Imagine: Ear vs. Eye. Eyeth vs. Earth. Eyeth is an Utopian planet designed for easy visual access where the majority are deaf. It’s a myth… but how would you design accessibility for a hearing visitor on eyeth? 

…amazing think-tank nourishment. 

The first half is SO GOOD!! Raises issues. Raises awareness. Educates. Empowers.

Second half… well, I was waiting for continued education and further insight…some depth… Instead, this novel …raises more issues… but it merely paints a thin first coat over everything and never finishes the paint job—never digs any deeper into any of these issues, just plops them angrily on the table in a justified teenage outrage, and then moves on to the next issue…as if all discussion, any sort of compromise, the possibility of increasing understanding, and the chance of working towards resolution would all be an offence to those involved with or touched by the issues. Unfortunately, that implies that the one raising the awareness on these important issues would prefer to be left clinging defensively to the issues, using them as a shield against interaction that might bring reconciliation and comprehension, against anything that might promote equality for all participants and conditions for an equitable life in this unfair world. In a way, she cuffs the hands (potential voice) of everyone else at the table... 

To <i>choose</i> silence is preferable to having silence thrust upon you. However, the <i>way</i> science and hearing people have gone about ‘helping’ —even with their best of the best intentions—is more the problem than the actual science of creating possibilities to hear where hearing is absent. But in the novel, some characters hint that as a Deaf/deaf/hard of hearing person, they’d prefer never to have hearing than to have partial hearing or to have science restore their hearing in any way. Is this true…? I asked my hard-of-hearing father and he says he’d much rather have his hearing restored. But then he’s only been small-d deaf for half of his life and never learned ASL or how to cope without his hearing aids. He just constantly says “pardon?” like a mantra, often before you even finish your sentence cos he hasn’t noticed you’re talking to him till halfway through. Now, I can certainly understand how anyone would prefer silence over being subjected to cult-obsessed freaks pouring hot oil in their ears or the tinny headache-inducing side effects of cochlear implants(!!!). But if there’s a way that science could improve hearing which didn’t involve pain and humiliation…? Is there no chance for it ever being accepted…?

In the novel, she compares a hearing family disappointed by the birth of a deaf child—and doing all they can to provide a life without additional struggle for their child—to a family with a history of deafness disappointed by the birth of a hearing child and several members rejoicing with relief when baby girl loses the little hearing she’s born with. Something just doesn’t sit right with that…I can appreciate having special empathy because of a shared condition/situation or a similarity. Doesn’t mean I wish a disadvantage on anyone so they can understand any kind of thing I’ve experienced.

The author opens many cans of worms and lets them wriggle all over the table until they become a blended mess of issues and no one can tell where one begins —and no resolution is available. I think, maybe, that might be kind of her point: to beg that everyone just please leave it all a ‘mess’ (she does admit to messes) and stop trying to fix things, stop trying for resolution. Okay. I can live with the ‘stop fixing stuff’ cos that’s a problem Wealthy Able-bodied Westerners tend to have: the guilt-laden sense of obligation to fix the ‘problems’ of the world they perceive beyond their doorstep (yes, ignoring the ones under carpets in their own homes). But how do we <i>all</i> adapt? Public adaptation is necessary, and needs to happen—accessibility is not even a question, it’s a must—but how do we live in a global community without returning to the segregation of 100 years ago (what Alexander Graham Bell was fighting <i>against</i>; he fought <i>for</i> the inclusion of blind-deaf people, that they be recognised and accepted as contributing members of society rather than ‘freaks fit for the asylum’ as was the common treatment in his day, sad to say—no doubt Bell made mistakes and tripped over his own good intentions under scrutiny, but it was with good intentions according to the knowledge he possessed at the time that he made the effort—see Helen Keller’s biography. Everything has a context. We can’t judge the people of history on the knowledge we’ve discovered and acquired since their time…)? This novel, on the back of harsh criticism of Bell, seems to promote a wilful return to the segregation of deaf community. Maybe I’ve misunderstood, cos that just doesn’t sound at all like the right idea in a world where we’re doing our best to <i>break down<\i> barriers and find ways to reconcile and live in harmony—no one should be left on the fringes. 

I have a lot more to say, but will just finish with: this is a GOOD NOVEL. I want to put it on my Grade 11 curriculum; it’s teeming with discussion points and life-lessons and flexible moral grey areas. BUT she’s tried to squeeze too much into this one novel… way too much in far too few pages. In order to do justice to each of these important intersectional issues, we need more—far more—otherwise they are reduced to a simple head nod to a massive issue—and in that way they are reduced to a tool, something ‘used’ in order to boost ratings. Cringe. Cos that sounds... well, <i>reads</i>—not good. And yet, she’s raised the issues and created awareness. So, that’s a positive where knowledge might potentially have been previously lacking.

Alllll this to say I think she had (has??) a series of really good stuff on her hands (Kayla, February’s story, others) but seems she was coerced into jamming it all into one average sized novel (I’m blaming an editor). I want SO MUCH MORE out of this—and ugh! it’s like reading a magazine article summarising The History of Civilisations when what you want is the Masters level degree course…this feels like the bare-bones introduction…

Gimme more!! If we’re reading this novel, we’re ready for it!!

Imagery comes to life on the page. The storytelling is gripping from the first carefully crafted sentence. The narration is a perfect dramatisation of this harrowing journalistic account; it exposes all the damage uneducated religious extremism can cause, and rightly doesn’t blame a single culprit, but justly accuses all closed-minded extremists guilty of all kinds of comparable inhumane aggressive behaviour. In both East and West, India and America.

Meena’s story rips your heart out.

Then, Smita’s gut-turning truth comes to light. 

And we are appalled at how mob mentality and such gross injustice continues in our world, even in this modern day and age.

We thank a generous and loving God for the presence of people like Mohan and Abdul who continue to love determinedly in the face of the world’s boiling hatred. 

This novel is a graciously written cry for justice—begging us to see and notice the crimes acted out against women everywhere, crimes the world is shielded from by twisted politics, distracted from by narcissistic capitalist venture and blindfolded by the acquisition of comforts, too busy to care. It is a testimony set before systems and governments, a declaration that hopes to put a stop to the continued aggression and abuse.

And yet, it carries on… 

But don’t waste time reading my comments. Go read this book for yourself. And then do something…

https://www.girlrising.org

…and then give this stellar testimonial novel to someone else who needs to hear about it.

Read this with my niece.

What a beautiful, humorous, heart-warming little coming-of-age story with a touch of mystery, family drama, and fledgling friendships. Chock full of love and forgiveness and self discovery. Perfect middle-grade novel by an author with personal experience raising children who experience similar struggles.

I got choked up a couple times, frequently laughed out loud, and enjoyed every chapter of this novel with my 11 year old niece. A great summer adventure with a relatable girl (despite not having arms) who faces her struggles head on and grows in maturity and love in a new home, makes new friends, and finds her place and purpose.  

There is no singular voice, because it is the collective ‘we’ that begins to tell this story—just like The Buddha in the Attic. And we’re in this pool somewhere with these people, forgetting our daily trials and frantically flailing in the waters that calm the circling minds of the swimmers. The pool covers our blemishes and enhances our unique beauties…

The extremely loose connection between the first part of the book and the last half doesn’t seem to make sense to the story—indeed, they are two apparently separate stories, but the analogies threaded through the disconnected lives of the swimmers, brought together only by the pool, the state of the pool, the availability of the pool in their lives—is escape, health, haven, sanity, excuse and pleasure. And when it’s cracked, they either drown in unbearable lives or find freedom from the ball and chain of a safe habit that keeps them tethered to a suffocating comfort, and they go off and grow wings and find self.

The messages within the analogy are so multifarious almost everyone can relate…

And the many ways that inexplicable crack in the foundation can be interpreted…the mystery, the multiplication of cracks…

It’s kind of like dementia.

So then, the book takes a sharp turn and becomes a guilt-loaded memoir, a guilt-laden picture of a woman who cares for herself first and misses the most precious last years of life with a mother (one of our swimmers, though swimming is almost all but sidelined now) who suffered and sacrificed, bent and conformed to give the daughter everything for a better life, a different life.

There is no warning that this is going to be such a sad memoir. In fact, nothing in the synopsis indicates that this will be more than 50% memoir. It just takes a turn, and then that’s what it is, with barely any context.

Which I suppose is intentional. Takes the reader, who up till now is enjoying a strangely disjointed story about a pool full of isolated, but oddly connected swimmers, completely off guard. You know, like dementia.

The writing style…well, I can certainly understand that not everyone is going to appreciate this style. The whole middle section is so repetitive—and not quite poetically—that it becomes grating. Though it’s not without purpose.

I don’t mind Otsuka’s style. It’s unique. It’s almost as if you’re looking in on the lives of these characters from a very far distance, the writing seems afraid to engage with the emotion the story contains, though many phrases are filled with shame, guilt, pain, fear, and have potential to evoke great feeling. If you’ve read The Buddha in the Attic then you know what I’m talking about. 

It was okay. I didn’t mind it. It wasn’t what I was looking to read, but it was short, so not too tedious.

The unveiling of this story was carefully structured: a love story to nature and a love story for humanity; full of contemplation, grave mistakes, and forgiveness.

Set in a near-but-possibly-parallel universe, where extinction is the reality for the majority of our known species, where the last members of many species are dying, and the ramifications are the near complete obliteration of the animal world. It is a story in which body and mind, and the memory of body and mind prevail amid so much death.

I love McConaghy’s style. Her characters are deeply broken, emotional beings, desperately grasping at one last aspiration. They all have stories behind them which shape and mar their actions. They do stupid things from seemingly selfish motivations, but their true intentions are slowly uncovered, and we are left touched by the deep humanity of each life, of their stories, and we long to forgive them and offer a word of love, a whisper of hope.

The dual themes of eco-conservation and the redemption of broken humanity in McConaghy’s work keep me coming back to her stuff.

Completely freaky. Absolutely twisted. You think this is going down one lane and almost predictable (though highly readable and gripping) but then it TURNS DOWN A CRAZY ALLEY and you’re going WHAT!? And you think: Man. This girl is wasted—and while she is most of the time—and hard—and if you’re a hard drinker this is a hard lesson—but then, it’s not because she’s a banjaxed lush that she’s gone down this twisted path…or is it? 

It’s a fast ride to the finish, but everything you thought you knew … well, no spoilers, but you know nothing until the end.

The best kind of disgustingly unlikeable characters you want to punch in the throat or shake till they spit sense. I hate them all, the self-centred jerks (well, maybe there’s one or two innocents), but I’m desperate to find out what happens to them and hope their lives only get better…

Hope is all we have sometimes. 

This gets a 4-star, not because it’s literary ingenuity, but because it’s easy-reading, wildly unexpected, and quick to digest. Bring it on a plane, leave it in the seat pocket for the next lucky reader.

This is some weird stuff, man.

Delightful jaunt. Written like chemistry and maths equations. Written like I imagine reading Chinese collections of characters might be: encapsulating a picture in a single phrase, a painting of emotion and action and philosophy in each grouping of a few words. And full of power.

Beautiful.

Her best novel. I wish she’d write more like this. Characters are ALL loveable—even the ones we’re meant to despise have qualities that help us understand and sympathise. Nina and Valerie steal you from the start, and Hector? —well. We have words for Hector, and Nina says them all. (No spoilers.)

From the first paragraph we’re flung into the midst of this world and this story, and it spins us round in a Georgian-era-style fantasy setting that’s not quite British nor French nor European at all but has similarities. The same gender-oppressive narrative from our own history prevails in these pages, and the hints of other oppressions sneak up also. So we can relate. And we don’t know who to root for at times, but we’re twisted several ways before we land and settle, and even then…

Oh! The magic! It’s there in the pages, but so nonchalant it’s something we accept as normal and marginalised all at once—and that makes you ask what other bits and pieces of humanity on our side of reality we’ve accepted and normalised while still marginalising the ‘magically’ associated humans… very subtle social point there. Very astute.

I read this so fast; this is certainly her most interesting novel. I hope she returns to this world for more stories in future.

Geared to YA, but still enough intelligent literary action to engage an adult reader. A bit of an info-dump feel at times, but this can be forgiven considering the intended audience—and it’s information necessary to the plot and purpose of the novel. It’s a hefty purpose, but speaking of the storyline, it’s fairly complex, with tensely paced moments amid tenderness and grief, and a beautifully woven social commentary in a setting you can close your eyes and feel.

The characters each had their own deep complexities, drawing a line of reality from reader to role, making it believable, and highlighting issues that plague communities where oppressive histories prevail. It’s a story to raise awareness. It’s a call to this generation to increase knowledge and begin to implement change.

I’d teach it.

I loved it.

At once extraordinary, uncomfortable and sometimes weird, stark, shocking, and mostly depressing; exquisitely poetic and metaphorical; convicting, compelling, and eco-conscientious; supremely sad, heart-wrenching, jarring, and deeply disturbing…

This was not an easy nor enjoyable read. I didn’t like it—how could you? The story portion was stomach-turning, revolting in places. But the telling is necessary. We listen to the horror of abuse and neglect invoked by oppression and the leftover damage of recent residential schools and the sickness of incest, child abuse, rape, bullying, and the ripple effect of drugs and solvents and substances and alcoholism and self-harm and suicide…and we cringe and cry and curse at the caustic cost of it all…

I recommend listening to the author narrate the work as the musical intervals of Inuk throat singing and her intonation and meaningful pauses in this spoken-word style writing brings insight—and we feel the simmering satisfying surge of piercing feathery blows, multiple revenges, and the urgency and stillness and anger and grief.

The illustrative interjected imagery of a northern earth, a fierce tundra, an expanse of sky and sea and nature’s beauty breaks up the pain of the abuse connected to this harsh reality.



***
A Side-Dish Interaction and Commentary  (for the record, I’m in total agreement with the author on her assessment of Institutionally Organised Christianity as presented in the work…)

The idea that ‘Christians seem to love shame’ and ‘take pleasure in destroying the earth’ is the ultimate shame and destructiveness of centralised religious rule, that distorted power granted to a religion in the name of ‘God’ and wielded in a twisted sort of blind-eyed Authoritarian Oligarch State under the weak guise of a God-centred Democracy. This oppressive religious rule destroys as it seeks to control and stifle and tyrannise, while shame and guilt are wielded as tools of oppression in the name of an unrecognisable God—a God more like the Devil than Love. This brand of Christianity should be criticised and eradicated and named as an imposter to the image of God; this sort of imperious rule has nothing to do with Jesus the Christ who did not require anyone to bear guilt and shame as he willingly became these things so humanity could be free. Though, I do feel the “Christian Religion” has consistently missed that point for centuries. Christianity has been used as a front for tyrants and dictators and clowns-masked-as-presidents; originally used as a derogatory insult to the Christ-followers thrown to the lions; then used as a sort of reverse badge of honour for those who survived persecution; later twisted to become the title of the oppressors; and most recently till now an embarrassment to those who call themselves disciples of Christ… definitely time for tearing off the masks and breaking down the pedestals.