A book review, and the story of its purchase.

 

Plain Bad Heroines, by Emily M. Danforth – Review 

I’m going to begin this review with my adoration for a different Danforth book. The Miseducation of Cameron Post has to be one of the best queer coming-of-age stories out there. So when I saw this pop up on my Goodreads account, I just knew I had to check it out. 

I went back to a book store for the first time last week. It was wonderful to be back in my now-familiar Waterstones in my University town. Five floors of book deliciousness, although the café on the second was sorely missed. I tried (and disliked) my first ever Earl Grey tea in there, and it was on the young adult floor that I got my student card that has happily gifted me a fair few free books over the three years I’ve used it. I stared at the New Fiction section right by the open doors for minutes that felt like hours, thanking but dismissing a long-skirted staff member when she asked if I needed help (little did I know then, I would). But sadly, the bright yellow jacket of Danforth’s book could not be spotted by my eyes, so I sighed but headed up to the safe bet – the Young Adult section. I picked up a book there – Frankly in Love by David Yoon, soon to-be-read – and then headed down into the daunting Fiction section, aptly located on the very bottom floor. It was a section which before I had never dared to enter in any bookshop, but now, with my degree soon-to-be-completed, and actual adulthood staring me in the face, I deemed it a good a time as any to head down into its depths. I put my Goodreads to-be-read shelf on alphabetical order and set about picking up any book I could find. I ended up with three reasonably sized books in total and headed back up to check for Plain Bad Heroines one last time telling myself that if I couldn’t find it, I would take home Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro instead. And I couldn’t find it, so I picked up the beautiful Ishiguro, labelled with a £3 off sticker, and dutifully stood behind an elderly lady as she completed her purchase. 

I waited for a while, but that’s beside the point. I had time to spare, and who doesn’t like sparing that time in a book shop? I eventually reached the counter and thought I would try my luck one last time. After some mask-caused miscommunication, the shop assistant tapped in Plain Bad Heroines to her computer and discovered that yes! They had one last copy in stock. I stepped over to the side and let her, with her trained shelf-perusing eyes, do the job of discovering the book. I looked down at my phone for a brief second, and there she was, brandishing it in front of me and I wondered how on earth I ever missed it. Mostly because of the aforementioned bright yellow jacket and brighter pink font, and secondly because the book was a beast. A beast of 615 hardbacked pages. But I couldn’t exactly say no after she went to all that trouble to find it, could I? 

I finished my purchase in a flurry: refusing a bag; dropping my penny change on the floor; putting my five new books in my university tote, which was almost too small; discovering the penny and leaving, giving one last masked ‘thank you’ to the woman behind the counter. I went on with my shopping trip – now with significantly less in my budget for clothes as I had previously thought. (I managed to buy one top. A yellow one, no less.) 

But I suppose I should get on with the review. I just thought that trip deserved to be documented. It’s not every day one returns to a bookshop after too long. 

I devoured this book. It was the first of the five that I picked up, because how could it not be. It’s beautiful to look at, and the synopsis, although I had vaguely forgotten it since the time when I added it to my to-be-read shelf on Goodreads, contained tales of many women-loving-women. Plain Bad Heroines reminded me first of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, another much loved favourite of mine. It was less un cirque de rêves and more of nightmares. (Forgive the lack of French translation, I studied Spanish.) I regret how quickly I read Danforth’s novel because, despite the footnotes—which is a feature I adore—I found myself confused at times with all the different timelines and surnames and relationships. This book will definitely thrive on a re-read. 

I loved our heroines, Audrey my favourite, Merritt my least, and gosh was her irritability irritable to read in the best way. Harper, Alex, and Libbie all float about in the middle together. The narrator leaves you with just enough information to put the book down (I am becoming to value a book that enables you to let it sit, I believe I am beginning to realise that I need to slow down as I read, I am too often finding myself disappointed with stories and I honestly do think I am to blame) but I absolutely always found myself wanting to pick it up again. I have not read many books about making movies, and it has left me with the distinct impression that, if this was to be adapted into a visual format, it would obviously work best as a TV show. But of course, you should absolutely read the book first. 

Danforth’s writing is exquisitely paired with illustrations by Sara Lautman, and they bring the story to life in a way the pictures I can conjure in my mind never could. The sneak up and surprise you, but I will admit that I often sped past them. I know they deserve a second look. 

This book was worth looking for, and then looking for again. I am glad it will take a place on my shelf. And it might just also get me to re-read Miseducation when I get home, because I’ve been telling myself that I would ever since the first midnight that I finished it. 

And of course, for added ambience, read this in the dark when home alone. 

4 out 5 stars.  

(This review was initially written in April)