Review: A Mango-Shaped Space by Wendy Mass

A Mango-Shaped Space was the first of four full books I read over the Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-thon period. I almost always try and use events like these to get through some of the older books on my TBR pile and this was no exception. In fact, the receipt tucked inside my copy tells me that I've owned this book since March 2012... well, I won't be owning it for much longer, that's safe to say.

Plot summary: Mia Winchell has synesthesia, the mingling of perceptions whereby a person can see sounds, smell colors, and taste shapes. Forced to reveal her condition, she must look to herself to develop an understanding and appreciation of her gift in this coming-of-age novel.

Good thing that's not a vague blurb or anything... But yes, basically, Mia has synesthesia, a condition thought to include Van Vogh and David Hockney as sufferors (and also allegedly Kanye West, but never mind that). I can sort of understand this as, while I don't see colours, I do associate them with certain things/people and can get quite stressed out when real life doesn't always conform. But I'll leave this train of thought here before I get angry comments telling me that OCD isn't the same as synesthesia (a fact of which I am very aware). 

I do have a soft spot for novels about mental health. The Shock of the Fall was one of the best books I've read all year and I completely fell in love with The Silver Linings Playbook. However, you'll note that both those books are aimed at adult readers and A Mango-Shaped Space most definitely is not. The language is very simple, but that's fine as it's aimed at younger readers and I got used to that after a few pages anyway.

The problem is how easy the whole thing is. Mia decides for no apparent reason to mention her difficulties to her parents after thirteen years of not doing so and then has a diagnosis within three days? Yeeeeeah, I don't think so. I understand that middle-grade books are always going to have simpler plots than adult novels and that it's trying to reinforce talking to your parents about your struggles... but I feel it's setting children up to believe that mental health diagnoses are instant. I just don't want children to feel that its all in their heads etc. when they're told that there's nothing wrong with them (which they invariably will be). 

*breathes* Issues? Who, me? 

The other slightly role-modely issue with A Mango-Shaped Space is that I'm preeeeeeeetty (read: absolutely and completely) sure that synesthesia doesn't allow sufferors to guess people's moods or tell whether people are lying. Wow, that's insulting. I was flabberghasted and I don't even have it. I mean, what is this book aiming for? 'Oh, I thought I had this because I can see music and taste sounds... but oh no, I can't have. I'm not additionally and randomly psychic, so there goes that idea.'

I can't wait to tell them about the acupuncture, which, cool as it was, did get to be pretty distracting. But if my abilities had been stronger tonight, I would have been able to see exactly what Adam was feeling when he kissed me. That could have been useful.

ARGH. Even if I agree to let the use of the word 'abilities' go, you would not have been able to see how he felt, regardless of how strong your symptoms are. You have an illness; you are not one of the X-Men.

Mia's also kind of a cowbag. While I did want her to get better, I liked her in absolutely no way at all. She's a horrible little primadonna. At one point she goes all mental about the fact that she boiled some pasta to go with some salad her mother made, and nobody thanked her for the salad. Really!? Did you thank your Mum for making the salad? Did you thank her the 56,000 times she's made you pasta!? And just like that I've realised why I rarely read contemporary YA- because I almost always side with the parents.

I appreciate what this book is trying to do, kind of. Synesthesia is rarely heard of and it must be comforting for children to have a novel they can read for reassurance that they're not crazy. The problem is a) it's more about a girl who happens to have synesthesia while she grieves over her deceased grandfather, and b) I really feel like it might give them the wrong end of the stick. Synesthesia makes you a mind-reader, remember?

Read a more positive review of A Mango-Shaped Space at Hearts At Play - this review also explains how synesthesia works much better than I did!

Review: Tell The Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

I... don't understand. I genuinely and utterly feel like I've missed something with Tell The Wolves I'm Home, as I don't feel moved, tearful or even a little sad. I mean, I didn't hate it but it's a profound 'meh' from me on this one, if such a thing isn't too much of an oxymoron.

Plot summary:
There's only one person who has ever truly understood fourteen-year-old June Elbus, and that's her uncle, the renowned painter, Finn Weiss. Shy at school and distant from her once inseparable older sister, June can only be herself in Finn's company; he is her godfather, confident, and best friend. So when he dies far too young of a mysterious illness that June’s mother can barely bring herself to discuss, June's world is turned upside down.


At the funeral, she notices a strange man lingering just beyond the crowd, and a few days later, June receives a package in the mail. Inside is a beautiful teapot she recognizes from Finn's apartment, and a note from Toby, the stranger, asking for an opportunity to meet.


A the two begin to spend time together, June realises she's not the only one who misses Finn, and if she can bring herself to trust this unexpected friend, he might just be the one she needs the most.

I really like the idea of this plot - older relative dies of AIDS and a close younger relative discovers his secret gay lover. It just really appealed to me as something slightly different and I care quite a lot about HIV/AIDS and the associated hysteria in the 1980s. Except I nearly gave up after twenty pages. Tell The Wolves I'm Home is horrendously emotionally manipulative - I've read My Sister's Keeper and it wasn't THIS bad. It's not even subtle - you're really, really bashed over the head with the Sad Mallet to the point where I felt that AIDS was being used almost.

In the end I was glad I persevered. I got into it properly after roughly a third of the book or so, when the drama had settled down and the character growth began. There were plot points I liked and some (more) that I didn't, but occasionally I saw some nice touches that gave the book a bit of character. The room in the basement, for example, or the portrait.

The problem was, I hated everyone. I know that's almost the point of a book like this one - I was shocked and almost offended by the general attitude and ignorance towards AIDS. I know it was basically prompted by fear of the unknown illness, but June's family's treatment of Toby just angered me. So yes, manipulativeness aside, I understand my dislike. Unfortunately I also hated June, which is most probably not the point.

She's annoying, wet and sulky. Theoretically she's fourteen but I struggled with thinking of her as anything but around ten years old. My biggest issue with June, though, was her relationship with her uncle. Not necessarily that she had feelings for him because I'm sure that's natural, but that everybody knew and encouraged it. Why did nobody, including him, deal with that in a sympathetic and understanding manner? I don't see it as necessary - the plot would have worked just as well with a close uncle/neice relationship, so why shove that in there?

Let's move on to Greta. Again, she's over-done and unrealistic. I'm used to stroppy teenagers in fiction but she's too over-the-top and just becomes an irritatingly Actual Bad Person. Also...

Spoilers below. Highlight to read.

What the hell is with the whole 'Oh, I'll just lay down in the woods and dramatically cover myself in leaves because I know June will be psychic enough to decide she has to find me?' crap. WHAT IS THAT!? I think that stuck out as the most unrealistic and over-dramatic part of the whole novel. Which takes some doing.

Spoilers over. 

I think I'm done with ranting about the characters. I know I've spent most of this review discussing them, but they spoilt the book for me. They're just the standard stereotypes of loner girl, bitchy sister, kind uncle, distant mother but then with bits of unrealistic weirdness thrown in.

I guess my main point about Tell The Wolves I'm Home is that it tries too hard. If the story had just been simply about a girl whose uncle died of AIDS and so she sets out to befriend his secret lover, that would have been fine. I would have been moved and affected quite naturally, but this way was too forced and I ended up irritated. As you may have noticed.

Read more positive reviews of Tell The Wolves I'm Home at An Armchair by the Sea and Devouring Texts. 

Review: Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor

Signs of Life was a completely random pick from Sheffield Library's shelves last week. I have absolutely no idea what prompted me to pick it up other than a desperate need to avoid going home empty handed, but it wouldn't be a usual choice for me.

This is Natalie Taylor's story. It starts the day her husband dies and ends sixteen months later on their son's first birthday.

Natalie's journey from wife to widow to mother is heartbreaking, blackly funny and will move you to laughter and tears as she makes it across that finish line. And you have no doubt she will make it because Natalie is a warrior and a woman to cheer for.

I can't help but cringe as I type out that summary. It's just awful. Although it's fairly accurate about the plot, the tone of the book is absolutely nothing like that. To start, it's not funny. It's just not, in any way, shape or form. Secondly, the last sentence makes Signs of Life seem like some empowering, feminist self-help novel about coping with grief, and it's not that either. It's just a perfectly average woman writing about the sixteen months after her husband, Josh, dies. I wouldn't describe her as a warrior and yes, she is a woman to cheer for - but so is every widowed, pregnant newly-wed.  

The theory goes that every word of this book (minus a few name changes) is completely identical to her diary entries of the time, but obviously I'm not sure how true that is. On one hand, some parts (particularly the ending) seem so unrealistically twee that I can't help but think they're completely fictional. They just tie in too neatly with the whole 'woman finding herself after tragedy' shtick, if you know what I mean.

On the other hand, there are parts that I most certainly would have edited out if I were Natalie Taylor and not dedicated to preserving the truth. I understand that her husband and father of her unborn child had just been killed, but the abuse she subjects her in-laws to in this book is horrendous. She just can't seem to understand that Josh's other family members are suffering too - she doesn't appreciate anything they do for her and constantly insults their very personalities. She's just so ungrateful and whiny. I'm not criticising her attitude per se - obviously I've never been widowed at 24 and so can't judge the feelings of those who have. I just wonder at her judgement in choosing to publish something that can only serve to alienate those trying to help her.

Why are these people more popular than Marianne Pearl? Why don't we interview Marianne Pearl? (I know, I know, Oprah did interview Marianne Pearl, which is why we never judge Oprah). Still, so sickening. So frustrating. I just feel like I am the one who should be rich and famous, not them. I am going through this horrible fucking situation; doesn't the universe owe me something? Don't I get to be on Oprah?

Mrs Taylor is also incredibly judgemental about anybody who isn't... well, Mrs Taylor. She joins a support group for single mothers and spends the entire time complaining how their situations can't possibly relate to hers because she's not a) 18 (in fact, she's an oh-so-worldly 24) and b) she didn't choose to raise her baby alone. This actually grated on me quite a lot - who says that the other women there were responsible for their own situations? Natalie does eventually come to terms with this, but for me the damage was already done.

Anyway. It's a very accessible read and I did get In The Book Zone while reading it. It uses a very chatty tone and it's easy to get sucked in. The English teacher aspects of the book are interesting, if not always relevant, as she talks a lot about the books they're studying in class, like The Great Gatsby and The Scarlet Letter. Thing is, unlike most books about books, she actually explains what they're actually about instead of assuming you already know. Must be the English teacher in her coming out. Her opinions of her students are also interesting, but it says a lot that the thing I liked most about Signs of Life are the parts unrelated to the actual topic.   

This is my superhero alter ego. I go around the world finding people who commit social injustices and I attack them with copies of literary classics to teach them a lesson. The kid who is suspended for racial slurs? I break into his bedroom in the middle of the night, knock out a few of his teeth, and leave him with a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. The parents who get arrested because they let their twelve-year-old throw a party without their supervision and the kids break into the liquor cabinet? I visit the parents in their holding cell to drop off two copies of Lord of the Flies.

The best way I can explain it is that I liked Signs of Life, but not Natalie Taylor. I finished it in a day and a half, but it's not something I'd ever want to read again. 

Visit Natalie Taylor's blog here or find her on Twitter. 

Review: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

Wow. This is some strange book. I'm sure a lot of you have seen the trailer for the Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close film released a few weeks ago - find it here if you haven't. It stars Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock, so obviously it's had a huge budget. I hate being one of those people that picks up a book just because it's been made into a film, so my misplaced sense of pride requires me to point out I got it waaaaay back in October, before my media-ignorant mind eventually clicked on to the fact. I watched the trailer before reading the book though, and I think it led to my expecting an entirely different tone from the book somehow.

Plot - Nine-year-old Oskar Schell is an inventor, amateur entomologist, Francophile, letter writer, pacifist, natural historian, percussionist, romantic, Great Explorer, jeweller, detective, vegan, and collector of butterflies.

When his father is killed in the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Centre, Oskar sets out to solve the mystery of a key he discovers in his father's closet. It is a search which leads him into the lives of strangers, through the five boroughs of New York, into history, to the bombings of Dresden and Hiroshima, and on an inward journey which brings him ever closer to some kind of peace.
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You have to be on the ball to really follow Extremely Loud & Incredibly Loud; it's not an easy book to get along with. It's very, very choppy - the viewpoints change every few chapters without notice or warning and it can take a few pages to deduce who's talking to who. Characters are addressed in these places as 'mother' or 'my son' and it's a story that follows three different generations, so you really have to be willing to bare with it a little. Oskar's 'voice' is very rambling too - he gets distracted by memories and tangents so easily that it can be difficult working out where in the timeline you are, especially when he refers to events that haven't actually happened yet.
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It is worth it though. It can seem a little gimmicky at first, but eventually I realised that there is a point to all the photographs and insertions. Oskar has a scrapbook called "Things That Happened To Me" in which he pastes photos of things that particularly affected him, like the man falling off the World Trade Center or out of control soldiers in Iraq. A lot of these photos are shown to the reader as they're mentioned, kind of in a Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children type way. It's not really necessary, but it's interesting. 

Example of different images.

There are also insertions than photographs. Like, early on in the story, Oskar mentions how he used to watch his Dad circle grammatical mistakes in newspapers and later in the book, it's demonstrated in a letter his father has read. That kind of thing. There are a few irritating formats that I struggled with a little, but on the whole it works.

I found Oskar incredibly irritating until I realised that it seems as if he's suffering from Asperger's or something similar. They never really make a point of discussing it, but it does seem to fit. He doesn't really have any social skills and is often unintentionally offensive because he doesn't understand social conventions. Honestly, I did want to throttle him at times. I understand that the entire concept of the plot involves his illness, if indeed there is one, but it didn't make me like him anymore. His absolute obsession with a strange key he finds draws him down the path of learning more about his family - without that conviction, there would be no book. Actually, I hadn't even realised that even the title of the book gives it away until The Boy pointed it out out sufferers generally don't like loud noises or close contact. Yeah, give him the points for observation if you must but hey, I'm prettier :P

Realising this changes the whole idea of the book. At first glance, it appears to be a quest Oskar's father has sent him on from beyond the grave - much like one of the scavenger hunt games they used to play. But then, the more time you spend inside Oskar's head, you realise that actually, maybe the little boy has invented the whole idea as a way to feel closer to his father. It's not until the end that you finally discover where it was actually a self-imposed coping method or a fun game invented by the boy's deceased father.

The ending is slightly anti-climactic though, and that doesn't reveal the option above as much as it seems. It's all neatly tied up and I didn't even dislike it, but it could have been a little more satisfying, I think.

I did enjoy Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, although it wasn't really what I was expecting. It's slightly manic and very disjointed, so you really have to be willing to suffer a few raised eyebrows and confused glances. That said, it's also a moving look into a little boy's grief if you're willing to put in the effort and examine the different formats used.

Visit Jonathan Safran Foer's website here, or read my review of Eating Animals.