Tag Archives: realistic fiction

Queer Joy at the IBD Support Group: The Year My Life Went Down the Toilet by Jake Maia Arlow

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the cover of The Year My Life Went Down the Toilet

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And you think you have a lot of crap to deal with!

The Year My Life Went Down the Toilet by Jake Maia Arlow is the story of twelve-year-old Al Schneider, whose life is moving at far too fast a pace—and so are her intestines. She’s not sure if and how to explain that she likes girls. Her mom barely seems to notice anything but her digestive challenges. Her best and only friend, Leo, wants to join drama club and leave her behind. All of which she needs to address between runs to the bathroom thanks to her Crohn’s disease.

When it comes to depicting Crohn’s disease, Arlow, much like an afflicted sphincter, doesn’t hold back. And I love that. Disability is hard, and bowel-related disabilities have a particular challenge thanks to their symptoms being very little-discussed. We don’t discuss poop, as a society. People with IBD don’t have a choice, and the book doesn’t sugar-coat that. (Sugar-coated poop is… somehow considerably worse.) But jokes aside, I appreciated that the book honestly addressed everything from farts to colostomy bags to pooping yourself in gym class, and it did so with empathy and respect.

At the same time, autonomy and identity merge well as themes with regard to both Al’s disability and her sexuality. She feels validated when her middle school IBD meeting offers different snacks to suit digestive needs; she feels frustrated when her mom chooses the same stomach-safe foods over and over. Al does need accommodations. She also deserves to make choices about her own body. So it makes sense that someone who is figuring things about herself and very much wants more autonomy would be hesitant to come out.

That was another aspect of the book I liked. Al knows she won’t face homophobia when she comes out to her mom, who is bisexual and has a girlfriend. It’s not about fear but identity: she doesn’t want to be seen as “copying” when she’s just being herself. I enjoyed the exploration of why someone might keep that private for reasons besides fear.

In fact, the book features plenty of queer joy. Al’s IBD middle school support group consists entirely of queer kids. She feels right at home among them, and especially with cute girl Mina. Al and Mina’s relationship reminded me a lot of a relationship I once had with another disabled person (mentioned here with permission). There were experiences we shared as disabled people and things we innately understood about one another—which is not to say non-disabled people can’t do that, they absolutely can, but they often don’t. I felt so validated by the comfort and companionship Al and Mina found with each other.

Now, this is not to say that the book is perfect. Conflicts came to convenient resolutions, but that made its own sort of sense. Al is isolated by her disability and it has impacted her social development. She is caring but also thoughtless, not the most empathetic person by a far cry. She needs to hear other people’s perspectives, and they need to see that she cares. I also would have liked to see more about Al’s questions about gender identity, which are raised early on but largely abandoned.

Is The Year My Life Went Down the Toilet perfect? No. But it is engaging, honest, sweet, and hilarious. A more than worthy addition to the annals of sapphic middle grade fiction!

Til reviews My Whole Truth by Mischa Trace

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the cover of My Whole Truth

Trigger warnings: sexual assault, gore, pregnancy, abortion

My Whole Truth tells the story of Seelie, who readers meet in the aftermath of a vicious attack. She’s bleeding, scared, and teeth-gritted determined to survive. As the novel progresses, Seelie recovers physically with therapy and emotionally through support from her friends, but faces both a legal trial and harassment at school.

Because Seelie survived. And she did so by ensuring her attacker was dead.

Just as a book, this is a quick but just-okay read. It’s fast-paced with a twist or revelation around every corner. Relationships between Seelie and her friends were another positive; they felt genuine. As I read, I felt like I could see the author’s plotting, and it’s not inherently bad. Threads are introduced and resolved in a reasonable timeframe. Multiple storylines overlap—they just didn’t feel cohesive. One in particular related to drug-dealing. It took up a fair few pages, yet seemed mostly to provide context, not to impact the story itself. This proves most problematic at the conclusion: marked by dramatic yet unimpactful revelations, it felt silly.

The representation is balanced far better than the story itself. Seelie’s queerness, disability, and size all felt very organic to me. Anyone who’s ever been an awkward teenager will recognize themselves in her under-articulated crush on her best friend. Seelie’s recovery from a stab wound to the leg is slow and requires her to use mobility aids for much of the story. Reading it, the pain and frustration seem palpable. Finally, her feelings about her size are well-incorporated and feel realistic from little details like self-consciousness regarding specific body parts. People who have never been fat rarely understand just how personal it can be to hate one’s knees.

Most impressive of all, this is never a story about a queer girl or a disabled girl or a fat girl, it’s a story about Seelie. The narrative doesn’t feel the need to handhold readers. Instead, it’s very normalizing.

This was a just-okay book, but its representation is excellent. So despite the just-okay-ness, I had a good time reading it.

Marthese reviews If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan

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If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan“Fine, so my nipples don’t want this to happen, either”
Another sapphic modern classic down! If You Could Be Mine tells the story of Sahar. Sahar lives in Iran and is in love with Nasrin, who is more than her best friend–but being public about it will get them both killed. Nasrin gets betrothed to Reza and Sahar is trying to find a way for her and Sahar to be together.

Once, she goes to her cousin’s Ali’s party. Ali is her cool, rich cousin who is very gay and seems to manage an underground–not so hidden–empire of queer safe spaces and illegal contraband. During the party she meets Parveen, who she befriends, and from Ali she learns that Parveen is transexual (that’s what’s written in the book–I would just say trans). She starts seeing a way for her to be legally with Nasrin–but can she do it? Can she become a man when she very much feels like a woman?

Sahar is a cis lesbian, not a trans straight man. This story felt very real however. I knew someone whose parents were originally from Iran, and they would have rather she transitioned than be with a girl as a girl, even though they were not in Iran anymore. Small things, like the mention that divorce is legal, the contraband, the dress-code and curfew and how people are in private vs in public sets a realistic picture for this story.

As far as characters, I liked Ali, because while he could be quite crass and pushy, he was also caring. I liked Parveen too, and I’m glad Sahar made a friend. Most times I did not like Nasrin, but I understood her even though it felt quite unfair. Their roles of adventures and conservative were switched, at least in certain things, mid-way through the book while Sahar starts getting into Ali’s world–her world. The daring Nasrin follows conventions and the quite Sahar, breaks them.

I felt that the writing was too simplistic in the beginning. However, than I got hooked to the story and didn’t analyze it later on.

While the ending isn’t a ‘happily ever after’, there is some kind of closure and the connection between the characters will undeniably always be there. At least there’s not the kill-the-gays trope! Through their actions, the different queer characters were trying to avoid just that. It’s not safe to be yourself everywhere and while sometimes there is the option of leaving–leaving means abandoning your family, your culture and your place. It was heartbreaking but there is hope.

I’d recommend this book to anyone that likes realistic fiction and different cultures. You’d definitely need to account for angst.