Scan barcode
Reviews tagging 'Sexual assault'
Faltas: Letters to Everyone in My Hometown Who Isn't My Rapist by Cecilia Gentili
9 reviews
ewonssss's review
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
fast-paced
5.0
One of the most powerful, honest, and witty memoirs I’ve ever read. Will be holding this one close to the heart for a long time.
Rest in power Cecilia.
Rest in power Cecilia.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Rape and Sexual assault
dizzzybrook's review
challenging
emotional
sad
medium-paced
4.75
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual assault and Sexual content
cafecitoyt's review
sad
medium-paced
Content Warnings
Graphic: Hate crime, Rape, Drug use, Sexual content, Child abuse, Sexual violence, and Sexual assault
emtk2118's review
challenging
emotional
funny
fast-paced
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Sexual assault, Rape, Pedophilia, Sexual violence, and Adult/minor relationship
Moderate: Torture, Vomit, Sexual content, Homophobia, Hate crime, Infidelity, and Physical abuse
Minor: Abortion, Alcoholism, and Murder
sweaterdad's review
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
fast-paced
4.75
I had been working on a project with Cecilia for the last year. Over winter break I told her I picked up a copy and couldn’t wait to read it. I took my time reading and absorbing her words and finished it about a week before she passed. So sad to have not been able to tell her how wonderful, honest and refreshing I found her work. Forever grateful to have been a blip on her radar. Rest in power, Cecilia. Thank you for everything.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Religious bigotry, Sexual assault, and Transphobia
Minor: Abortion
camilleberedjick's review
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
fast-paced
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Sexual assault, and Rape
spec_tacles's review
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual assault, Toxic relationship, Adult/minor relationship, Child abuse, Grief, Homophobia, Transphobia, Alcoholism, Pedophilia, and Rape
Minor: Death of parent
historicalmaterialgirl's review
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
This is one of the most honest and measured books I have read. The way Gentili wrote so candidly, looking at each problem, each conflict, each memory without flinching away from the funny or twisted or awful parts of an experience, refusing to dress them up to be more than they were, is so admirable to me.
I am reminded of Audre Lorde talking about the pain that happens as a result of our silences. Faltas describes so many painful scenarios that wouldn't have happened without silence, knowing something is happening and not doing anything about it. And Faltas also finally says what Cecilia Gentili needed to say, without reserve or hesitation. These letters are a powerful example of understanding the people who have hurt us without forgiving them and accepting the past without needing to changing it. They are more than just letters to me: they are a guide, a lens and a path home.
I am reminded of Audre Lorde talking about the pain that happens as a result of our silences. Faltas describes so many painful scenarios that wouldn't have happened without silence, knowing something is happening and not doing anything about it. And Faltas also finally says what Cecilia Gentili needed to say, without reserve or hesitation. These letters are a powerful example of understanding the people who have hurt us without forgiving them and accepting the past without needing to changing it. They are more than just letters to me: they are a guide, a lens and a path home.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Transphobia, Child abuse, Sexual assault, and Violence
caseythecanadianlesbrarian's review
dark
funny
hopeful
reflective
sad
fast-paced
5.0
What an incredible book. In a series of letters, Cecilia Gentili writes to friends, foes, and family in her hometown of Galvez, Argentina and in turn shares the story of her childhood and growing up. She writes with a breathtaking directness, a remarkable vulnerability, and a charming sense of humour. Her charisma oozes off the page, even as – or perhaps especially when – she describes her 'bad' behaviour.
It's an unexpected comparison, but Gentili's writing reminded me sometimes of Fiona Apple. Both women have a way of unflinchingly laying bare their truth, in a deceptively simple way that feels brand new while at the same time being deeply familiar. It's as if Gentili is saying, "Here they are, these hard truths. Coming at them askance or beating around the bush isn't going to do us any good." And it's not just when she writes about other people; she also looks right at herself in the mirror and shares what she sees. She writes: "It has been hard to come to understand myself as this person that I sometimes don't like at all." Writing about the complicated relationship she had with her mother, she drops a truth bomb like this: "I am saying sometimes people who love us don't know how to treat us right."
The trauma of childhood sexual abuse at the centre of this book is clear in its subtitle: "letters to everyone in my hometown who isn't my rapist." Gentili doesn't give her rapist the attention of a direct letter, but she tells her story from different angles throughout the book. It's fucking heartbreaking, obviously. But it also seems clear that offloading the burden of pretending it didn't happen is a relief. No more trying to uphold the fiction of a nice little town where nothing bad happened.
Gentili is here to hold people accountable and to share how she was targeted as a young queer, trans kid. It's heavy. But, remarkably, at the same time this book is consistently funny and endlessly gracious. How did she do that?? When she first learns about menstruation, she is told that women who have a hard time with her periods are being punished for their sinfulness. As a trans girl who has passed the age when she's told beginning to menstruate is normal, she takes in this information thoughtfully. She muses: "I was upset at this further confirmation that I was not a normal girl. At the same time I thought: Thank God I am not, because I for sure am closer to the devilish side, and my period would be filled with pain!" She also often makes you laugh and feel sad at the same time: "All that pain made me strong, of course, but who wants to be strong? I wanted to be happy!"
The letter that really shows off Gentili's graciousness is the one she pens to her mother. It's infuriating to read that her mom and other adults in her life were aware she was being abused and did nothing. But that's not the emotion you get from Gentili, who asks her mom, "What happened to you that made you navigate all of this as if it was normal?" Her deep empathy and compassion are astounding. And it makes her deeply satisfying "fuck you" to the self-righteous and hateful Doña Delia and her refusal to address her rapist all the more poignant.
The letter to her oldest friend Juan Pablo, in contrast, is a wonderful testament to the power of queer friendship and solidarity. She tells him: "I guess finding each other saved us. I am sure finding you saved me." The letter to her grandmother was similarly joyful. Although lacking the language of "trans" or even that Gentili was a girl, her grandmother wholeheartedly accepted Gentili's femininity, encouraging her to be herself. The love and gratitude expressed in the letter are beautiful to witness.
Faltas – fault or lack in Spanish, both meanings of which are clearly applicable – is an immensely readable book. It has a late night kitchen table storytelling feel to it that the frame of the letter format really emphasizes. It often feels like Gentili is right there, telling you these stories over a mug of tea. She's addressing the letter to someone, speaking to "you," but the letters weave in and out of directly talking to the addressee and recounting relevant stories. The immediacy is stunning.
I'm truly honoured to have received a review copy of Faltas, <a href="https://www.littlepuss.net/shop">Little Puss Press's</a> first book. What a beginning. Don't miss this book people.
It's an unexpected comparison, but Gentili's writing reminded me sometimes of Fiona Apple. Both women have a way of unflinchingly laying bare their truth, in a deceptively simple way that feels brand new while at the same time being deeply familiar. It's as if Gentili is saying, "Here they are, these hard truths. Coming at them askance or beating around the bush isn't going to do us any good." And it's not just when she writes about other people; she also looks right at herself in the mirror and shares what she sees. She writes: "It has been hard to come to understand myself as this person that I sometimes don't like at all." Writing about the complicated relationship she had with her mother, she drops a truth bomb like this: "I am saying sometimes people who love us don't know how to treat us right."
The trauma of childhood sexual abuse at the centre of this book is clear in its subtitle: "letters to everyone in my hometown who isn't my rapist." Gentili doesn't give her rapist the attention of a direct letter, but she tells her story from different angles throughout the book. It's fucking heartbreaking, obviously. But it also seems clear that offloading the burden of pretending it didn't happen is a relief. No more trying to uphold the fiction of a nice little town where nothing bad happened.
Gentili is here to hold people accountable and to share how she was targeted as a young queer, trans kid. It's heavy. But, remarkably, at the same time this book is consistently funny and endlessly gracious. How did she do that?? When she first learns about menstruation, she is told that women who have a hard time with her periods are being punished for their sinfulness. As a trans girl who has passed the age when she's told beginning to menstruate is normal, she takes in this information thoughtfully. She muses: "I was upset at this further confirmation that I was not a normal girl. At the same time I thought: Thank God I am not, because I for sure am closer to the devilish side, and my period would be filled with pain!" She also often makes you laugh and feel sad at the same time: "All that pain made me strong, of course, but who wants to be strong? I wanted to be happy!"
The letter that really shows off Gentili's graciousness is the one she pens to her mother. It's infuriating to read that her mom and other adults in her life were aware she was being abused and did nothing. But that's not the emotion you get from Gentili, who asks her mom, "What happened to you that made you navigate all of this as if it was normal?" Her deep empathy and compassion are astounding. And it makes her deeply satisfying "fuck you" to the self-righteous and hateful Doña Delia and her refusal to address her rapist all the more poignant.
The letter to her oldest friend Juan Pablo, in contrast, is a wonderful testament to the power of queer friendship and solidarity. She tells him: "I guess finding each other saved us. I am sure finding you saved me." The letter to her grandmother was similarly joyful. Although lacking the language of "trans" or even that Gentili was a girl, her grandmother wholeheartedly accepted Gentili's femininity, encouraging her to be herself. The love and gratitude expressed in the letter are beautiful to witness.
Faltas – fault or lack in Spanish, both meanings of which are clearly applicable – is an immensely readable book. It has a late night kitchen table storytelling feel to it that the frame of the letter format really emphasizes. It often feels like Gentili is right there, telling you these stories over a mug of tea. She's addressing the letter to someone, speaking to "you," but the letters weave in and out of directly talking to the addressee and recounting relevant stories. The immediacy is stunning.
I'm truly honoured to have received a review copy of Faltas, <a href="https://www.littlepuss.net/shop">Little Puss Press's</a> first book. What a beginning. Don't miss this book people.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual assault, Transphobia, and Adult/minor relationship
More...