I have had the slowest start to reading this year! Here we are, firmly in spring (well, according to the calendar anyway) and I am still in the single-digits in books read!
Oof, my poor reading challenges.
But, as I have spoken about before, I allow myself grace, and patience, and I get there.
Or not, and that is okay too.
How about you? How are you doing with your readings this year? Any favourites so far?
I wonder how much of this is Covid-fatigue related.
Anyway, I digress.
Today is book review day, and the reason I'm being all ponderous about my reading goals is that today's subject is one of my favourite reads of the year so far.
Tell the Wolves I'm Home was lent to me by a friend and coworker. She said, "I know you'll love it," and she was right. I recommended it to another friend and told her, "I know you'll love it."
She assures me I was right, too.
The year is 1987. I was two years old then, but that is of no consequence; June is fourteen, and that very much is of consequence. She is a bit of an "odd duck"; shy, distant, obsessed with all things medieval and mysterious, she can only be herself around her closest friend, her uncle Finn, who is a talented painter.
But Finn suffers from a mysterious, terrifying illness, and far too young, he dies. Then she meets a strange man, Toby, and she comes to realize that there is a whole lot about her favourite person that she didn't know at all, and that grief and compassion can bring people together.
“That's the secret. If you always make sure you're exactly the person you hoped to be, if you always make sure you know only the very best people, then you won't care if you die tomorrow.”
First, a question: how on earth did I not find this book until now? It was published in 2012, for goodness' sake! And second, a statement: This book is Carol Rifka Brunt's debut novel. Can we all just a minute to be suitably impressed by this?
Okay, now that that is all taken care of, as always, major spoilers ahead.
I cried. Let's just get that out of the way right now. Definitely cried.
It is a coming-of-age novel, but not a YA novel. One criticism I have read is that June is melodramatic and feels out of place and unloved.
Well, yeah. She is fourteen. Of course she feels that way. Every single fourteen year old girl I have ever met feels that way. This is just a realistic representation of adolescence. And then there is Greta. Greta is June's older sister and a bully, plain and simple. I do like that there are nuances to Greta and June's relationship, and that, as the novel progresses, their relationship shifts and matures, so we are left with two people who are very different but who do love each other.
I have thoughts about Greta and June's parents, especially their mother, but my thoughts are all about the characters themselves, and quite frankly, I am upset because it is all done so realistically.
I was too young in the eighties to be fully aware of much of the AIDS crisis, and everything I know comes second- or third-hand, filtered through media and movies and musicals. To read about the way the fear of the disease pervaded so much of society was interesting, and of course I think it only natural to draw the likeness to our current pandemic and the fear and blame pointed at particular people or groups now.
There is disease. There is growing up. There is secrecy. There are mistakes. There is love. There is grief and compassion and anger and art and memory and fear and tea, all whispered between the pages of this book. It is perfectly imperfect because it is full of sincerity and humanity, and I loved it.
Very, very highly recommend.
What's your favourite read of the year so far? I'd love to hear about it! And don't forget to make your recommendations for my top 100 must-read books of all time! (I talk about that here.) You can comment below or via my contact page, here. And while you're there, subscribe to my (very occasional) newsletter!