Indigenous stories and non-Indigenous writers: some reflections on respect and process - guest post by Ambelin Kwaymullina

Indigenous stories and non-Indigenous writers: some reflections on respect and process

I sat down to write this post a while ago; during the course of writing it, author JK Rowling released a story that inappropriately incorporates aspects of the cultures of the Indigenous peoples of North America. I have spent much of the last couple of days listening to Indigenous peoples from across the sea give voice to their distress. So before I begin speaking of process and respect in an Australian context, it seemed only right that I acknowledge those voices, and encourage everyone to read their words.

This is the second of two posts; the first examined myths caused by misdiagnosing a lack of diversity in literature as a diversity problem rather than as a privilege problem. The purpose of this second post is to reflect on a few of the issues surrounding non-Indigenous writers and Indigenous stories in Australia. In the 1980s, Indigenous publisher Magabala Books was established in part because of the retelling of Indigenous narratives by non-Indigenous writers in circumstances where there was no free, prior and informed consent from – or any sharing of copyright or benefits with – the Indigenous knowledge-holders. While it has become less ‘business as usual’ in Australia to see books published in this way, it still happens. I’m sometimes asked what I think about it. My view is that non-Indigenous writers should not be telling cultural narratives unless it is done in equitable partnership with the relevant Indigenous knowledge-holders. And for a partnership to be equitable, I think it requires that royalties and copyright be shared. An example of such a collaboration is the one between non-Indigenous historian Howard Pederson and Bunuba man Banjo Woorunmurra for the book Jandamarra and the Bunuba Resistance (copyright and royalties are shared between Howard Pederson and the Bunuba people). Further, there are some stories where copyright should remain entirely with the Indigenous person or people. Whether this is the case is something for the relevant Indigenous person or community to determine – but that decision has to be made free from pressure; prior to a project commencing: and on an informed basis. For example, the copyright in Woman from No Where – the biography of the late Hazel McKeller – is held by Hazel (and now her heir). Non-Indigenous academic Kerry McCallum, who worked with Hazel on the book, has her contribution credited on the cover. The process for writing this book is discussed in More than Words – Writing, Indigenous culture and copyright in Australia (a paper written by Murri lawyer Terri Janke).

Another topic I’ve been asked about is the use of Indigenous advisors or beta readers. To begin with, I think the Indigenous person should be paid at a rate that acknowledges the value of their time and expertise. The expectations (on both sides) and boundaries of the relationship also need to be clearly established from the beginning of the process. In the United States, there have been instances where the advice of expert readers was ignored or used selectively. And there is a larger consideration here, which is this: when does an Indigenous advisor or beta reader become a co-author? When do they become such an influence on the story that their contribution should be acknowledged through a share in the copyright and royalties? This is especially the case where the Indigenous input relates to culture, because the incorporation of Indigenous culture into books by non-Indigenous writers is fraught with cultural appropriation issues. The massive imbalance of power between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples precludes any notion of cultural exchange (which requires equality), and the vulnerable position of Indigenous peoples is exacerbated by the lack of protection for Indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions under Western intellectual property laws.

I’ve sometimes been told by writers that their inappropriate use of Indigenous material is justified on the basis that it is part of the Western literary tradition to ‘borrow’ stories or cultural elements from elsewhere, to which I reply: But you’re not writing about your culture or traditions. You’re writing about mine – and my culture has rules about when and how stories can be told, and who can tell them. And if non-Indigenous authors are writing about us because they care about Indigenous culture (as many tell me they do), then I think they should respect it enough to know when it is not their place to speak, and what it is not their place to speak about. This is especially so given that Indigenous peoples are among the most marginalised peoples on earth; that our cultures have been subject to sustained efforts to destroy them; that we continue to experience discrimination; and that our living traditions are our lifeblood. Appropriation of Indigenous cultures and stories causes real harm to real people – and we have already been harmed enough.  

We live in the age of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which affirms the rights of Indigenous peoples to our cultures, heritage and languages (Articles 11, 12 and 13). Extensive past problems with the misuse of (and lack of protection for) Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property has resulted in the production of numerous protocols and guidelines, including the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies ethical research guidelines and ethical publishing guidelines, and the Australia Council for the Arts Protocols for producing Indigenous writing.

And yet.

And yet I have talked to non-Indigenous authors who have read all those guidelines and still believe that their use of Indigenous material is acceptable provided they acknowledge the relevant people, with issues of benefits-sharing and ownership being ignored. 

And yet I have talked to publishers who believe that consent to the use of cultural material is purely the responsibility of the non-Indigenous writer, and that the publisher has no obligation to ensure that consent was given on a free, prior and (especially) informed basis.

And yet I am often asked by writers why they can’t do something when they’ve seen another non-Indigenous author do it – and the book they are referring me to is ten, twenty, thirty or forty years old. The world has changed, and what was done in an era where understandings were more limited is not a guide to what should be done now.

We still seem to have a long way to go.

Ambelin Kwaymullina is an Aboriginal writer, illustrator and academic who comes from the Palyku people of the Pilbara region of Western Australia. She works at the Law School at the University of Western Australia and is the author of a number of picture books as well as the YA speculative fiction series, The Tribe.  

'Who's Afraid?' by Maria Lewis

From the BLURB:

Meet Tommi Grayson: she's all bark . . . and all bite

'It was like my wolf had been there all along, waiting for me to tap its hand and step into the ring . . .'

Tommi Grayson's never exactly been a normal girl. Bright blue hair, a mysterious past and barely controlled rage issues have a way of making a woman stand out. Yet she's never come close to guessing who she really is . . .

When her mother dies, a shattered Tommi decides to track down her estranged father. Leaving Scotland for a remote corner of New Zealand, she discovers the truth of her heritage - and it's a whole lot more than merely human.

Barely escaping with her life, now Tommi must return to her her friends, pretending everything is normal, while all too aware of the dangers lurking outside - and within. Worse still, something has followed her home . . .

With the clock ticking, can Tommi learn to control her new powers in time to save the ones she loves?

Mixing elements of fantasy, mystery and romance, Who's Afraid? is a must-read tale about one woman who takes on the world, one bite at a time

‘Who’s Afraid?’ is the debut urban fantasy novel from Australian author, Maria Lewis.

Holy guacamole, Wolverine – I loved this book. I loved it from that clever title (echoes of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Gettit?!) right to the last page that sent me on a frantic internet search to see when a sequel would be coming (Who’s Afraid Too? – no release date yet, but I’m already salivating at the very notion!). I loved this book so much that I’m actually reviewing this after re-reading it … because it came out in January, but it’s taken me this long to really collect my thoughts and direct my enthusiasm into a halfway coherent review.

First and foremost – there was always a high chance I would love this book because werewolf stories are kinda my bag, baby. I mean – Alpha Reader is an ode to the werewolf stories that sparked my love of all things urban fantasy and paranormal romance way back when… which also means I have a pretty high-standard when it comes to my werewolf books: Patricia Briggs, Anne Bishop, Kelley Armstrong, and Charlaine Harris are the pinnacles of my werewolfish love and I’m here to tell you – Maria Lewis is now up there with them.

What made this book even better for me was getting to read the werewolf legend in a New Zealand setting – a departure from the typical North America of modernised urban fantasy, or its European gothic origins. Lewis actually ties heroine – Tommi Grayson’s – discovery of her werewolf origins to the discovery of her estranged Maori father, which had smart echoes of Mercy Thompson’s Native American shapeshifter origins for me. But Tommi hasn’t just discovered she’s a werewolf, she’s also discovered a family she never knew she had – a highly dysfunctional and dangerous family (and that’s before they grow teeth and claws!) The family element makes for a tight twist on what’s almost a coming-of-age narrative, adding a layer of psychological warfare to the werewolf origin story.

While an important chunk of the story takes place in New Zealand (and I look forward to how Maori elements present in future instalments) Tommi actually lives in Scotland, and manages to escape home – largely thanks to a mysterious guardian looking out for Tommi, a man named Lorcan. If I had any complaints about this book they’re minimal and understandable – this being the first in a series (a series that has real longevity, I can already read) means there are times when world-building comes close to info-dumping, often communicated through Lorcan’s character. But this is urban fantasy and I’m always pretty lenient for the sake of learning about this new world – especially when it’s a world as intriguing as the one Lewis has created.

Look, going into this book you should know that Lewis knows her stuff – she’s a bit of a paranormal, pop-culture connoisseur (and you should definitely follow her on Twitter btw) and she totally delivers the type of book I can only assume she herself wanted to read. The werewolf element is complex and horror-filled, there’s romance set to simmer and a gutsy, flawed heroine you’ll definitely want to follow into sequel …

One of the most anticipated urban fantasies of recent years, Maria Lewis' 'Who's Afraid' and heroine Tommi absolutely live up to the hype. New Zealand werewolves, complicated family history, romance, danger and a new paranormal world to fall in love with. It's 'Underworld' meets 'Animal Kingdom', in a taut psychological family drama, made all the more intense and captivating for the fact that this family has more than metaphorical claws and teeth.

5/5

Privilege and literature: three myths created by misdiagnosing a lack of Indigenous voices (and other diverse voices) as a ‘diversity problem’ - guest post by Ambelin Kwaymullina

Privilege and literature: three myths created by misdiagnosing a lack of Indigenous voices (and other diverse voices) as a ‘diversity problem’.

There is increasing attention being paid in Australia to the lack of diversity in children’s literature, sparked in part by the We Need Diverse Books movement and the current wide-ranging discussions around diversity in the US. The exclusion of Indigenous and other diverse voices is sometimes misdiagnosed as a ‘diversity problem’. But the origin of a body of literature that fails to reflect the actual make-up of the planet is not to be found within marginalised peoples. The fundamental disconnection between the world of literature and the real world springs from, and is maintained by, a set of structures and attitudes that consistently privilege one set of voices over another. In short, a lack of diversity is not a ‘diversity problem’. It is a privilege problem. In relation to Indigenous writers and writers of colour, it is a white privilege problem – although it is also worth noting that all non-Indigenous peoples who live on Indigenous lands are to some degree privileged in relation to Indigenous peoples, because everyone who came to Australia post-colonisation has gained in some way from the dispossession of those who were here before.

Myth #1: A lack of representation of Indigenous and other marginalised peoples can be solved by writers from outside those groups writing to diverse identities and experiences

Korean American author Ellen Oh (one of the founders of the We Need Diverse Books movement) recently said in an open letter to white writers: “Yes We Need Diverse Books. But that doesn’t always mean that we want YOU to write them. No, it means we want you to support them. We want you to read them. We want you to promote them, talk about them, buy them, love them. We want you to recognize that these stories told by authors in their own voices has as much importance as all the white ones that are published year after year.”

When a lack of representation of Indigenous peoples and people of colour in kid’s lit is misunderstood as a diversity issue, the focus tends to be solely on accuracy of representation (and it is of vital importance that marginalised peoples are accurately portrayed). But in order to begin to address the cause of the lack of diversity (privilege), the question writers need to ask themselves is not simply whether they can accurately portray someone else’s experience, but whether they should be telling the story at all. I’ve previously written that I don’t believe non-Indigenous writers should be writing Indigenous characters from first person or deep third. I’ve also said that I think the worst advice I’ve ever heard about characterisation is that anyone can write to any experience because ‘we are all human’. Indigenous peoples and other marginalised peoples have long had our humanity denied, and that denial continues to be the basis of discrimination against us. To suggest that writers have a right to put themselves in our place is often not to respect our humanity but to further deny it – especially when this is done by those who have inherited the benefits of our marginalisation. Ultimately, I believe that respecting the humanity of others means being willing to engage in a dialogue about the boundaries respect requires, not only as to what and how something can be said, but as to who can say it.

Myth #2: good intentions excuse poor outcomes

Privilege in literature is a systemic issue, and systemic discrimination of any kind can only ever be judged by outcomes, not intentions. An actual individual intent to discriminate is not necessary; discrimination will occur regardless unless the structures that cause it are named, challenged, and dismantled. A defence to poor representation framed in terms of someone’s good intentions can also carry an unspoken assumption that a desire to ‘help’ the marginalised is an act of charity or kindness for which marginalised peoples should be grateful. But I do not believe that I – or anyone else – should ever be grateful for having my dignity respected equally with that of other human beings. First, because equality is a right, and second, because it is a universal good. Genuine support for the struggles of others can only ever flow from a recognition that the denial of anyone’s rights – and the diminishment of anyone’s humanity – denies everyone’s rights, and diminishes everyone’s humanity. This makes a lack of diversity everybody’s loss, and the inclusion of diverse voices everybody’s gain.

Myth #3: all that is needed to solve the ‘diversity problem’ is to ‘raise up’ the marginalised

Diversity conversations sometimes proceed from a deficient analysis whereby the dialogue becomes about the disadvantaged position of the marginalised without acknowledging the cause of that disadvantage (so that, for example, it is Indigenous peoples whose position of ‘deficient’ must be fixed). This is not to say that urgent action should not be undertaken to ameliorate the extreme disadvantage experienced by Indigenous peoples and other marginalised groups. But there will be no real outcomes with changing the structures and attitudes that cause and promulgate the exclusion in the first place.

I know I’m not the only Indigenous writer or writer of colour in Australia to have been told by people within the literary industry that addressing a lack of diversity is ‘too hard’ or that it is ‘not their problem’. But insofar as it is the privileged who sustain, reinforce, and benefit from the structures that are causing the lack of diversity, I think it is their problem. It is also within their power to fix, and not only because they are the ones who create/sustain/benefit from it. But because the level of anyone’s individual power (and therefore anyone’s individual responsibility) can only ever be meaningfully judged by measuring it against those who have less choices than they do, not against those who have more. And judged by that measure, the vast majority of people who work within literature have the power to transform the world.   

I’d like to see them try.

***

Ambelin Kwaymullina is an Aboriginal writer, illustrator and academic who comes from the Palyku people of the Pilbara region of Western Australia. She works at the Law School at the University of Western Australia and is the author of a number of picture books as well as the YA speculative fiction series, The Tribe. 

'Fire Touched' Mercy Thompson #9 By Patricia Briggs

From the BLURB:

Tensions between the fae and humans are coming to a head. And when coyote shapeshifter Mercy and her Alpha werewolf mate, Adam, are called upon to stop a rampaging troll, they find themselves with something that could be used to make the fae back down and forestall out-and-out war: a human child stolen long ago by the fae.

Defying the most powerful werewolf in the country, the humans, and the fae, Mercy, Adam, and their pack choose to protect the boy no matter what the cost. But who will protect them from a boy who is fire touched?

‘Fire Touched’ is the ninth book in Patricia Briggs phenomenal ‘Mercy Thompson’ urban fantasy series.

It’s not long after the events of ‘Night Broken’, and Mercy’s death’s-door experience, when ‘Fire Touched’ kicks off with a troll on a Tri-Cities bridge. The troll is the latest tactical move by the Gray Lords fae leaders, who are testing human resistance and werewolf involvement when their territory is breached. Adam, Mercy and the pack do indeed intervene, and find themselves agreeing to harbour a fae fugitive in the process – a young fire touched 10-year-old boy called Aiden who was kidnapped as a child many decades ago and taken to Underhill, where he mysteriously developed fae powers.

The whole book is about Adam and Mercy taking on the Gray Lords and potentially causing ramifications for werewolves everywhere – they’ve mostly been content to sit on the sidelines and not pick fights with the fae, but lines are being drawn in the sands in Tri Cities about what territory and pack truly means, and the humans who are also encompassed in pack protection.

Fae have always been in the ‘Mercy Thompson’ series – right from book one. Mercy’s VW mentor was Zee (powerful fae Siebold Adelbertsmiter), and his son Tad was like a big brother to Mercy. And nobody will soon forget the devastating impact that fae magic had on Mercy in ‘Iron Kissed’. But in recent books of both ‘Mercy Thompson’ and ‘Alpha & Omega’, the fae storyline grew more political and grand-scale with more descriptions of the Gray Lords and worldwide ramifications when the fae revealed themselves to the humans. Around this bigger arc, I haven’t so much enjoyed the fae – especially when it was revealed that Samuel’s mate was a random fae we’d never heard of before (Ariana), that’s around the time when the more complex storyline for them felt like convenient filler for loose ends.

However, I did enjoy ‘Fire Touched’ because it actually feels like Briggs was finishing up the fae and Gray Lords stuff … or, at least, pulling back on it a bit. There are just a lot of questions answered in this book, and a feeling of satisfactorily putting aside this larger arc and setting Adam and Mercy off on something fresher.

Actually, this whole book feels like Mercy’s going through a lot of contemplations and accepting how much her life has changed in recent years; particularly her switch from a lone coyote to a pack wolf,

Adam was mine, and I was his. I chafed a little at all the belonging I’d been doing lately: belonging to Adam, to Jesse, to the pack, and having them belong to me in return. Oddly, the responsibilities of taking care of them didn’t bother me at all, only being taken care of brought out my claustrophobic reactions. I had spent most of my life being independent, and it took an effort to have to answer to other people, no matter how much I loved them. Loved him.

This feeling of reflection and acceptance, and the plugging of Gray Lords plot points, feels like ‘Fire Touched’ is gearing the series up for a new arc … I don’t know what it could be, but I did love that in this book Adam also finally settles Mercy’s position as his mate in the pack and the two of them feel stronger than ever;

Adam tried to downplay it with a military haircut and clothes that were subtly wrong color – I’d just figured that one out – but he was beautiful. Like magazine-model beautiful. I didn’t always see it anymore, the inside being more interesting than the outside package, but with his eyes sparkling and his dimple flashing …
 

There’s a sense of stability to Mercy’s life now, which begs for maybe a little shake-up in the family department … maybe in the sense of expanding Mercy and Adam’s family? I don’t know. I just loved that ‘Fire Touched’ felt like the end of a storyline I was ready to see the back of, and a stabilising of Mercy’s family and pack life has me excited to see what the next stage in this series will be.

4/5

'The Sidekicks' by Will Kostakis

But first – a little note …

There are things I want to say. About this book, and its author … but also about the state of Australian politics right now, and how it’s overwhelmingly children and teenagers being betrayed by our national discourse, or lack thereof. Some may think I’m drawing a long bow, at the mere thought of politicizing and reviewing this book – but Mr Kostakis was in the news just yesterday, because conservative politics have almost certainly crept into his private and author life, unfairly and with great discrimination, hitting right on a topic I’m extremely passionate about. 

 So. There are things I want to say … but I won’t say them all here (beyond how they oh so sadly and ironically echo one of the storylines in ‘The Sidekicks’). Because here’s the thing: Will’s private life and his sexuality are not the most interesting things about him. I’m sure they inform who he is as a person – but allow me to throw some Aristotle at you, and say; “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” 

 Will is an intelligent, funny – I really want to use the word ‘rapscallion’ here too – charming and thoughtful guy. And he’s one of Australia’s best and brightest young adult writers, who I’ve heard speak so passionately and honestly about the business of writing, and writing honestly, with young people. He helps students to crack open their imaginations and just write – and he encourages them to read, read, read! and become readers for life. That’s Will Kostakis. And Will has written a devastating and devastatingly funny book called ‘The Sidekicks’ that I really want to tell you all about, because I loved it and want to recommend it to you. 

 There are things I want to say – and I will say them, elsewhere (though you could just look at everything I’ve ever written about diversity, inclusivity and YA to know my thoughts). But here is where Will and ‘The Sidekicks’ deserve my undivided attention and applause – as a fantastic new Australian YA book, written by one of our most celebrated authors. 

 … though if I could say just one tiny thing, it would be – sometimes the people who write the books really are as awesome as their words on the page suggest, and they more than live up to the characters they create and we love. Will’s one of those guys too, and we in the Australian youth lit community are damn lucky to have him.

 •••••••

From the BLURB:

The Swimmer. The Rebel. The Nerd.

All Ryan, Harley and Miles had in common was Isaac. They lived different lives, had different interests and kept different secrets. But they shared the same best friend. They were sidekicks. And now that Isaac's gone, what does that make them?

‘The Sidekicks’ is the new young adult book from Australian author Will Kostakis.

Will is the author of fantastic 2013 book ‘The First Third,’ which went on to win the prestigious Gold Inky Award in 2014 (in which teen readers chose the shortlist, and selected the winner!). So, Will’s third book and first after ‘The First Third’ (wow, tongue-tied) was a most-anticipated fare … and I’m happy to say, it absolutely lives up to high reader-expectation.

The book is in fact three linked novellas – from the points of view of three boys after the tragic death of their mutual friend (and actually, Isaac is the only thing these boys have in common). The book opens with Ryan, ‘The Swimmer,’ and sets up a lodestone scene the next two boys will come back to – when they’re called into the Principal’s office to learn of Isaac’s death the night before.

From there we see how each of these boys – Ryan, Harley, and Miles – cope with the death of Isaac, and how he fit into each of their lives … and maybe, how they can each fit into each other’s lives as they embark on this new normal, without the glue that held their tentative friendship together.

Ryan refers to himself, with little ego, as; ‘Ryan Patrick Thomson, Olympic hopeful.’ He’s a minor celebrity at his private Catholic school, and is well aware that his currency on the swim team grants him certain leeway, which his mother (as Head of the English Department) is quick to counteract. Ryan also has a boyfriend that nobody – except Isaac – had any idea about. In a candid discussion with sympathetic teacher Mr Collins, Ryan confronts the idea that in only letting his best friend know the truth about his sexuality, he has compartmentalized his life; 

‘I didn’t want to leave my legacy to one person, and risk it being lost. I gave as much of myself to as many people, so that when they put all those pieces together, that would be the mark I left on the world.’

I will say that of all the boys, Ryan’s novella was the most powerful and there may have been a slight dip in the action when his chapter concluded. There was just so much nuance there, particularly when his sexuality was at logger-heads with the casual homophobic rhetoric he was hearing from his fellow students, and even the teachers at his Catholic school – all of which added to his paranoia, and wish not to come out to his friends and family. That being said, once I got over my reader-grief at losing Ryan as narrator, I could really appreciate what each boy’s point of view bought to the story – and in many ways, how they each helped to build a picture of who Isaac was.

Each novella – Ryan, Harley and Miles – takes a different look at grief. For Ryan, it’s coming to grips with the loss of the person who knows you best – right down to your biggest secret. In many ways, the book is about a certain degree of selfishness is one’s grief, when we look at how the loss of someone affects us, as individuals. This is also partly because Isaac was a bit of an enigma to all his friends, as we see each of them had a very different relationship and connection to him, he played a very unique role/function in each of their lives – as people tend to do in high school, when you’re more likely than ever to be narrowed into your most public ‘persona’.

For ‘The Rebel’ Harley, he and Isaac (or ‘Zac’ as he insisted on cooler calling him) found mutual ground in partying and getting wasted. With Zac’s death, Harley is forced to confront feelings of guilt, and also abandonment – a feeling he can’t help but connect to Zac’s departure, since Harley is still combating feelings of rejection since his American-born mother moved back to the States – making Harley feel as though he and his father were merely an uninteresting stop-over in her life.

Harley is someone who has tried not to get close to anyone for fear of rejection, but with Zac’s death comes the stark realization that he craves affection, from the very people he insists on pushing away – one of whom is his friend, a girl named Jacs, who has her own thoughts on Harley’s attempts at keeping his distance;

‘… Growing up, he’d say we spend our lives wrapping rubber bands around people. Some bands are so tight that you can feel them pulling you together. Some are loose and stretch for miles, there’s so much give you hardly notice them. But you’re still connected, and sooner or later …’ She releases the band and it snaps back into her wrist.

Miles, ‘The Nerd’, triggers a mystery sub-plot in the book when, immediately after learning of Isaac’s death, he rushes to the dead boy’s locker to retrieve a mystery bag … Miles’s chapter plays around with form, and is often laid out like a screenplay. This is partly because of how he and Isaac connected, as both were in a young filmmakers programme at school. But it’s also a way for Miles to candidly discuss his emotions that don’t come easily, and there’s certainly suggestion here that he’s somewhere on the spectrum.

Something I loved about this book was that, in many ways, Will Kostakis has taken the cliché male characters that sometimes appear in YA books (and pop-culture, or society generally), and made them multi-dimensional, relatable and real. The prosaic ‘Breakfast Club’ labels of The Swimmer, The Rebel, and The Nerd feel very tongue-in-cheek, and what’s clever is how Kostakis breaks them down to normality and humanity – takes them beyond the label of ‘Sidekicks’, and makes them the heroes of their own stories.

Harley, arguably, is what that marvelous parody Twitter account ‘Brooding YA Hero’ is poking fun at. Miles feels like he could be akin to all those nerd-lite characters John Green loves to write, those who could be built with a John Green Plot Generator. While Ryan reads like the perfect tick-box ‘Book Boyfriend’, outwardly designed for girls to swoon over.

But those are what they’d be if broken down to their most basic traits – The Swimmer, The Rebel, and The Nerd – the faces they show the world are not all that they are … and the book is really about how grief confronts them, and frees them.  

I’ve often said that I crave contemporary YA books in which male characters are actually allowed to show their emotions, in a plot that’s not cloaked by quest or end-of-the-world catastrophe. ‘The Sidekicks’ is exactly why I crave those sorts of stories – in a book that shows the honesty and intimacy of male friendship and complicated friendship groups. A book in which the seemingly typified male characters are so much more than the sum of the parts they’re often broken down to, by various pop-culture portrayals and societal expectations. This book – like the multi-layered, and nuanced characters – shows grief to be a prism with many sides. It’s devastating and devastatingly funny, and just makes me excited for whatever Will Kostakis writes next.

5/5 

'Anything for You' Blue Heron #5 by Kristan Higgins

Received via NetGalley 

From the BLURB:

Before you get down on bended knee… 

…you should be pretty darn sure the answer will be yes. For ten years, Connor O'Rourke has been waiting for Jessica Dunn to take their on-again, off-again relationship public, and he thinks the time has come. His restaurant is thriving, she's got her dream job at Blue Heron Vineyard—it's the perfect time to get married. 

When he pops the question, however, her answer is a fond but firm no. If it ain't broke, why fix it? Jess has her hands full with her younger brother, who's now living with her full-time, and a great career after years of waitressing. What she and Connor have is perfect: friends with an excellent benefits package. Besides, with her difficult past (and reputation), she's positive married life isn't for her. 

But this time, Connor says it's all or nothing. If she doesn't want to marry him, he'll find someone who does. Easier said than done, given that he's never loved anyone but her. And maybe Jessica isn't quite as sure as she thinks… 

‘Anything For You’ is the fifth book in Kristan Higgins’ contemporary romance series, ‘Blue Heron.’

This book is about a character we first met and had the most dealings with, way back in first book ‘The Best Man’. Jessica Dunn was the girl with a reputation who gave Faith Holland a hard time in school, and was the frequent bed partner of Levi Cooper. Jessica is the heroine of this instalment, paired with Connor O'Rourke who is the owner of local restaurant O'Rourke’s and twin to Colleen (‘Waiting on You’).

‘Anything For You’ actually kicks things off with Connor proposing to Jessica, and her turning him down. It starts with them breaking up – and then backtracks to explain their rollercoaster, secret relationship over the last few years. The lengthy flashback chapters also reveal what we barely scratched the surface of in ‘The Best Man’, knowing that Jessica was raised in the same trailer-park as Levi – daughter to two alcoholic parents, and big sister to Davey who was born with Fetal alcohol spectrum disorder (FASD).

I really, really loved this instalment. Jessica was such an interesting heroine – she’s always used her beauty to her only advantage, strategically sleeping with popular guys in high school to ensure they’d look out for her brother Davey and make sure he was never hassled. Now as an adult, she’s in a position of not being able to shake her small-town reputation as “Jessica Does,” and is always wary when good things come her way through sheer talent and brains – she’s currently working at the Blue Heron vineyard as their publicity manager, but is always on-guard thinking she’ll be fired any day now.

She and Connor, we discover, have had a rocky relationship. As kids he was attacked by her family’s dog and nearly died, resulting in the dog being put down and Davey holding a life-long hatred and fear of Connor and the O’Rourke name. This throws a serious banner in the works when Connor and Jess reconnect years later and try to make a go of it … because Davey is her whole life, ever since her mother died and father did a runner, she’s his primary carer (and has been since she was a kid herself) and she always wants to put him first.

The other thing about Jess is – she can’t believe Connor could want to be with her beyond a one-time fling or secret relationship. Jess is used to being desired and discarded, and Connor’s intensity plus promises of commitment intimidate the hell out of her;

He kissed her again, more gently this time, and her fingers found their way into his thick, wavy hair. “You’re not easy, Jessica Dunn,” he murmured against her mouth. “You are not easy.” 

“Actually, I am. That’s the problem.” 

He looked so sure, but her worries were already off to the races. What would happen when they were really together, and there was no chase anymore, and their everyday lives consisted of Davey and work and things like furnaces breaking and needing a new car? What would happen when he actually had her?

Connor is also an interesting character for his family history – a father who was always distant, until he ran off with a much younger woman and started a second family with her. ‘Anything For You’ plays out against Connor’s twin, Colleen, ready to pop with her first baby – and his father reaching out and wanting to know how they can mend their relationship.

I really loved this instalment. This book just reminded me why Higgins is one of the best – Jess starts out quite cold and unlikable, and then Higgins peels her layers away and by the end readers are right there with Connor in understanding why she’s worth fighting for and convincing of her own worth.

5/5

'The Woman Who Stole My Life' by Marian Keyes

From the BLURB:

Stella Sweeney is back in Dublin. After living the dream in New York for a year - touring her self-help book, appearing on talk shows all over the USA and living it up in her 10-room duplex on the Upper West Side - she's back to normality with a bang. And she's got writer's block.

Stella wants a clean break as she didn't exactly leave New York on a high. Why is she back in Ireland so soon? Who is it who keeps calling? Stella wants to get back to being the woman she used to be. But can she? And should she?

‘The Woman Who Stole My Life’ was the 2014 contemporary novel from bestselling Irish author, Marian Keyes.

Keyes has been a prolific, bestselling author since her 1995 debut – but I’d never read anything of hers before ‘The Woman Who Stole My Life’. I went in not knowing much (that blurb is really quite bare), but I’d been hearing a lot about this book since 2014 so was moved to give her a try.

What the blurb leaves out (one of the many things) is that this is story within a story, sort of – spliced between protagonist Stella Sweeney’s current life predicament, trying (unsuccessfully) to write a follow-up to her bestselling book, having moved home from New York with her tail between her legs after a humiliating event she’d rather not discuss … then we’re privy to small extracts from her book, titled ‘One Blink at a Time’ and the real-life catastrophe that prompted its being written. Because not so long ago Stella – once happily married with two older children – woke up one day dead tired, with tingling in her extremities. Next thing she knew, she’s being rushed to hospital as her body slowly starts shutting down … because Stella has a one-in-a-million disease called Guillain-Barre syndrome, a nerve inflammation that sees her entire body shutting down and effectively keeping her entombed and unable to move.

Stella recounts her time in ICU, only able to blink her eyes (left/right for yes/no) as her form of communication. Her family barely keep it together; her son Jeffrey becomes increasingly angry for her being sick, her daughter Betsy becomes Biblical and her husband Ryan just seems hopeless. The one bright spot in her day become neurologist (and someone Stella’s previously been in a car accident with) a doctor called Mannix Taylor, who devises a system of communication with her through blinks.

So, that’s the basic premise – how a beautician from Dublin found herself with a one in a million syndrome that kept her a prisoner in her own body, went on to become an author sensation, writing about her ordeal and recovery … and then lost it all and found herself divorced, and living back in Dublin.

I initially found a lot of Jojo Moyes and Liane Moriarty to Keyes’ story – not so much in tone or style, but substance (and, yes, the obvious comparison is to Moyes’s ‘Me Before You’ about a quadriplegic – but they’re really vastly different). Rather, I found connection in how Moyes, Moriarty and Keyes all seem to start with this premise of “what would you do?” It’s what grounds even their more outlandish storylines – by having them happen to thoroughly ordinary, relatable women that prompts the reader to wonder, “what would I do in that situation?”

But ‘The Woman Who Stole My Life’ is a 531-page book, and by the midway point I found myself looking around for … substance. By that point in a Moyes or Moriarty book, usually, all cards were being laid on the table and an ominous tumbling towards ending would be underway. Not so with Keyes and this book – by the midway point I was keeping my fingers crossed for more meat and angst, more oomph to the story which to that point had been careening along nicely and keeping me enthralled. But it was also a bit too cutesy. I kept waiting for Stella to really hit her lowest-lows, but it never felt like she quite got there. The Guillain-Barrè syndrome was awful, to be sure, but once I realised it wasn’t the whole basis of the story – that there was supposedly more heartbreak in store for Stella – I kept waiting for it to hit, but it never did for me.

Fair warning though: the woman of the title (who steals Stella's life) doesn't really make an appearance until the last third or so of the novel, and is only alluded to before then ... which felt underwhelming and threw the pacing off a little bit for me. 

There’s romance here too, but it doesn’t have the edges and depth I was hoping for either. Again – it was cutesy. And I even found myself more interested in how Stella’s (then) husband was coping with her being in ICU, partly because it was funny, but also because it hit more closely to that “what would you do?” launching off point;

Her face cleared, then she looked almost angry. ‘You fancy him.’ 

I don’t. 

‘You’d better not,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a good husband, who’s killing himself to keep everything going. You know he went out to buy tampons for Betsy?’ 

Christ. Would I never hear the end of how Ryan had gone out to buy tampons for Betsy? It had become like a tale from Irish mythology. Great deeds done by Irish men: Brian Boru fighting the Battle of Clontarf; Padraig Pearse reading the Proclamation of Irish Independence on the steps of the GPO; Ryan Sweeney buying tampons for his daughter, Betsy.

I admit; I enjoyed myself while I was reading this (though partly I think because I literally got to halfway through this 531-page book before realising it was veering away from the heft of story I’d been hoping for going in). Keyes’ humour is definitely charming, but I though it sometimes detracted from the real meat of the story and cushioned her opportunities to hit the story a little harder. But that’s obviously Keyes sticking to what her readers expect from one of her books, so I’ll admit this might just be me going in as a newbie.

I would read a Marian Keyes book again, with the right “huh, what would I do?” storyline hook – but for the most part I think I’d prefer to stick with my favourites, Jojo Moyes and Liane Moriarty.

3/5