I finally finished the duology woo. Most of my criticisms from the first book (that I can recall at least) still stand. I think this book would be a lot better if it were targeted for tweens instead of YA, as 90% of it reads that way bar the occasional swear word and intense romance. Perhaps cause I knew what I was getting into this time around though, I did like this book more, and generally feel more forgiving about it all. I liked this, it made me happy, the story was fun. In these current times, having a book that’s so unapologetically queer and diverse in so many ways is a blessing.

I… don’t think I liked this book. I think part of that is me projecting false expectations onto this book. As a fellow trans person with a grandmother slipping into dementia, I thought I’d relate to this a lot more than I did. And I did still relate to it at times, sometimes really profoundly. The last section which focused a lot more on the ageing grandmother and that fraught relationship between her and the author was very moving for me. There was some interesting examinations of language and gender here, family relationships and education, expectations, using sex and sexuality as a crutch to prevent us from ironically looking too deeply into ourselves, but also to connect more with ourselves. There was a lot of little sections that I liked, some at the start, sparsely in the middle, and a lot more towards the end. Ultimately my main issue was the structure of the book, along with its sort of how do you say, self obsessed or like, self flagellating nature at times. The book is a rollercoaster and if you’re not ready for the ride, not in a good way. Up is down and left is right, one minute you’ll be examining a childhood trauma, the next an explicit sex scene, and then it launches into an article about the history of trees. It’s a lot to absorb and as someone who is famously not a fan of experimental cinema, this often frustrated me - particularly when I was getting invested in one section only to have it wrenched away. The other thing, maybe I’ve worded it wrong. The author is extremely concerned and self aware about their privileges (class, race, education) compared to their mother and grandmother in being educated, even disgusted with how they look down on the and patronise them, yet continue to be patronising to an irritating degree. They preach about being woke and anti racist but also absentmindedly think about how they haven’t fucked a person of x nationality. They lament to a friend about how they’re scared to wear nail polish and be seen as visibly queer, unlike their friend who is - in their eyes - a safe individual free from this judgement, only for their friend to turn around and ask where they got the notion that they feel safe being visibly (even in a smaller way than the author) queer. I don’t know, they are constantly aware of what they’re doing wrong but make no efforts to change it and it’s just, annoying. There’s a lot of woe is me mixed in with trying to admit their life is not the worst thing ever, but still not thinking of other peoples perspectives. Viewing a lot of their sexual conquests more as objects for pleasure and self-actualisation and less as individual people with varying circumstances outside the protagonists life. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s realistic but it grates on me a lot. I have very mixed feelings about this book. I don’t even know what to rate it. Part of me really hates it and another is fond of the gems that are here. Hmph. Perhaps it deserves more stars just for making me think so deeply on it, so conflicted. Ok fine. A very conflicted 2.5 stars. Perhaps I’ll reevaluate at a later date. Hmph I’ve also written this entirely off the dome on a very delayed train with very little sleep so I apologise if any of this review makes zero sense oh well