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A review by hdcamp
Buffalo Flats by Martine Leavitt
5.0
I feel like I'm in danger of saying too much about this book. It doesn't need much introduction - it's an historical novel about pioneers in western Canada. It's just about life.
That's exactly what's so great about it. Things like this book here are exactly what got me into writing in the first place - it's a snapshot of life as it actually was for a particular person, in a particular point in time, in a particular place. I've been giving this review some thought, and I'm still not sure what to say.
Of course the faith represented was my favorite part. A fellow librarian I was talking to about this book mentioned that "of course, it's such a feminist text," and I was surprised. I thought about it, and realized that she was correct, but that it wasn't the radical, misandrist feminism I usually see in contemporary YA. It was a quiet, timely, Christian feminism - standing up for your own dignity an the dignity of other women, without losing sight of your own femininity. I was so worried when talking with my colleagues that they were going to be derisive of Rebecca and her mother's lived faith (they were not), because it felt so real to me, and it was valuable to me to see it depicted. Organized worship was only depicted in passing, but Rebecca's interior relationship with God, and her Christian worldview permeated everything, and that is something I haven't seen in popular fiction. The end result wasn't that she was "freed" from her religion, or that the resolution of her character arc meant a rejection of her values or beliefs; it all worked together, and by the end of the book her faith is stronger and her relationship with God is more fortified.
This was the first book I've read that I really saw myself in. Ever. Throughout my education and into my professional life, I've talked with teachers and librarians and other book professionals, and they always mentioned the startling lack of representation in publishing for people of color, or LGBTQ+ people, or people with disabilities. I always agreed with them (recently I've been wondering what the statistics look like nowadays, because it seems to be much improved in some ways from ten years ago). As a professional I was told it was my duty to provide those mirrors for children when they came to me, whether they knew it or not - occasionally a problematic statement for me, but it was my duty nonetheless. My career and my faith hinged on that duty, although none of my colleagues knew or could've understood it. But these conversations also made me realize that I had never had a mirror of my own. It only got worse as those strides towards inclusiveness were made in publishing - I'm not an overt feminist, I'm not trans, I'm not a person of color, I don't experience same sex attraction, and I don't have any disabilities. Even in the classics I read as a child, Jo and Anne didn't share my faith; I may have related to their personalities and interests to some degree, but they still weren't like me.
That's a long and roundabout way of saying that Rebecca's story was familiar to me on a more personal level than anything I've ever read. And I was hit over the head with it right off the bat - Rebecca meets God on her tor, looking out at the mountains she loves. She learns things that I am learning, and has thoughts that I've been having. In between all of it is the hard work of surviving on a homestead in the North American west, which is always something simultaneously appealing and terrifying to me. If I couldn't relate to it in particular, I could relate to it in general.
That's all well and good, but I'm just talking about what worked for me in particular. The book in general was wonderful too, and I have no doubt that anyone reading it would love it. The writing is beautiful, by turns heartbreaking and hilarious; the characters are masterfully crafted (and I loved the way their utter humanness, for good and bad, was revealed over the course of the book); the plot was perfection, and the pacing just right. I have zero complaints about this book. When was the last time that happened?
That's exactly what's so great about it. Things like this book here are exactly what got me into writing in the first place - it's a snapshot of life as it actually was for a particular person, in a particular point in time, in a particular place. I've been giving this review some thought, and I'm still not sure what to say.
Of course the faith represented was my favorite part. A fellow librarian I was talking to about this book mentioned that "of course, it's such a feminist text," and I was surprised. I thought about it, and realized that she was correct, but that it wasn't the radical, misandrist feminism I usually see in contemporary YA. It was a quiet, timely, Christian feminism - standing up for your own dignity an the dignity of other women, without losing sight of your own femininity. I was so worried when talking with my colleagues that they were going to be derisive of Rebecca and her mother's lived faith (they were not), because it felt so real to me, and it was valuable to me to see it depicted. Organized worship was only depicted in passing, but Rebecca's interior relationship with God, and her Christian worldview permeated everything, and that is something I haven't seen in popular fiction. The end result wasn't that she was "freed" from her religion, or that the resolution of her character arc meant a rejection of her values or beliefs; it all worked together, and by the end of the book her faith is stronger and her relationship with God is more fortified.
This was the first book I've read that I really saw myself in. Ever. Throughout my education and into my professional life, I've talked with teachers and librarians and other book professionals, and they always mentioned the startling lack of representation in publishing for people of color, or LGBTQ+ people, or people with disabilities. I always agreed with them (recently I've been wondering what the statistics look like nowadays, because it seems to be much improved in some ways from ten years ago). As a professional I was told it was my duty to provide those mirrors for children when they came to me, whether they knew it or not - occasionally a problematic statement for me, but it was my duty nonetheless. My career and my faith hinged on that duty, although none of my colleagues knew or could've understood it. But these conversations also made me realize that I had never had a mirror of my own. It only got worse as those strides towards inclusiveness were made in publishing - I'm not an overt feminist, I'm not trans, I'm not a person of color, I don't experience same sex attraction, and I don't have any disabilities. Even in the classics I read as a child, Jo and Anne didn't share my faith; I may have related to their personalities and interests to some degree, but they still weren't like me.
That's a long and roundabout way of saying that Rebecca's story was familiar to me on a more personal level than anything I've ever read. And I was hit over the head with it right off the bat - Rebecca meets God on her tor, looking out at the mountains she loves. She learns things that I am learning, and has thoughts that I've been having. In between all of it is the hard work of surviving on a homestead in the North American west, which is always something simultaneously appealing and terrifying to me. If I couldn't relate to it in particular, I could relate to it in general.
That's all well and good, but I'm just talking about what worked for me in particular. The book in general was wonderful too, and I have no doubt that anyone reading it would love it. The writing is beautiful, by turns heartbreaking and hilarious; the characters are masterfully crafted (and I loved the way their utter humanness, for good and bad, was revealed over the course of the book); the plot was perfection, and the pacing just right. I have zero complaints about this book. When was the last time that happened?