Til reviews My Whole Truth by Mischa Trace

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

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.