JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

Our Missing Hearts by Celeste Ng

Twelve-year-old Bird Gardner lives a quiet existence with his loving but broken father, a former linguist who now shelves books in Harvard’s library. He knows not to ask too many questions, stand out too much, stray too far. For a decade, their lives have been governed by laws written to preserve ‘American culture’ in the wake of years of economic instability and violence. To keep the peace and restore prosperity, the authorities are now allowed to relocate children of dissidents, especially those of Asian origin, and libraries have been forced to remove books seen as unpatriotic – including the work of Bird’s mother, Margaret, a Chinese American poet who left the family when he was nine years old.

Bird has grown up disavowing his mother and her poems; he doesn’t know her work or what happened to her, and he knows he shouldn’t wonder. But when he receives a mysterious letter containing only a cryptic drawing, he is drawn into a quest to find her. His journey will take him through the many folktales she poured into his head as a child, through the ranks of an underground network of librarians, into the lives of the children who have been taken, and finally to New York, where a new act of defiance may be the beginning of much-needed change.

Celeste Ng’s Our Missing Hearts is a powerful dystopian tale set in the near future where Asian Americans are scorned and feared, with ensuing and continued dire consequences.

Our protagonist is the twelve-year-old Bird, whose mother fled years earlier for seemingly no reason and Bird’s father offers little insight into the true reasons behind such a painful abandonment. When Bird receives a letter from his mother he begins to question the reasons behind her disappearance and as the story unfolds, we, the reader, learn more about the country’s vilification of Asian Americans. More specifically, a law implemented to try and preserve American culture.

“He has never heard these words before, has never even heard this language before, but it is clear from the look on his father’s face that his father has, that he not only recognises the language but understands it, understands what this man has said.”

Celeste’s latest novel explores family and responsibility, but it also delves into power, injustice and racism. An authoritative government has taken over the US and it has harsh ramifications for anyone in the country of Asian descent.

When we meet Bird, he’s living with his father – a man rather oppressed and reluctant to challenge the oppressive government. And when Bird suspects that he may be able to reconnect with his mother, a woman who may just be the complete opposite, he sees an opportunity too enticing to refuse.

Throughout the novel we come to witness an unbreakable bond between mother and child, and how much they’re both willing to sacrifice to be with each other. Amidst a society consumed by fear, we have two characters willing to risk it all.

“They could have fired me, he says. The library isn’t open to just anyone, you know. You have to be a researcher. They have to watch who they let in. The university gets a lot of leeway because of its reputation, but they’re not immune. If someone caused trouble and they traced it back to a book they got here…”

Celeste is known for her powerful novels that challenge treatment of others, and Our Missing Hearts is no different. She has captured such a large-scale dystopian setting through the lens of a very small cast of characters. The ending, in particular, will sit with you for some time.

The novel does take a little bit of time to gain momentum, and it really isn’t until Bird goes in search of his mother that the novel starts to increase in traction. Up until that moment, Bird doesn’t seem to possess much agency or drive – he is merely a player, reactive to what is happening around him.

“A game they played, he and his mother, when he was very small. Before school, before he had any other world but her. His favourite game, one he’d begged her to play. Their special game, played only when his father was at work, kept as a secret between just them. You be the monster, mama. I’ll hide, and you be the monster.”

Recommended for readers of literary fiction, and dystopian tales. Readership skews female, 30+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Our Missing Hearts
Celeste Ng
October 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

Wildflowers by Peggy Frew

Meg and Nina have been outshone by their younger sister Amber since childhood. They have become used to living on the margins of their parents’ interest, used to others turning away from them and towards charismatic Amber.

But Amber’s life has not gone the way they all thought it would, and now the three of them are together for the first time in years, on the road to a remote holiday rental in Far North Queensland, where Meg and Nina plan on helping Amber overcome her addiction. As good intentions gradually become terrifying reality, these sisters will test the limits of love and the line between care and control.

Peggy Frew’s Wildflowers is a disarming and moving novel about three sisters who test the boundaries of their fragile relationship in an effort to aid their youngest sister Amber as she spirals through a drug and alcohol addiction.

A character-driven exploration of love, family and grief, the book is largely set in the past. The bookend chapters of the novel are the present, where we realise how traumatised the 37-year-old Nina is after a recent family trip away to North Queensland. There, her and Meg had attempted to help wean her sister off drugs, and the results were enough to severely psychologically wound and damage Nina.

As the book progresses, we read about the events that transpired on this family trip away.

“They were still who they always had been, still those sisters, but on this afternoon, in this car, driving with the windows down between cane fields under a deepening sky with purple cut-out mountains in the distance, they were wearing it so lightly, their bossiness and flakiness and wildness; they were wearing it like they used to, like it was supple, slippery, not completely fixed. Like it could be taken off.”

Peggy seamlessly captures three very different women – Amber, Meg and Nina do not blend together at any point of the novel. I did not have to re-read to work out who was speaking, nor did I get confused whose life we were embedded in at any given moment.

She’s crafted three siblings whose lives have catapulted in completely different directions – Meg, whose happiness stems from family and those around her, Nina, who seems to prefer functioning solo and finds solace in distancing herself from others. She resembles the observant one. And then there’s Amber, who finds comfort in the chaotic and unstable nature of addiction.

“In the car Meg had been laughing too. Meg and Amber laughing in the front and Nina in the back hiding secret tears of hope behind her sunglasses. They had been close then, the three of them, together in that moment of lightness…”

Peggy’s writing is taut and highly observant, capturing even the most mundane of actions with intense clarity. There’s an intimacy to her writing that I think readers will love – an introspective and omniscient narrative.

The book does move back and forth between past and present and I did find it a little confusing at times – a little grey in its construction and separation – but other than that, found Wildflowers to be incredibly moving and well-crafted. I haven’t read Peggy’s earlier works yet, but this one certainly is a motivation to steer toward them.

“Amber followed, and Nina came last, eyes on the bags hooked one over each of Amber’s skinny arms. What might be in them? Not heroin – not anymore. And not ice – Amber, thank God, didn’t seem to have gone for ice. Pot? Maybe. Please don’t let her be that stupid, thought Nina.”

Literary fiction with rich, raw characters and a slow-build but satisfying story, Peggy Frew’s Wildflowers is recommended for literary readers. Readership skews female, 25+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Wildflowers
Peggy Frew
September 2022
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers

Marshmallow by Victoria Hannan

Some moments change everything.

For five friends, what should have been a birthday to remember will instead cleave a line between before and after. From then on, the shockwaves of guilt, sorrow and disbelief will colour every day, every interaction, every possibility. Each will struggle. Each will ask why. Secrets will be kept. Lies will be told. Relationships reassessed. Each friend will be forever changed.

And the question all of them will be forced to ask is: can they ever find a way to live without what was lost?

Victoria Hannan’s Marshmallow is a raw literary exploration of trauma and grief, and how easily it can rip apart and irreparably shatter a person’s life. Or, in this case, five people’s lives.

One year ago, the death of a child at a birthday party damaged five adult lives seemingly beyond repair. With grief comes guilt and self-loathing, and each character is struggling to accept what transpired at the party – can they ever come back from what happened?

“They sat quietly drinking their beers for a few minutes. Outside, the ding of the 11 tram, its wheels scuttling along the metal tracks. Outside, the wattle birds squawked and squabbled in the trees. Outside, the world carried on as normal, as though nothing was wrong, as though he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t gone.”

Set over the course of just two days, quite a minute time span considering all the ground that Victoria covers, Marshmallow is a tender and insightful read. Undoubtedly a character-driven story, we follow each of the five adults as they attempt to navigate their lives after the disastrous birthday party. For one, it brings up memories of another death, and for more than one of these characters, they feel immense responsibility for how the birthday party unfolded. A lot of ‘if only’ scenarios rear inside their minds.

Victoria prose is a clean and light – an easy read for such a heavy topic. It doesn’t feel like a chore to turn the page, and Marshmallow can easily be tackled in one sitting.

“Sometimes she tried to tell herself that it was impossible to feel lonely when surrounded by so much outside noise. That there were people everywhere. Loneliness was a state of mind. That she didn’t need someone. That her wants were not this basic. She was a strong, independent woman.”

Set in Melbourne, Marshmallow is as much about grieving what was, as it about discovering a path forward. These friendships have been fractured so much that at first glance it seems there is no way to repair them.

But, as we near the one-year anniversary of the birthday party, the five characters find a way forward, by acknowledging what happened. No more talking around the issue, but actually talking about it. Owning their grief and their trauma and working together to process what happened. Nothing will change what occurred and so it’s about finding a way to accept what has happened and attempt to find happiness in other elements of their lives.

“A sense of dread washed over him. What now? He tried to imagine the scene at home. Annie crying in the front garden. Annie standing in the front garden staring into space. Annie up a tree out the back threatening to jump.”

Heartfelt but also incredibly heartbreaking I actually shed tears, Victoria Hannan’s Marshmallow is for literary readers. Readership skews 25+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Marshmallow
Victoria Hannan
September 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

Haven by Emma Donoghue

Three men vow to leave the world behind them. They set out in a small boat for an island their leader has seen in a dream, with only faith to guide them. What they find is the extraordinary island now known as Skellig Michael. Haven, Emma Donoghue’s gripping and moving novel, has her trademark psychological intensity – but this story is like nothing she has ever written before.

In seventh-century Ireland, a scholar and priest called Artt has a dream telling him to leave the sinful world behind. Taking two monks – young Trian and old Cormac – he rows down the river Shannon in search of an isolated spot on which to found a monastery. Drifting out into the Atlantic, the three men find an impossibly steep, bare island, inhabited by tens of thousands of birds, and claim it for God. In such a place, what will survival mean?

Set in seventh-century Ireland, Emma Donoghue’s Haven follows a priest and two monks in search of a solitary island far from their monastery.

Brother Artt returns to the monastery after time afar and dreams of a mission from God – take two monks and journey to an island far away in the Western ocean, and build a bastion of prayer. It’s a mission of solitariness and immense devotion, and Artt’s obsession with purity and peity grows dangerous over the course of the book.

“Now that the Prior’s taken up Cormac’s oar and the boat’s speeding along, no one is in the stern to steer her. Sick or not, Cormac should at least keep an eye out for hazards – mudbanks, logs, whirlpools, rocks, or rapids.”

This book is incredibly slow – too slow. For most of the book, it’s the journey to the island, which proves dull after a while. Whilst well-written and providing astute commentary on a number of different themes, and therefore loved by critics, I can’t help but feel this book is highly inaccessible for the average reader. I almost didn’t finish it, but because it’s not a very big book – only 250 pages – I forced myself to complete.

Haven does provide stark observation and characterisation, pivoting around the three monks as the colder weather closes in and Artt’s expectations grow increasingly unrealistic. Soon, Trian and Cormac’s loyalty begins to waver. In the final pages, a secret unravels the group and tensions reach their peak.

“They’re passing close by the black slope of the nearest island, where turf-cutters are working. A woman straightens up. A man does the same, and raises a hand. Friendly? None of them seems to be raising an alarm, or running for a weapon. Trian waves back.”

Similarities between Haven and Donoghue’s Room include its limited characters and claustrophobic, secluded environment. These characters are determined to preserve their humanity and dignity amongst complete isolation and encroaching madness.

It’s clear that Donoghue has undertaken heavy amounts of research ahead of writing the novel. Donoghue captures the era and setting with ease. The island of Skellig Michael, with its barren landscape and inhospitality, is brought to life with description and vivid imagery – fans of Star Wars will recognise the unforgiving, jagged terrain.

“Now the Great Skellig is revealed in all its strange glory. Twice the height of its neighbour, sharply fingering the sky. Eroded by wind and water; littered with rockfall, smeared with emerald vegetation.”

Slow-build, resilient literary fiction, Emma Donoghue’s Haven is recommended for seasoned readers. Readers will require commitment to get to the end of this one. Readerships skews 35+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Haven
Emma Donoghue
September 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers

The Women Could Fly by Megan Giddings

Josephine Thomas has heard every conceivable theory about her mother’s disappearance. That she was kidnapped. Murdered. That she took on a new identity to start a new family. That she was a witch. This is the most worrying charge, because in a world where witches are real, peculiar behaviour raises suspicions and a woman – especially a Black woman – can find herself on trial for witchcraft.

But fourteen years have passed since her mother’s disappearance, and now Jo is finally ready to let go of the past. Yet her future is in doubt. The State mandates that all women marry by the age of thirty – or enrol in a registry that allows them to be monitored, effectively forfeiting their autonomy. At twenty-eight, Jo is ambivalent about marriage. With her ability to control her life on the line, she feels as if she has her never understood her mother more. When she’s offered the opportunity to honour one last request from her mother’s will, Jo leaves her regular life to feel connected to her one last time.

Megan Giddings’ The Women Could Fly follows twenty-seven-year-old Josephine Thomas, whose mother disappeared fourteen years earlier. Under suspicion of witchcraft, her disappearance caused irreparable damage for Josephine and her father. Naturally, people suspect Jo of being a witch too.

Jo and her father, after fourteen years, decide to accept that Jo’s mother is dead. They mourn her, grieve her. Jo reflects over her mother’s belongings in an attempt to gain closure for her mother’s decision to disappear. Her mother’s will, updated and read, stipulates that if Jo travels to an island in Lake Superior, on a specific day, she would receive a substantial inheritance. Jo decides to honour her mother’s wish and what she finds on that island challenges everything she thought she knew about her family.

“After my mother’s disappearance, the usual protocols happened. While the police quietly investigated my dad, I was taken away by the Bureau of Witchcraft to be questioned. A woman who can vanish might not be in danger, instead, she might be a danger to everyone. And if you’re the daughter of a witch?”

If magic were real and available largely to only women, of course men would try to control it – control those with the power to wield the magic. Once a woman turns 28, she must register with the state and be subjected to regular tests designed to uncover witches. Marriage with a man ensures protection, and thus is Jo’s best chance at remaining undetected.

The Women Could Fly explores magic and family, but also patriarchy and power – control over those we do not understand, and unwillingness to try and understand them. This is a multi-layered novel, and Jo’s POV allows for a nuanced, deep understanding of the world around her and how unsafe she feels as a black woman with a witch for a mother.

“I was so tired of people suspecting me, so tired of always having to follow arbitrary rules. How could I live the rest of my life like this? I was almost twenty-eight and exhausted already. I reminded myself that throughout history women had endured far worse things.”

Megan’s writing is raw, sleek and observant. She captures so much with such few words, and set within a world where women must marry by 30, The Women Could Fly feels like a modern-day The Handmaid’s Tale. What she encapsulates within 270 pages allows for a reflective reading experience that sits with the reader.

“He shared food the way I liked to share food, by gingerly cutting off a piece for the other person and putting it on a appetizer plate. He asked me questions. We held hands under the table. I realized we had never done that before.”

Recommended for literary readers, and those interested in books tackling social commentary and power. Readership skews 30+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Women Could Fly
Megan Giddings
August 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers