FTC darling, I am constantly getting you mixed up with the FCC. I am always saying, Grrr, that FTC, cranky censorship snarl can’t even say swear words on the television grumble grumble grumble, and then remembering twenty minutes later that I’ve been ranting about the wrong acronym. Sorry, FTC! It was unkind of me to call you an ugly poophead and a fascist bastard, even if it was just to my sister! Also, I thought you’d want to know that I received Broken Glass Park for review from the lovely people at Regal Literary Agency.
What I liked about Broken Glass Park:
- The protagonist, Sascha, is an orphan. I love a book about an orphan. Indeed, the sentence that made me decide to like Love Walked In was “All of Clare’s favorite characters were orphans.” For I, too, love orphans. I dote upon orphans. Especially plucky orphans.
- Sascha is a fantastic protagonist with a clear, honest voice that drew me into the story straight away. She’s tough, and she goes after what she wants, but not in an unrealistically sensible and fearless way. Which is to say: She plans to murder her stepfather when he gets out of prison, lovingly reviewing her options for poison, breaking bottles over his head, and so forth, but when a local newspaper writes a sympathetic article about her stepfather, and she goes to confront the author of the article, she is madly intimidated by the newspaper office. So right. Teenagers find it easy to make murder plans and hellishly difficult to navigate adult spaces. (At least I did. And so does Polly Whittaker in Fire and Hemlock.) (Er, I didn’t make murder plans as a teenager. The other half. Easily intimidated by having to interact as an adult with adults.)
- I liked the way Sascha’s backstory unfolds gradually, so that you have mostly figured out what happened by the time the story confirms it. Rather than trying to build up to a reveal, and BAM, explain everything at once, the book lets you see bits of the picture at a time until the whole thing becomes apparent. It made the situation sad, rather than sensationalizing it.
- Sascha’s relationships with her family rang absolutely true: her frustration with her mother’s romantic entanglements, her fierce devotion to her younger half-siblings, and her half-tolerant, half-nasty frustration with her guardian, a relation of her stepfather. Lovely, lovely, lovely.
- The end. It was one of those endings that is emotionally satisfying endings and not too pat.
- The translation! Ah, yes, it is not often I have nice things to say about translated works. I find them a trial. Unless, of course, I have translated them myself, like The Aeneid and bits of The Metamorphoses, in which case I find them to be the best thing ever because I have conquered them WITH MY WITS (and sometimes a dictionary and nearly always the invaluable input of a commentary or two). In the case of Broken Glass Park, however, I never felt I was reading in translation. Props to translator Tim Mohr.
- Getting this book in the post. I do not often get new books at all, let alone as delightful treats through the post. If I can get them used I do it, as I am an impoverished receptionist trying to decide on a Life Plan. Still, there’s nothing like new books, with their shiny covers and sharp corners. I was surprised at how excited I was when this one arrived.
What I did not like:
- You saw this coming: Violence against women. It upsets me. After finishing this book, I had a nightmare that a guy broke into my apartment and was just engaged in bashing up the mirrors in my bathroom when I woke up and confronted him. I noticed I was dreaming, tested it by flicking the light switches to see if it changed the light levels in the room (it didn’t), and then went right on having the nightmare. This was my second unsatisfactory experience of lucid dreaming in two nights. I was led to believe that if I learned to dream lucidly, I would be able to have whatever sort of a dream I wanted. I feel like instead of having a scary dream where I tried to figure out ways to get to my car and push the intruder down the stairs, I should have been able to start having a delightful dream where I traveled back in time and met Oscar Wilde and went to Greece and Rome with him and gossiped about the Theban Band. So, not good. The violence against women (Sascha herself as well as her mother) was not excessive, nor extensively described, but it upset me anyway.
- Along the same lines: Sascha’s predictably self-destructive behavior. It didn’t ring false or anything. It just made me sad.
- This one thing that happened with Volker. Volker is a kind newspaperman who takes Sascha under his wing and takes care of her. She becomes fast friends with his son Felix, and then THIS THING HAPPENS. This thing happens that I can’t stand! It felt out of character for Volker. I wanted him to be lovely, but I couldn’t actually like him, because there was this thing. I could not work out what Sascha’s feelings on the matter were, and the whole episode was jarring.
The Volker thing threw the whole rest of the book (until the end) off-kilter for me. Still, I cannot emphasize enough how impressed I am with the writing and then translating of Sascha’s voice. I love it when authors (and translators) can make first-person narrations work this well. (Muriel Barbery, take note.) (Monsters of Men, wish you were here.)
Have you reviewed this too? Let me know and I will add a link!