Revenge of the Sluts begins with an email sent to the entire student body at St Joseph’s High School: nude photos of seven girls in the graduating class, with a promise from the sender, the self-named Eros, that this email was only the beginning. School reporter Eden Jeong and her editor-in-chief Ronnie Greer decide to cover what students have begun to call ‘Nudegate’ in the school newspaper, and give the girls in the photos a chance to have their stories told. Except all the school administration wants to do is forget about the incident, and local laws say that unless any of the girls are under 18, having their nudes circulated against their will is not technically a crime. Cue the ‘Slut Squad’, the group formed by the girls in the photos to support each other and fight for justice even if the laws and their school won’t support them.

Despite the fraught subject matter and the slut-shaming the girls in the photos are subjected to, even from their own families, ultimately, I found Revenge of the Sluts to be a satisfying, sex-positive, feel-good novel. Revenge porn / Non-consensual pornography is a terrible crime that’s sadly become more common and easier to perpetrate with so much of our lives going digital. While this novel is fiction, I have no doubt that what Sloane, Alice, Claire, and the other members of the Slut Squad went through happens in real life high schools. And as horrified as I am by the book’s revelation that, in some states, this kind of act is technically legal unless the victim is a minor, I have no doubt that that’s true as well.

The author doesn’t shy away from the terrible effects the email had on these girls and their classmates (Eden learns about group chats among the boys in her school where nude photos of girl classmates are regularly exchanged, and she worries about nudes she’d sent her ex-boyfriend when they were still together). However, rather than focusing on the girls’ victimhood, the story highlights the girls’ heroism in fighting back, and the strength the girls find in banding together.

I loved Sloane and the Slut Squad, and the care the author took in showing the range of reactions among the girls, and the helpful therapist who offered resources for anyone who wanted to talk. I did cringe when one of the girls invited Eden to the first Slut Squad meeting, which I understand was necessary for the plot, but it still felt like a violation of the safe space Sloane had set up. Some of the Squad’s activities also felt a bit too rah rah — for example, I’m surprised Claire was okay with a particular gathering of the Squad that impacted something she worked hard on. I also wish we’d gotten more insight into how the girls’ families and loved ones responded to their activism, which, given the principal’s desperation to sweep things under the rug, I presume posed material risks to the girls’ graduation and college admission. But ultimately, the thought of these girls rising up together and reclaiming their stories felt too good to begrudge, and I was happy the Squad fought strong.

I also loved the insight into investigative journalism at a high school level. We see Eden and Ronnie deal with school bureaucracy, conscientious journalism practices, and the excitement of knowing you’re sharing important stories that need to be told. I also love that both Eden and Ronnie are BIPOC, and that this shared experience partly shapes their friendship. Ronnie is one of only four Black students at the school, and when she assigns the Nudegate story to Eden instead of writing it herself, because other students are turned off by her political activism, it’s easy to imagine that her Blackness played a role in her classmates’ discomfort as well. Eden is first-generation Korean-American, and I love the little details that show how her family stay connected to their Korean heritage. Even when it’s something as simple as her father cooking Korean food or her mother watching K-dramas with Eden, the author shows us how Eden actively uses these touchpoints to connect to her Koreanness.

The ending fell a bit flat for me, only because I was disappointed with the reveal of who Eros actually was. The perpetrator and their motivations seemed to counter, for me at least, the messages of strength and solidarity that I loved in so much of the story. The story’s strength, for me, was seeing how these girls from disparate social groups, and some of the guys in their social circles banded together and supported each other. I thought the story’s trajectory was hopeful in a fist-pumping, tear-down-unjust-systems kind of way, and while I admit Eros’ identity did make sense, I also felt like the reveal detracted from that hope a little bit.

Still, I found it an engaging book overall, and I love how some of the characters really came through for each other to fight the system and ensure that justice is done.

+

Thank you to Raincoast Books for an egalley of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Fourteen months ago, Ruby Fletcher was convicted for the murder of her neighbours Brandon and Fiona Truett. The evidence against her contained security cam footage and testimony from her neighbours, including her roommate Harper Nash. Now, Ruby’s conviction has been overturned, and she’s back at Harper’s house, claiming her innocence and vowing to uncover the real guilty party. 

From the blurb, I expected a page-turning domestic thriller. The title refers to the perceived peacefulness of the setting, a neighbourhood called Hollow’s Edge where the local homeowners’ association maintains a neighbourhood watch and enforces social mores. Such settings are always ripe for thrillers, since the genteel veneer often masks intra-community drama and simmering resentments.

On one hand, Such a Quiet Place does deliver such a thriller. There’s a sense of menace in Ruby’s return, with all the neighbours still convinced of her guilt and stressing over what kind of revenge she has planned. Harper, the narrator, also begins to receive mysterious, threatening notes, which threaten to reveal something she’s tried to keep secret. And about halfway through the novel, another death occurs, and new suspicions flare up. It’s a page turner, and Miranda is a skilled writer who keeps you guessing.

But mostly, to my surprise, I found the book sad. The truth behind the murders does hold menace, but the reasons actually turn out to be sadder and more ordinary than I anticipated. Beyond the central mystery around the murders, the novel delves into all the drama stirred up by the local homeowners’ association (HOA), led by neighbourhood queen bee Charlotte Brock. Still fully convinced of Ruby’s guilt, they decide she’s not welcome in the neighbourhood, snub her at the Fourth of July barbecue, and peer pressure Harper into evicting her from their home. Ruby is far from a likeable character — she does some shady things, and pretty much strong-arms her way back into Harper’s house — but I still felt bad for her with how much bullying she had to face from the HOA. 

Because the HOA drives so much of the action in the novel, the story feels not so much a thriller as pointed social commentary wrapped up in thrillerish elements. Through her characters, Miranda prompts us to reflect on what and who we consider our home and community, and how complicit we become in maintaining an exclusionary social order.

For example, the neighbours all participate in an online message board, but the message board is open only to homeowners, and not renters. At one point, Harper reflects that all the renters got out as soon as they could after the Truett murders destroyed the sense of safety in the neighbourhood, while homeowners had invested too much equity to be able to leave so easily. But, while the murders likely did play a part in it, I can’t help but wonder how many of those renters moved out simply because they were treated as second-class citizens.

Another telling example is the Fourth of July barbecue, where Charlotte decides only residents are allowed to come, because they’re the ones who pay the HOA fees that fund the event. She gets pushback from neighbours who want to bring guests, and eventually caves, but not before snarking that with guests allowed, there may not be enough food to go around. 

While Charlotte is the queen bee, all the neighbours are in some form or other complicit in the toxicity that sets them apart from ‘outsiders’. Miranda does a great job with Harper’s perspective on this, as the author manages to convey how much the HOA fosters a sense of belonging and close-knit friendships in the community while still exerting subtle pressure on residents to abide by their social norms, or else be outsiders in their own homes. 

By the end of the novel, I realized how terrifying the story was in its mundaneness. We often see thrillers with taglines like “it can happen anywhere”, and with this book, Miranda succeeds in crafting just such a thriller, and in challenging us to consider how we engage with where we live.

+

Thank you to Simon and Schuster Canada for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.

It feels churlish to admit that I struggled to get through this book. (Full disclosure: I started this in December, and I’m tapping out for now in March, at approx 69%. I likely will finish it some time, just because it feels even more curmudgeonly not to finish it at all.)

Peace by Chocolate tells the inspiring story of the Hadhad family’s journey from Syria to Canada. Family patriarch Isam used to run a chocolate-making factory in Damascus until war in Syria broke out, the factory was destroyed, and Isam, his son Tareq, and their family were forced to flee the country. They lived as refugees in Lebanon for a while, before finding a permanent home in Nova Scotia. Thanks in part to a loan from Canadian friends, they were able to re-start Isam’s chocolate-making business in Canada, and their chocolate company, Peace by Chocolate, is now really successful. It’s a wonderful, inspiring story, and a welcome touch of joy and hope in often dark pandemic times.

The Hadhad family’s journey is well documented. Trattie includes wonderful details about their journey that make their experiences come alive, and, at least for this immigrant, make their stories resonate. For example, when the family is asked by immigration officials if they want to move to Canada, they burst into laughter, which confuses the immigration officials until the family says that of course, they want to move, and it’s hilarious that it even has to be asked.

I also love another part where Batoul, who is fluent in English, is the only one in her class who didn’t laugh at a joke. Even though the class tried to explain, the need for explanation diminished the humour. Later in that chapter, the author writes,

The English [Batoul] had studied in Syria and Lebanon was slow and clear. Now she felt herself in the midst of a torrential river of words. And her English teachers back home had been Arabic speakers; she hadn’t had the additional challenge of understanding a Canadian accent. [p. 122]

That detail was very relatable, and I like how it was highlighted in the book.

However, the writing overall fell flat for me. The narrative felt almost too glossy, so geared towards inspiration that it fails to actually make the details come alive. The super-inspirational tone somewhat reminds me of the musical Come From Away, except without the music or comedy. (For the record, I love Come From Away. The tone translates better on-stage than in a 200+ page book.)

An example:

Tareq pictured his family reunited in Canada, his children and grandchildren growing up safe. He saw himself as an old man, describing how the Hadhad family escaped death in Syria for a new life in Canada. Then he saw himself alone, a man with no family and no country, no past and no future. He turned to his father.

“You will become Canadian even before me,” Tareq promise, his eyes shining with tears. “You will follow me and our family will be fine. I will settle in and prepare everything for your arrival: a nice house and a good community. We lost our family of sixty. I promise you I will build a family of six hundred in Canada. When you arrive, you will feel at home.”

The taxi arrived. Isam embraced his eldest son. As Isam watched Tareq walk away, he felt all his fears vanish and his heart fill with hope. [pp 68-69]

The passage is lovely and heartwarming, and given the heartfelt moment between father and son, it feels wrong to call the passage saccharine. But when so much of the book takes this tone, it becomes a bit of a slog to keep reading through. I think this book functions well as a family memento — the Hadhads have gone through a lot and have accomplished incredible things, and I love the idea that this book exists to show future generations how far they’ve come. But personally, I found the book too long, and would have enjoyed it more as an article.

Some readers may enjoy this book; I would personally recommend checking out one of their media interviews instead, since according to the book, they did a bunch of them for outlets like CBC. If their story resonates with you, you may also buy your next batch of chocolates at Peace by Chocolate.

+

Thank you to the publisher for an e-galley in exchange for an honest review.