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ericgaryanderson's review
5.0
Damn. This one wobbled for me a little at first because the allegorical planets—Alienation, Envy, etc.—that orbit poor Ruby Moore's head seemed a tad heavy-handed as literary devices. But the more I read, the more I was hooked. This is at heart a coming-of-age novel about Ruby, whose anxieties and OCD and more are presented with great empathy, honesty, and respect. (I'll stop here in talking about the plot so that I can avoid spoilers.) The native southern turn, from Toronto to New Orleans, is absolutely fantastic, and the writing is smart, beautiful, and powerful, especially in the ways it evokes how Ruby is made of water and, in a variety of ways, birthed by and carried through and transformed by water. But there's so much more here, too; I'll be thinking and writing about and (to borrow a metaphor from the novel) inhaling and exhaling elements of this book for a long time, very much including all that it does with Indigenous undeadness and rumored vampires. I've only read two of her novels, this one and the incredible Marrow Thieves, but I'm already ready to say that Dimaline is one of the most exciting and most satisfying of a group of seriously talented younger Indigenous writers.
anishinaabekwereads's review
4.0
“The truth was Ruby was one of those people who edited themselves at every given moment. Before she spoke she thought out what it was she was going to say and then decided whether or not to say it.”
Ruby Bloom has a series of constant companions that buzz around her head and these are the kinds of companions she doesn’t want, but can’t entirely shake. One day, she woke up and they had formed—little manifestations of mental illness that buzzed, zipped, whispered, and shielded her from the reality of the world outside of her bubble.
The Girl Who Grew a Galaxy follows Ruby through childhood, adolescence, and adulthood as she not so much as navigates but follows a set routine she’s designed to protect herself. Cherie Dimaline’s novel is a beautifully crafted story about coming to terms with loss, understanding your own worth outside of the destructive internal voices that accompany anxiety, OCD, and depression, and a lesson in learning how to return to yourself.
There are a few things about this book that irked me. As an adult Ruby isn’t necessarily the most likable character and while I understand how mental illness can shape one’s behavior (I have looked back on my own behaviors when in a really bad place and cringed), it kept prickling at me. The portrayal of Ruby’s mother also irked me, though even this was expressed through Ruby’s lens versus her mother’s reality. And honestly I’m never a fan of a love interest spurring change when it comes to mental illness (though again I understood this in the context of this book).
Overall, this book really hit home for me though. I found myself relating to Ruby in a way I haven’t to any character in a long time. Perhaps most importantly for me, this book is not just about a woman dealing with mental illness and loss but about a Metis woman doing so. Ruby’s identity might not be the in your face variety in the latter half of the book, but it’s clear that being an Indigenous woman has shaped Ruby’s life experiences. Her great-aunt Harriet in particular was a joy to read about and I could feel the love and comfort Ruby derived from her during her youth.
”Water is blood, Ruby. It’s the blood of the earth…Blood’s important, Ruby. Blood’s where we keep memory, the memory of our people. It’s how we pass the songs, and sometimes, without trying, how we pass that hurt, too…Water’s where all of our blood memories collect. Without it…Without it Chibiish’kwe, we are alone; we are without people.”
Water is part of the core of this book. It’s easy to read through the planets, the stars, the universe itself. It’s easy to imagine that Dimaline was trying to explain how when we’re sick, when we’re struggling, we lose sight of the universe around us. When we’re sick, we become hyper-focused on everything we’re doing wrong and Ruby’s journey to self required her to look beyond her own planetary occupation to see the expanse of life beyond. Yet water itself is part of Ruby. She’s always been filled with water, contained so much. This novel took that and carried it lovingly to the end, expressing the absolute importance of water to Indigenous peoples, especially those of us on and near the great lakes.
Ruby Bloom has a series of constant companions that buzz around her head and these are the kinds of companions she doesn’t want, but can’t entirely shake. One day, she woke up and they had formed—little manifestations of mental illness that buzzed, zipped, whispered, and shielded her from the reality of the world outside of her bubble.
The Girl Who Grew a Galaxy follows Ruby through childhood, adolescence, and adulthood as she not so much as navigates but follows a set routine she’s designed to protect herself. Cherie Dimaline’s novel is a beautifully crafted story about coming to terms with loss, understanding your own worth outside of the destructive internal voices that accompany anxiety, OCD, and depression, and a lesson in learning how to return to yourself.
There are a few things about this book that irked me. As an adult Ruby isn’t necessarily the most likable character and while I understand how mental illness can shape one’s behavior (I have looked back on my own behaviors when in a really bad place and cringed), it kept prickling at me. The portrayal of Ruby’s mother also irked me, though even this was expressed through Ruby’s lens versus her mother’s reality. And honestly I’m never a fan of a love interest spurring change when it comes to mental illness (though again I understood this in the context of this book).
Overall, this book really hit home for me though. I found myself relating to Ruby in a way I haven’t to any character in a long time. Perhaps most importantly for me, this book is not just about a woman dealing with mental illness and loss but about a Metis woman doing so. Ruby’s identity might not be the in your face variety in the latter half of the book, but it’s clear that being an Indigenous woman has shaped Ruby’s life experiences. Her great-aunt Harriet in particular was a joy to read about and I could feel the love and comfort Ruby derived from her during her youth.
”Water is blood, Ruby. It’s the blood of the earth…Blood’s important, Ruby. Blood’s where we keep memory, the memory of our people. It’s how we pass the songs, and sometimes, without trying, how we pass that hurt, too…Water’s where all of our blood memories collect. Without it…Without it Chibiish’kwe, we are alone; we are without people.”
Water is part of the core of this book. It’s easy to read through the planets, the stars, the universe itself. It’s easy to imagine that Dimaline was trying to explain how when we’re sick, when we’re struggling, we lose sight of the universe around us. When we’re sick, we become hyper-focused on everything we’re doing wrong and Ruby’s journey to self required her to look beyond her own planetary occupation to see the expanse of life beyond. Yet water itself is part of Ruby. She’s always been filled with water, contained so much. This novel took that and carried it lovingly to the end, expressing the absolute importance of water to Indigenous peoples, especially those of us on and near the great lakes.
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