The primary characteristic of the
disease that Brynn Kwan suffers from is the easy tendency of her joints to
dislocate. Keeping herself intact (as well as managing the pain of her
condition) is a major undertaking and an obsession. In a similar fashion,
she's tried to hide her condition from her classmates as she's found how
uncomfortable her illness makes other people. But when she finds herself
accidentally in the middle of a schoolyard skirmish and gets suspended because
of it, all of her careful plans come apart. Prohibited from the social
activities that give her something to look forward to, she suffers an
existential crisis.
Any story introducing a new
condition (in this case, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome) is intrinsically interesting
to me. Giving us an opportunity to explore how this chronic disease
challenges Brynn and how she faces that challenge is a good part of the drama
of the story and I ate that stuff up. And while the occasionally repeated
rant about how the post-COVID world abandoned the disabled is muddy and
unclear, there are a lot of good points about how prevalent ableism is in our
society. That is the novel's strong suit and it does it well.
Much of that was expected. What I didn't expect was how funny the book would be. Brynn's cat cafe-owning cousin steals the show in the otherwise slow second act as we wait for Brynn to get her life together. And Brynn's sister, while insufferably self-centered, pulls off her narcissism in such a purely unself-conscious way that you just have to love her as much as Brynn actually does. The grownups, the antagonists, and the allies (off-on-off boyfriend included) are disposable, but I didn't mind that in the midst of Brynn's combustible performance.
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