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A review by fagurfifill
The Attic Tragedy by J. Ashley-Smith
2.0
It’s been a couple of days that I finished this hot mess, and, I am sorry to say, the more time is passing, the greater my dislike of this novelette. Yes, OK, I do get that the protagonist has had some tragic experience(s), which, apart from her mother’s illness and her own unfortunate looks and general lack of popularity, are not, however, shown to the reader. Nor do we learn what Sylvie's unspecified "problem" is, except that it earns her "a note that kept her off all games" at school. The supernatural element was not at all convincing, the “ghosts” seemingly nothing but a figment of Sylvie’s imagination. It even remains unclear whether Sylvie herself believes in them or whether it's all make-believe on her part. We do not, of course, get a very clear image of Sylvie herself, as we get to see everything through George's eyes.
George's actions and reactions are not explained, are maybe as inexplicable to herself as to the reader: Her refusing to talk to the policewoman (who is only trying to be friendly and helpful any way she knows how) to the point of lying to her about her attackers seems brattish and uncalled-for. After a lifetime of avoiding sports she, out of the blue, starts training martial arts: "I trained because I wanted to." She does not go to uni after all when she finally could, in spite of having put in applications previous to her mother's death. As we see all of this happening through George's pov, we, no more than herself, can account for her actions, or lack thereof.
Mistaking simple acts of kindness and friendship for proofs of love is where George's tragedy begins in earnest, an obsession reminiscent of [b:This Sweet Sickness|768987|This Sweet Sickness|Patricia Highsmith|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348037826l/768987._SX50_.jpg|755047] makes her fashion her "love" for Sylvie into the main focus and pivoting angle of her own life and her every thought and action. Which is a very unhealthy thing to do, to say the least, and definitely very, very unfair to the (ostensibly) "loved" one.
What I think this story is lacking, to gain some merit and to make it suitable for its (supposedly) intended ya audience, is a mature counterpoint: someone or some event offering guidance to George and, eventually, helping her to move on. Sylvie's father, who is supposed to be an adult and who might just have tried to counter-act instead of aiding and abetting George on her merry way to self-destruction, even seems to develop a similar stance, echoing George's feelings for "the love of our lives that had rejected us both" - or is this, again, just George's way of looking at things? We never learn.
In particular I do not care for the glorification of self-harming, featuring “singing” scars and "singing" blades that George calls her “treasures” and the representation of "love" as putting the other one into a box, denying them the right to their own feelings and trying to mould them into something they are not, will never be and maybe have never been, "my Sylvie" existing solely in George's mind.
I would not recommend this at all to ya readers, or those suffering from any kind of mental instability.
George's actions and reactions are not explained, are maybe as inexplicable to herself as to the reader: Her refusing to talk to the policewoman (who is only trying to be friendly and helpful any way she knows how) to the point of lying to her about her attackers seems brattish and uncalled-for. After a lifetime of avoiding sports she, out of the blue, starts training martial arts: "I trained because I wanted to." She does not go to uni after all when she finally could, in spite of having put in applications previous to her mother's death. As we see all of this happening through George's pov, we, no more than herself, can account for her actions, or lack thereof.
Mistaking simple acts of kindness and friendship for proofs of love is where George's tragedy begins in earnest, an obsession reminiscent of [b:This Sweet Sickness|768987|This Sweet Sickness|Patricia Highsmith|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348037826l/768987._SX50_.jpg|755047] makes her fashion her "love" for Sylvie into the main focus and pivoting angle of her own life and her every thought and action. Which is a very unhealthy thing to do, to say the least, and definitely very, very unfair to the (ostensibly) "loved" one.
What I think this story is lacking, to gain some merit and to make it suitable for its (supposedly) intended ya audience, is a mature counterpoint: someone or some event offering guidance to George and, eventually, helping her to move on. Sylvie's father, who is supposed to be an adult and who might just have tried to counter-act instead of aiding and abetting George on her merry way to self-destruction, even seems to develop a similar stance, echoing George's feelings for "the love of our lives that had rejected us both" - or is this, again, just George's way of looking at things? We never learn.
In particular I do not care for the glorification of self-harming, featuring “singing” scars and "singing" blades that George calls her “treasures” and the representation of "love" as putting the other one into a box, denying them the right to their own feelings and trying to mould them into something they are not, will never be and maybe have never been, "my Sylvie" existing solely in George's mind.
I would not recommend this at all to ya readers, or those suffering from any kind of mental instability.