Skip to main content

“I can’t say for certain why the three of us are friends. Sure, who can answer a question like that. I suppose there aren’t many children along our road, so there isn’t much choice, and I don’t give it a lot of thought. We carry on as we are, and there’s plenty of fun to be had. That’s not to say that I couldn’t make nicer or better friends in another place, but how would I ever know the difference.”

 

Pole in the sky, Geilston Bay. August 2021.

You Have to Make Your Own Fun Around Here by Frances Macken

You Have to Make Your Own Fun Around Here strikes me as a book that is something of a fusion of Derry Girls and Normal People, with a jarring murder/ disappearance side plot that is left unreconciled. As such, it did not quite hit the mark for me.

In our narrator, the drifting Katie, along with best (!) friends, the toxic Evelyn and meek Maeve, we follow the unlikely trio. as they try to adjust from childhood to life in adulthood. For a story that centres on this cramped friendship, it is striking the extent to which these girls don't really like each other.

I note that some reviewers took issue with the lack of resolution to the Katie and Evelyn dynamic, but the lacklustre death of their relationship seemed a natural course to me. What bothered me more was the seeming abandonment of the disappearance of Pamela Cooney. A number of clues/ red herrings are sprinkled in the direction of a range of characters, but the entire plotline just peters out with little fanfare.

Similarly - and perhaps not unrelated - a fair bit of effort has been made to get readers to look at the decidedly odd Maeve in all manner of ways, but the ending to this arc also felt queerly unsatisfying. To this reader though, unlike the Pamela plotline, this is likely a deliberate literary choice from Macken. One not to my taste though.

All up, I liked more of the book than not and will keep a keen eye out for what comes next.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut