take themselves.
WORLD-BUILDING
The world of the Grey Lands is certainly horrific as advertised, but not enough to terrify young adult readers. I wanted to be thrilled and creeped out but felt like the horror aspect was “babied down” a bit. Also, there was so much wasted opportunity to go to town describing the Grey Lands in all its gut-churning glory. Sentences like the one below are a total cop out.
Also, the everyday world of Ireland and its society were unconvincing. For a nation that obsesses over survival, I didn’t buy that the children would be kept innocent until such a late age, only to be sent to boarding school under the rule of such jaded and broken down teachers.
In conclusion, I can’t possibly recommend The Call for any reason other than its imaginative take on the dystopian genre. Every character and event strikes me as clichéd and forced.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Until her 10th birthday, Nessa was sheltered from the horrific fate of Irish teenagers – at some point during her teen years, she will be “Called” from her world to be hunted and mutilated by the Sídhe, a fairy race banished to the Grey Lands by an ancient treaty. Despite her crippled legs, Nessa is a strong competitor at her survival school. However, even in her own world, danger lurks in the form of her distracting love interest Anto and the jealous brute Conor.
On her tenth birthday Nessa overhears an argument in her parents’ bedroom. She knows nothing about the Three Minutes yet. How could she? The whole of society is working to keep its children innocent. She plays with dolls. She believes the lies about her brother, and when her parents tuck her into bed at night – her grinning dad, her fussy mam – they show her only love. But now, with ten candles on a cake in the kitchen behind her, that’s all supposed to change – page 1
The idea behind this book hooked me, but by only the second page I knew the badly written characters would get on my nerves. Although I was tempted to put it down, I decided to persevere because the premise was so unique. My overall verdict is that the execution of the strong idea was extremely underwhelming.
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
Firstly, let’s chat about heroine Nessa. Taking obvious inspiration from Katniss Everdeen, Nessa wears an icy façade and is determined to survive against all odds. Disabled and forced to work harder than any other student, she is the clichéd underdog. Unlike Katniss however, she has zero emotional depth. The one attempt to make her relatable – her soft spot for poetry and her classmate Anto – is totally forced. Nessa’s connection with best friend Megan is far more believable, but made me question this unconvincing double standard – if she won’t be with Anto because she’s scared of losing him to the Call, why would she be so vulnerable and intimate with Megan?
Overall, the characters feel underdeveloped. Background characters are predictably flat, but I was underwhelmed by how little heart the main characters have. They all read like caricatures, and none stood out to me as empathetic. Even Nessa’s bestie, Megan, is a potty-mouth brat who refers to her friends as “whores” and “sluts”. Maybe what I’m struggling with is Peadar Ó Guilín’s representation of female characters. To generalise, they’re all backstabbing, butt-kissing bitches.
POINT OF VIEW
The Call largely follows Nessa’s point of view, but sometimes switches to other characters, especially when they are Called. I questioned this decision. We see the Grey Lands and experience the Call several times from the perspective of minor characters before Nessa’s own Call. While these sections are action-packed, I wasn’t invested in any of these background characters’ survival.
The narration style in all sections of the book feels contrived. Constant repetition of unimportant details – if I have to listen to how much the headmistress’s double chin makes her look like a turkey one more time… – destroys the flow of the story. Overall, the narration sounds like an adult attempting to write for children, having forgotten how seriously young people take themselves.
WORLD-BUILDING
The world of the Grey Lands is certainly horrific as advertised, but not enough to terrify young adult readers. I wanted to be thrilled and creeped out but felt like the horror aspect was “babied down” a bit. Also, there was so much wasted opportunity to go to town describing the Grey Lands in all its gut-churning glory. Sentences like the one below are a total cop out.
They encounter a dozen sights more horrifying than anything they could have imagined – page 122
Also, the everyday world of Ireland and its society were unconvincing. For a nation that obsesses over survival, I didn’t buy that the children would be kept innocent until such a late age, only to be sent to boarding school under the rule of such jaded and broken down teachers.
In conclusion, I can’t possibly recommend The Call for any reason other than its imaginative take on the dystopian genre. Every character and event strikes me as clichéd and forced.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
[a:China Miéville|33918|China Miéville|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1243988363p2/33918.jpg]'s brand new novella boasts contemporary style as well as the grace of an old classic. It uses the power of silence and suggestion to make a lasting emotional impact. Isolated on a mountaintop with his parents, a seven-year-old boy believes his key-maker father is a murderer. Lacking proof, he has no option but to live under a shadow of fear.
The unconventional use of point of view in the opening paragraph drew me in. Throughout the novella, the unnamed narrator flows between first, second, and third person points of view. Although this may sound like overkill, the different viewpoints achieve different variations of emotional intimacy. I felt like the grown-up narrator was distancing himself from his seven-year-old self, possibly to finish mourning his unhappy childhood.
The atmosphere of dread is palpable. Even before the boy fears his father for being a murderer, he has an unhealthy, shame-driven respect for his parents, fuelled by their coldness towards him. As the plot thickens, the tension between father and son develops insidiously.
I appreciate how believable the dialogue is. Since the boy internalises his feelings, he observes rather than speaks most of the time. The pared back dialogue leaves only what’s crucial to the plot.
The mother-son relationship in This Census-Taker stood out to me. The boy’s mother never shows conventionally maternal love and empathy. This contrasts with the boy’s relationship with Samma, a street girl who risks her own safety to protect him. I like that the mother disrupts gender stereotypes to be cold and self-serving, rather than warm and welcoming.
Silence is embedded throughout the story. Although he describes the mountain setting richly, Miéville deliberately leaves some gaps unfilled to reflect how little the boy knows of the outside world. We can only speculate on what else is out there.
This novella represents unhealthy relationships from a child’s point of view. However your imagination fills in the gaps, This Census-Taker is gripping and memorable.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
A boy ran down a hill path screaming. The boy was I. He held his hands up and out in front of him as if he’d dipped them in paint and was coming to make a picture, to press them down to paper, but all there was on him was dirt. There was no blood on his palms – page 1
The unconventional use of point of view in the opening paragraph drew me in. Throughout the novella, the unnamed narrator flows between first, second, and third person points of view. Although this may sound like overkill, the different viewpoints achieve different variations of emotional intimacy. I felt like the grown-up narrator was distancing himself from his seven-year-old self, possibly to finish mourning his unhappy childhood.
The atmosphere of dread is palpable. Even before the boy fears his father for being a murderer, he has an unhealthy, shame-driven respect for his parents, fuelled by their coldness towards him. As the plot thickens, the tension between father and son develops insidiously.
My father passed me. He looked briefly at me as you might at a stump or a broken machine or anything that’s specific only in that it’s in your way, to walk around it as my father did me. I knew he was taking the dead bird to the rubbish hole, that he’d throw it up so it would curve as it had to and descend; I knew that day my father was feeding only the darkness – page 63
I appreciate how believable the dialogue is. Since the boy internalises his feelings, he observes rather than speaks most of the time. The pared back dialogue leaves only what’s crucial to the plot.
The mother-son relationship in This Census-Taker stood out to me. The boy’s mother never shows conventionally maternal love and empathy. This contrasts with the boy’s relationship with Samma, a street girl who risks her own safety to protect him. I like that the mother disrupts gender stereotypes to be cold and self-serving, rather than warm and welcoming.
When my mother gave a sort of shudder and held out her hand I found out I was crying. She didn’t sweep me up or whisper to me but she rose and stumbled urgently toward me through the ankle-traps of her vegetables and reached for me and I came to her with my own arms wide and she took both my hands in one of hers and walk-dragged me as fast as she could out of sight of the house, out of earshot of the impacts … My mother leaned back on a tree. She still held my hands at the end of her stiff arm, so I could go no further from nor get any closer to her – page 72
Silence is embedded throughout the story. Although he describes the mountain setting richly, Miéville deliberately leaves some gaps unfilled to reflect how little the boy knows of the outside world. We can only speculate on what else is out there.
This novella represents unhealthy relationships from a child’s point of view. However your imagination fills in the gaps, This Census-Taker is gripping and memorable.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Despite its name, Springtime: A Ghost Story is not actually a ghost story. This book thoughtfully explores a young Australian woman's "ghosts" to show how the past is not easily left behind when trying to forge a new future.
Frances and her partner, Charlie, have chips on their shoulders. They both want a life separate from the ways of their parents, but now share many of their parents' idiosyncrasies. When Frances spies a ghostly woman in her neighbour's garden, it puts her relationships and past into a new perspective.
At the time of the story, Charlie has recently left his wife and six-year-old son in Melbourne to be with Frances. When the little boy visits them in Sydney, Frances notices how his mannerisms mirror his mother's. She suspects the recent creepy phone calls are from her as well. Like a ghost, the woman maintains a lingering malevolent presence in their lives, despite their attempts to cut her out of it.
Since this book is only 97 pages long, it skims the surface of a much deeper story to give us an efficient snapshot of the characters and their setting. For instance, Frances researches objects in 18th century French portraits, but this topic scarcely comes up. She doesn't have a lot of dialogue, but I still gleaned a clear idea of who she is. I got the impression that Frances just gets on with her life somewhere beyond the page. In fact, setting is the only thing de Kretser lingers over. I especially enjoyed her vivid and pared back descriptions of trees and flowers.
My hardback edition is scattered with glossy pages with a black silhouetted flower against a brown background. Only one side is printed and the reverse reminded me of the back of gift wrapping paper. I don't feel these added to the experience in any way. If you have this edition, what's your opinion?
Despite being technically well-written, I ultimately rated Springtime: A Ghost Story two stars. It gave me something to think about while reading, but didn't challenge me enough to linger in my thoughts after finishing. However, reading a book set in Australia is always an interesting experience.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Frances and her partner, Charlie, have chips on their shoulders. They both want a life separate from the ways of their parents, but now share many of their parents' idiosyncrasies. When Frances spies a ghostly woman in her neighbour's garden, it puts her relationships and past into a new perspective.
The previous year, at a party to which Frances almost didn't go, she had met Charlie. His mother, too, was French. Charlie and Frances discovered that as children they had both called a fart a prout. Frances told her friends that Charlie had been unlucky in his women. After his parents divorced, his mother, a drunk, had gone home to live in a tower block in Nice. When her son visited her, she stole from his wallet and made him massage her feet. Now, she was dead. That meant Charlie was free of her, Frances believed - page 6
At the time of the story, Charlie has recently left his wife and six-year-old son in Melbourne to be with Frances. When the little boy visits them in Sydney, Frances notices how his mannerisms mirror his mother's. She suspects the recent creepy phone calls are from her as well. Like a ghost, the woman maintains a lingering malevolent presence in their lives, despite their attempts to cut her out of it.
Since this book is only 97 pages long, it skims the surface of a much deeper story to give us an efficient snapshot of the characters and their setting. For instance, Frances researches objects in 18th century French portraits, but this topic scarcely comes up. She doesn't have a lot of dialogue, but I still gleaned a clear idea of who she is. I got the impression that Frances just gets on with her life somewhere beyond the page. In fact, setting is the only thing de Kretser lingers over. I especially enjoyed her vivid and pared back descriptions of trees and flowers.
My hardback edition is scattered with glossy pages with a black silhouetted flower against a brown background. Only one side is printed and the reverse reminded me of the back of gift wrapping paper. I don't feel these added to the experience in any way. If you have this edition, what's your opinion?
Despite being technically well-written, I ultimately rated Springtime: A Ghost Story two stars. It gave me something to think about while reading, but didn't challenge me enough to linger in my thoughts after finishing. However, reading a book set in Australia is always an interesting experience.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.