07/18/2022
Denelle’s bold if frustrating debut circles around a young woman’s memories of unspecified trauma as she spirals downward. Rosemary Candwell narrates in nonlinear fragments that hint at terrible things done by her parents. Thinking of her father on Father’s Day, she reflects, “He’s out there somewhere, frantically wondering, does she remember? She does.” Rosemary shuttles from one menial retail job to the next in different parts of Rhode Island, at times living on the street or in a shelter until she moves in to an apartment. She’s made repeated suicide attempts—“tried to end it on my own terms. Believe you me. I failed and I failed and I failed and I failed”—and her mother’s biggest concern during visits to see her in the mental health ward is what Rosemary has revealed to psychiatrists about the past. She continually edges toward self-destruction until she meets a young woman named Sylvie outside her apartment building, who becomes a friend and offers help. The prose is sometimes razor-sharp (“ got a picked and peeled anxiety manicure”), but more often overwrought. While Rosemary’s evasiveness over the details of the trauma reflects her difficulty in expressing and working through them, as a narrative device it eventually wears thin. The author shows promise, but this is a bit too raw. (Sept.)
