visorforavisor's reviews
9 reviews
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson
challenging
dark
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Decent book. I’m still confused by the late-nineteenth-century belief that ugliness correlates with moral depravity (see also: Dorian Gray), but I did enjoy this and I liked that it wasn’t dragged out. It reads nicely at the length it is. Discussions of people’s good and bad natures are interesting. Also, general understanding of this book lied to me. It’s not about a guy with a personality disorder. It’s about a guy who wants to get away with doing bad things.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Murder
Frankenstein: The 1818 Text, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Good book. Read it for school.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Murder
Minor: Xenophobia
Torchwood: SUV, by Ash Darby
funny
lighthearted
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Tosh and Ianto are the best friendship pairing in Torchwood. I love them so much. And this was just a delight. Gareth David-Lloyd and Naoko Mori act wonderfully together.
As ever, Ianto is autistic and his meltdown in this story was very emotional for me. Poor Ianto. I love him.
As ever, Ianto is autistic and his meltdown in this story was very emotional for me. Poor Ianto. I love him.
The Story of the Hundred Promises, by Neil Cochrane
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
I can barely begin to adequately express how wonderful this book was. The fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast, reimagined with a trans boy, was always going to be something that I would enjoy, but the delight of The Story of the Hundred Promises goes far beyond that.
The most wonderful thing about it is the world-building. This goes further than anything else I’ve ever read with the concept of “gender is a social construct”, by pointing out that not only is gender constructed, but the way in which it interacts with our lives is too.
For instance, our main character Darragh introduces himself sometimes as “Darragh he Thorn”. This is a custom which exists in some of the places in the book, the structure of “[given name] [pronoun] [family name]”. In other places, he introduces himself as “Goodman Darragh”. Not only do the customs vary from place to place as he travels around, but none of the customs match modern Western ones. It’s so wonderfully thought-out. Before a person introduces themself with their gender, the narration consistently uses neutral pronouns for them. It is delightful.
The use of the e, em, eir, eirs, emself pronoun — while signposted in a note at the beginning of the book — is so natural throughout the book. I can only commend Neil Cochrane on this. Fair play. Not only does the pronoun feel natural, it feels normal: and not only that, but widespread.
Yet more world-building that i really enjoyed: the sailors’ tattoos. Darragh is a sailor; he and his fellow sailors wear a variety of tattoos to communicate things to each other. Where “[given name] [pronoun] [family name]” and “[honourific] [given name]” are too formal for the rough sailors, Darragh has a mermaid’s-purse with a harpoon to indicate that he is to be referred to as male, and a friend of his wears interlocking triangles to show that she enjoys the company of other women. Darragh has a three-faced head to show he is trans. It’s wonderful.
Additionally, while many of the queer characters do experience negativity from others on the basis of their queerness, this reads on the whole as individual cruelty rather than a small part of more consistent or organised bigotry. When Darragh’s father does not believe Darragh to be a man, or when [redacted]’s friend refuses to believe they cannot experience romantic love, these do not feel like common experiences.
It was refreshing and happy to see it acknowledged that these things happen in a story that also tells us that discrimination is not an inherent part of society.
As a side point, I really enjoyed the enormous number of Celtic names in this. Just good fun.
The exploration of Merrigan’s feelings about eir genderlessness and what it means for em was, I thought, beautifully done, and the word “gender-kin” is just perfect.
To finish up a very very positive review, I must note that Neil Cochrane has done a tremendous job of making the narration sound like a fairy tale without it sounding in any way stilted. Bravo.
Please, please go and read this.
The most wonderful thing about it is the world-building. This goes further than anything else I’ve ever read with the concept of “gender is a social construct”, by pointing out that not only is gender constructed, but the way in which it interacts with our lives is too.
For instance, our main character Darragh introduces himself sometimes as “Darragh he Thorn”. This is a custom which exists in some of the places in the book, the structure of “[given name] [pronoun] [family name]”. In other places, he introduces himself as “Goodman Darragh”. Not only do the customs vary from place to place as he travels around, but none of the customs match modern Western ones. It’s so wonderfully thought-out. Before a person introduces themself with their gender, the narration consistently uses neutral pronouns for them. It is delightful.
The use of the e, em, eir, eirs, emself pronoun — while signposted in a note at the beginning of the book — is so natural throughout the book. I can only commend Neil Cochrane on this. Fair play. Not only does the pronoun feel natural, it feels normal: and not only that, but widespread.
Yet more world-building that i really enjoyed: the sailors’ tattoos. Darragh is a sailor; he and his fellow sailors wear a variety of tattoos to communicate things to each other. Where “[given name] [pronoun] [family name]” and “[honourific] [given name]” are too formal for the rough sailors, Darragh has a mermaid’s-purse with a harpoon to indicate that he is to be referred to as male, and a friend of his wears interlocking triangles to show that she enjoys the company of other women. Darragh has a three-faced head to show he is trans. It’s wonderful.
Additionally, while many of the queer characters do experience negativity from others on the basis of their queerness, this reads on the whole as individual cruelty rather than a small part of more consistent or organised bigotry. When Darragh’s father does not believe Darragh to be a man, or when [redacted]’s friend refuses to believe they cannot experience romantic love, these do not feel like common experiences.
It was refreshing and happy to see it acknowledged that these things happen in a story that also tells us that discrimination is not an inherent part of society.
As a side point, I really enjoyed the enormous number of Celtic names in this. Just good fun.
The exploration of Merrigan’s feelings about eir genderlessness and what it means for em was, I thought, beautifully done, and the word “gender-kin” is just perfect.
To finish up a very very positive review, I must note that Neil Cochrane has done a tremendous job of making the narration sound like a fairy tale without it sounding in any way stilted. Bravo.
Please, please go and read this.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Transphobia and Homophobia
Fanny and Stella: The Young Men Who Shocked Victorian England, by Neil McKenna
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
4.0
Neil McKenna’s Fanny and Stella is a mixed bag.
To sum up its positives: it’s a gloriously written perspective on an integral and often forgotten part of queer history; it is very respectful of the shifting, changing, unorthodox identities of the women themselves; it gives a concise and informative vignette of the situation for queer people in late-Victorian times; it shows the overlaps of the treatment of trans women and gay men in this era, because oppressors have never cared about the difference.
To sum up its negatives: it’s a really, really odd mixture of narrative and fact, unable to decide which it is, and which describes people’s thoughts and emotions in a manner bordering on conjecture; it appears at times to be grasping at straws for topics to fill the pages.
All of this said, it was a wonderful read which I strongly recommend to anyone looking to expand their knowledge of queer history of the era. It even references, in its epilogue, the even less famous 1884 trial of several Dublin Castle officials, which is far more complex than Fanny and Stella’s in its political implications. The style in which the book discusses the two women at its centre is reverent and respectful. It truly does feel like the book is honouring the two of them. As well as this, its discussions of sex work, homophobia, and other such facts of Victorian life were frank and easy to read.
Well worth picking up a copy of this!
To sum up its positives: it’s a gloriously written perspective on an integral and often forgotten part of queer history; it is very respectful of the shifting, changing, unorthodox identities of the women themselves; it gives a concise and informative vignette of the situation for queer people in late-Victorian times; it shows the overlaps of the treatment of trans women and gay men in this era, because oppressors have never cared about the difference.
To sum up its negatives: it’s a really, really odd mixture of narrative and fact, unable to decide which it is, and which describes people’s thoughts and emotions in a manner bordering on conjecture; it appears at times to be grasping at straws for topics to fill the pages.
All of this said, it was a wonderful read which I strongly recommend to anyone looking to expand their knowledge of queer history of the era. It even references, in its epilogue, the even less famous 1884 trial of several Dublin Castle officials, which is far more complex than Fanny and Stella’s in its political implications. The style in which the book discusses the two women at its centre is reverent and respectful. It truly does feel like the book is honouring the two of them. As well as this, its discussions of sex work, homophobia, and other such facts of Victorian life were frank and easy to read.
Well worth picking up a copy of this!
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual assault, Homophobia, and Transphobia
Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier
dark
mysterious
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
It’s been years since I read du Maurier’s classic, Rebecca, and it’s still just as good — better, even.
The tension in the story, the alluring kindness of Maxim de Winter, and the fact that his past with Rebecca is getting in the way of him expressing his true affections to his young bride are simply fantastic to read. The pace of the story is very slow but somehow the pages just flew by. It doesn’t feel as though the book is as long as it is (well over a hundred thousand words, I believe). The characters are varying degrees of relatability: personally I see a lot of myself in our nameless narrator, and I love Frank Crawley; Beatrice is the kind of bumbling, filterless person I really like; and Maxim does try, bless him.
Oddly, despite the inevitable historical language, I actually didn’t mind the portrayal of the “idiot”, Ben. The acknowledgement that people do abuse and manipulate us (mentally disabled people), and make threats that nobody would ever believe have been made, felt good. The simple fact, too, that he is a nice person was wonderful. For 1938 it’s good!
The intrigue and mystery surrounding the late Rebecca de Winter is one of the best tension-fuelled factors in any book. For more or less the entire story, our narrator is motivated by her desire to live up to Rebecca and what she represented, even just in the estimation of Maxim; I think that she could take or leave people like the bishop’s wife. As we find out more and more about Rebecca and how universally adored she was, our picture of her becomes clearer — and the periodic reminders that she died by drowning make us feel sicker.
I remembered the reveal from the last time I read this (about six years ago), but it was still so bloody good. The suspense, the heightened emotions, the tightly-strung importance of that scene: they were so strong, just like the scent that our narrator finds on Rebecca’s things.
Maxim’s behaviour is dubious, and he is careless. I don’t think, however, that he is the abuser that some would have painted him as. He is emotionally disconnected and hasn’t done a lot of the work that he should have. I think, though, if we claim he’s manipulating his second wife, we remove her agency. She knows he’s a shitty person. Her decision (which it is) to still love him makes her interesting (as well as considerate, I think, given the circumstances of why he did what he did). He treats her badly sometimes, out of what I believe is carelessness and emotional trauma from having been abused, but he also treats her well when he realises what her problems are. They’re both absolutely dreadful communicators, and — don’t get me wrong — he could have been a lot nicer about the whole dress thing. But I think some people could do with remembering that men can be abused too.
The tension in the story, the alluring kindness of Maxim de Winter, and the fact that his past with Rebecca is getting in the way of him expressing his true affections to his young bride are simply fantastic to read. The pace of the story is very slow but somehow the pages just flew by. It doesn’t feel as though the book is as long as it is (well over a hundred thousand words, I believe). The characters are varying degrees of relatability: personally I see a lot of myself in our nameless narrator, and I love Frank Crawley; Beatrice is the kind of bumbling, filterless person I really like; and Maxim does try, bless him.
Oddly, despite the inevitable historical language, I actually didn’t mind the portrayal of the “idiot”, Ben. The acknowledgement that people do abuse and manipulate us (mentally disabled people), and make threats that nobody would ever believe have been made, felt good. The simple fact, too, that he is a nice person was wonderful. For 1938 it’s good!
The intrigue and mystery surrounding the late Rebecca de Winter is one of the best tension-fuelled factors in any book. For more or less the entire story, our narrator is motivated by her desire to live up to Rebecca and what she represented, even just in the estimation of Maxim; I think that she could take or leave people like the bishop’s wife. As we find out more and more about Rebecca and how universally adored she was, our picture of her becomes clearer — and the periodic reminders that she died by drowning make us feel sicker.
I remembered the reveal from the last time I read this (about six years ago), but it was still so bloody good. The suspense, the heightened emotions, the tightly-strung importance of that scene: they were so strong, just like the scent that our narrator finds on Rebecca’s things.
Maxim’s behaviour is dubious, and he is careless. I don’t think, however, that he is the abuser that some would have painted him as. He is emotionally disconnected and hasn’t done a lot of the work that he should have. I think, though, if we claim he’s manipulating his second wife, we remove her agency. She knows he’s a shitty person. Her decision (which it is) to still love him makes her interesting (as well as considerate, I think, given the circumstances of why he did what he did). He treats her badly sometimes, out of what I believe is carelessness and emotional trauma from having been abused, but he also treats her well when he realises what her problems are. They’re both absolutely dreadful communicators, and — don’t get me wrong — he could have been a lot nicer about the whole dress thing. But I think some people could do with remembering that men can be abused too.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Toxic relationship, Animal death, Emotional abuse, and Murder
Moderate: Incest and Suicide
Minor: Cancer and Terminal illness
The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde
challenging
dark
reflective
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
As a quick note beforehand: I acknowledge and do not approve of Wilde’s use of negative stereotypes of Jewish people in this.
The last time I read this, I knew next to nothing about the meaning of it in the context of the intense homophobia of the late-19th-century UK. But, reading it now, I realise how brave Oscar Wilde was to publish this. I quote from the original, uncensored version, Basil speaking to Dorian:
“It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man should ever give to a friend. Somehow, I had never loved a woman. […] I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. […] Of course I never let you know anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would not have understood it. […] But, as I worked at it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. There was love in every line, and in every touch there was passion. As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped.”
And this is just one of the most blatant examples, one that had to be cut. There aren’t “homoerotic undertones” in Dorian. There is no “gay subtext”. It’s. About homosexuality. The whole book is about homosexuality. Even that bit at the start, about judging a book on its morality vs judging it on how well-written it is; what, it’s a coincidence that everyone ignored a beautifully written book because its gayness went against their morals?
All three couples possible between Dorian, Basil, and Henry are implied to have existed. Dorian almost certainly had a beyond-platonic relationship with Alan, who he later blackmails (a crime that comes later than murder, even as we know that his crimes become worse and worse… absolutely nothing [/s] to do with blackmail being the primary crime against gay men in this era, especially since we aren’t told what the blackmail material is, but we are told about Alan and Dorian’s “intimacy”). Dorian is repeatedly compared to male favourites of kings. He goes to a costume ball, in drag, dressed as a male favourite of Henri III of France. (Was it just chance that this is a similar name to Henry Wotton’s? Probably not.) Dorian owns homes, in which he and Henry holiday together, in known homosexual hotspots. He also attends brothels in an area known for its brothels having men for hire.
Dorian, thinking about how Basil’s affection and good nature could have saved him:
The love that he bore him — for it was really love — had nothing in it that was not noble and intellectual. It was not that mere physical admiration of beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses tire. It was such love as Michael Angelo had known, and Montaigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him.
All the men named had homosexual relationships, and Wilde knew this. Compare with Wilde’s speech, in court, for the crime of homosexuality:
“The love that dare not speak its name” in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as “the love that dare not speak its name”, and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope, and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it.
(It’s worth noting that while Wilde does emphasise the younger and older men being in a relationship together, he’s not talking about paedophilia: Dorian is 20 when the story begins, and Henry 30. Basil’s age is unknown but he and Henry are simoultaneously called “young”, so he is probably between the two in age.)
This speech of Wilde’s, pretty much, sums up the relationship of Dorian with the combination of Basil and Henry. In the first chapters, Dorian does have “all the joy, hope, and glamour of life before him”. References to some of the same men not only continue to show parallels between these passages but make it absolutely undebatable that Wilde was saying Basil was gay. The similar use of the words “noble” and “intellectual”, all of it.
Dorian Gray is arguing on behalf of homosexuality.
The last time I read this, I knew next to nothing about the meaning of it in the context of the intense homophobia of the late-19th-century UK. But, reading it now, I realise how brave Oscar Wilde was to publish this. I quote from the original, uncensored version, Basil speaking to Dorian:
“It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man should ever give to a friend. Somehow, I had never loved a woman. […] I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. […] Of course I never let you know anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would not have understood it. […] But, as I worked at it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. There was love in every line, and in every touch there was passion. As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped.”
And this is just one of the most blatant examples, one that had to be cut. There aren’t “homoerotic undertones” in Dorian. There is no “gay subtext”. It’s. About homosexuality. The whole book is about homosexuality. Even that bit at the start, about judging a book on its morality vs judging it on how well-written it is; what, it’s a coincidence that everyone ignored a beautifully written book because its gayness went against their morals?
All three couples possible between Dorian, Basil, and Henry are implied to have existed. Dorian almost certainly had a beyond-platonic relationship with Alan, who he later blackmails (a crime that comes later than murder, even as we know that his crimes become worse and worse… absolutely nothing [/s] to do with blackmail being the primary crime against gay men in this era, especially since we aren’t told what the blackmail material is, but we are told about Alan and Dorian’s “intimacy”). Dorian is repeatedly compared to male favourites of kings. He goes to a costume ball, in drag, dressed as a male favourite of Henri III of France. (Was it just chance that this is a similar name to Henry Wotton’s? Probably not.) Dorian owns homes, in which he and Henry holiday together, in known homosexual hotspots. He also attends brothels in an area known for its brothels having men for hire.
Dorian, thinking about how Basil’s affection and good nature could have saved him:
The love that he bore him — for it was really love — had nothing in it that was not noble and intellectual. It was not that mere physical admiration of beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses tire. It was such love as Michael Angelo had known, and Montaigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him.
All the men named had homosexual relationships, and Wilde knew this. Compare with Wilde’s speech, in court, for the crime of homosexuality:
“The love that dare not speak its name” in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as “the love that dare not speak its name”, and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope, and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it.
(It’s worth noting that while Wilde does emphasise the younger and older men being in a relationship together, he’s not talking about paedophilia: Dorian is 20 when the story begins, and Henry 30. Basil’s age is unknown but he and Henry are simoultaneously called “young”, so he is probably between the two in age.)
This speech of Wilde’s, pretty much, sums up the relationship of Dorian with the combination of Basil and Henry. In the first chapters, Dorian does have “all the joy, hope, and glamour of life before him”. References to some of the same men not only continue to show parallels between these passages but make it absolutely undebatable that Wilde was saying Basil was gay. The similar use of the words “noble” and “intellectual”, all of it.
Dorian Gray is arguing on behalf of homosexuality.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Blood, Death, Murder, and Violence
Moderate: Antisemitism, Gaslighting, Grief, Suicide, and Drug use
Minor: Sexism
Queen of the Tiles, by Hanna Alkaf
adventurous
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
Oh, this was a good one.
Queen of the Tiles was just what I needed to get me back into mystery. A murder story set at a Scrabble tournament in Malaysia. Najwa was the perfect hero: unsure of her own memory, desperately devoted to deceased best friend Trina Low, and sharply intelligent. The narration’s opinions on Mark, Josh, Puteri, Yasmin, Shuba, Singapore Ben, and everyone else were fantastic fun to read, and the entire thing felt so real.
This was an absolute page-turning, couldn’t-put-it-down, heart-pounding book. Hanna Alkaf is a brilliant writer.
Queen of the Tiles was just what I needed to get me back into mystery. A murder story set at a Scrabble tournament in Malaysia. Najwa was the perfect hero: unsure of her own memory, desperately devoted to deceased best friend Trina Low, and sharply intelligent. The narration’s opinions on Mark, Josh, Puteri, Yasmin, Shuba, Singapore Ben, and everyone else were fantastic fun to read, and the entire thing felt so real.
This was an absolute page-turning, couldn’t-put-it-down, heart-pounding book. Hanna Alkaf is a brilliant writer.
A Kind of Spark, by Elle McNicoll
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
fast-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? No
5.0
I don’t know if I can ever adequately express how perfect this book is. I was diagnosed autistic at 16 and am now 18, well beyond the intended age range for A Kind of Spark.
The thing is, though, I was once an autistic 11-year-old. Even if I didn’t know it, I was that. And to see the bullying I received actually represented, and presented as bad, and to see the way that neurotypicals are just so totally unreasonable so much of the time, and… I cried.
Keedie saying that her and Addie’s autism is “mild because we make it so”, and that it’s not mild to them, is so powerful and true, especially for someone like me who has been masking for their entire life (as in, nobody has ever seen my base level, so my base level is assumed to be much more normal than it is). I loved the discussion of Keedie’s difficulties at university, and the way that comment sections tend to respons when online vloggers and the like put up a video with an autistic family member. I thought that the parallels the book posed between witch trials and the sectioning of autistic people were very poignant and accurate.
And unreasonable teachers. Oh yeah, I’ve had a few. They were like Ms Murphy.
Books like this will not only teach autistic and otherwise neurodivergent 11-year-olds that they are the heroes of stories, but will also teach neurotypical 11-year-olds that autistics are heroes. Elle McNicoll and all of the authors like her are doing wonderful things for the next generation of kids like me.
The thing is, though, I was once an autistic 11-year-old. Even if I didn’t know it, I was that. And to see the bullying I received actually represented, and presented as bad, and to see the way that neurotypicals are just so totally unreasonable so much of the time, and… I cried.
Keedie saying that her and Addie’s autism is “mild because we make it so”, and that it’s not mild to them, is so powerful and true, especially for someone like me who has been masking for their entire life (as in, nobody has ever seen my base level, so my base level is assumed to be much more normal than it is). I loved the discussion of Keedie’s difficulties at university, and the way that comment sections tend to respons when online vloggers and the like put up a video with an autistic family member. I thought that the parallels the book posed between witch trials and the sectioning of autistic people were very poignant and accurate.
And unreasonable teachers. Oh yeah, I’ve had a few. They were like Ms Murphy.
Books like this will not only teach autistic and otherwise neurodivergent 11-year-olds that they are the heroes of stories, but will also teach neurotypical 11-year-olds that autistics are heroes. Elle McNicoll and all of the authors like her are doing wonderful things for the next generation of kids like me.
Content Warnings
Minor: Ableism
There is an ableist slur, uncensored, in the context of a bully using it.
More...