Review by New York Times Review
IT'S been 20 years since the publication of Laurie Halse Anderson's debut novel, "Speak," about a high school freshman reckoning with the trauma of her rape. Anderson credits "Speak," which became widely recognized as a Y.A. landmark, with helping her find her voice. Now, she wields the full force of itin SHOUT (Viking, 291 pp., $17.99; ages 13 and up), a memoir told through a series of short poems. Anderson not only reflects on her own rape at the age of 13, she also examines an adolescence and adulthood marked by her veteran father's PTSD and her mother's powerlessness over the situation, resulting in her parents' shared struggle with alcohol. ("I thought I was the only kid with a house on fire, but I wasn't.") "Shout" effectively paints the complexities of coming of age in a household mired in inherited silence and shame. The consequences are viscerally punctuated by a three-part poem about Anderson's rape, its immediate aftermath and its long-lasting emotional repercussions. ("I did not know / that the haunting / had just begun.") When it becomes clear Anderson cannot cope with her trauma while under her parents' roof, she spends 13 months in Denmark as a foreign exchange student. The experience provides a critical step forward in her recovery. Coming back to America and starting college at Georgetown offers another; it's there that her shame, pain and rage slowly begin to crystallize. After a fish-out-of-water college experience that included dealing with predatory professors, Anderson married, had children and became a reporter, while also working on fiction. As a reporter, she witnessed the brutal character assassination of a rape victim in court (which she recounts in a poem called "if it please the court") and then, one night, awoke to the sound of a girl crying. It was a book idea born of a nightmare ("the crying girl was lost in my head"). The crying girl was Melinda and the book, of course, was "Speak." "Shout" is Anderson's reckoning; it follows a hurting cry to the universe that turns into a hard-won path to healing and ultimately unfolds into a powerful call to action. As Anderson captures the whirlwind success of "Speak," she begins to unpack the intensity of the response she has faced, as both girls and boys approach her to tell about assaults they have survived. Poems like "collective" remind us that we all have a responsibility to keep the conversation about rape culture going. Given that Anderson is tracing several decades of her life, some of the cultural similarities between the first and second parts of "Shout" are unsettling - we're not as far removed from the stigma around sexual violence as we believe. In one poem, "emergency, in three acts," Anderson is thwarted by a principal who sets off a fire alarm to cut her school talk short. In "librarian on the cusp of courage" she encounters a librarian who can't risk her job by ordering "Speak." The strengths of "Shout" lie in these foundational experiences that shaped Anderson's career. The book falters when it strays from the title's directive, particularly in portions of the first and third parts that meander slightly. Anderson excels when she narrows her focus, aiming her lens directly at the reader to speak about rape culture. Those who recognize their complicity in or perpetuation of it will, and should, feel uncomfortable. Those who are victims and survivors of it will be empowered by its anger and find comfort in its hope. Anderson encourages readers to fight for themselves without understating the difficulties of recovery, and even in her memoir's darkest moments, she's conscious of the saving graces that kept her head above the water. Among them, of course: the refuge of words ("the only thing that helped me breathe / was opening a book"). With "Speak," Anderson opened the door for more novels exploring the deeply felt and deeply personal aftermath of sexual violence. "Shout" serves as both a testament to the life-altering, lifesaving impact of these types of stories - and as an urgent and brutal reminder of their ongoing necessity. COURTNEY summers is the author ofY.A. novels including "All the Rage," "Cracked Up to Be" and, most recently, "Sadie."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [March 10, 2019]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Almost two decades after the publication of her Printz Honor Book and National Book Award finalist debut Speak (1999), Anderson offers up a memoir in verse that covers her difficult early childhood, her own rape at the age of 13, her trauma and slow recovery through her high-school days, and the experiences surrounding her publication of Speak. With a veteran father whose PTSD steered the family directionally, and a mother who didn't deal with things head-on, Anderson began life with "the inherited, / trauma-fed ability / to stay silent in every situation." In blunt and biting verse that builds consistently in strength and assurance, she relates her story and her growing awareness that "shame / turned / inside out / is rage." In the final section, Anderson's focused, first-person narrative becomes more of a chorus as she recounts the stories that readers, female and male, adults but especially teenagers, have shared with her about their own experiences with sexual assault and harassment. The classroom benefit of this book is undeniable it's a primer on writing and on living, and both Speak and Anderson's effect on teens has never waned. But more than that, it is a captivating, powerful read about clawing your way out of trauma, reclaiming your body, and undoing lifetimes of lessons in order to use your voice as the weapon it is. Fervent and deafening. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Anderson's won just about every award there is, and this deeply personal account, a return to her roots, will have wide appeal.--Maggie Reagan Copyright 2019 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
In this powerful memoir told in free verse, Anderson delves into her past and that of her parents, sharing experiences at the root of novels such as Speak (her rape at the age of 13) and The Impossible Knife of Memory (her father's PTSD after World War II). In language alternately raw and lyrical, she traces the years from her childhood to the start of her writing career, describing how the memory of her rape finally spurred her to write the truth and to become an activist against censorship and rape culture, which are both addressed in the book along with confusing social messages surrounding sexuality ("the rules they fed you/ were the wrong rules"). Exploring the impact of silence on truth ("I learned then that words/ had such power/ some must never be spoken"), she also portrays her parents' marriage, her shifting relationships with them, and her closeness with her father after her mother's death. In one especially contemplative poem entitled "how the story found me," Anderson turns on its head the common refrain "follow your dreams," recommending that readers "follow your nightmares instead/ cuz when you figure out what's eating you alive/ you can slay it." Her potent words and willingness to shout her message are proof of the soundness of that advice. Ages 12-up. Agent: Amy Berkower, Writers House. (Mar.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 8 Up-Novelist Anderson has terrified adults and earned nods of recognition from teenagers with her unflinching portrayals of sexual assault, eating disorders, and self-harm. With this searing memoir in verse, she revisits the trauma that sliced through her and her family: the father shattered by memories of serving in World War II, the mother worn down by picking up the pieces, and the rape that buried teenage Laurie in a deep depression and laid the roots for her novel Speak. Anderson's wordplay is sophisticated, disturbing imagery underscoring her pain-a girl without eyelids, a girl submerged in cement. She's as witheringly sarcastic as her protagonists, yet she possesses hard-won wisdom and a mixture of honesty and tenderness. It's as though Speak's Melinda made it through the fire, emerging as a warrior bent on combating rape culture. Though the rape devastated Anderson, she stresses that a lifetime of seemingly small injustices (entitled boys, flirtatious professors) also eroded her self-worth. Her rage on behalf of all those who have been wounded is palpable, yet she envisions a different world, where consent and respect are the norm. VERDICT More than a gifted writer, Anderson is an advocate for anyone who feels alienated. Her sensitive, incisive book is essential for all young people.-Mahnaz Dar, School Library Journal © Copyright 2019. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review
This is the story of a girl who lost her voice and wrote herself a new one. So opens Andersons three-part autobiographical collection of dynamic, mostly free-verse poems that serves as a potent poetic endnote for her landmark novel Speak (rev. 9/99). In the first third, she recounts the painful origin story of her alcoholic parents (two ships ripped from their moorings), a confusing childhood full of frequent moves, and the harrowing rape, when she was thirteen, that was the basis for Speak. Suffering silently through ninth grade, Anderson eventually finds her words again through the kind attention of teachers, a robust sports schedule, and a student-exchange program that places her with a nurturing family in Denmark. She follows this section (which takes her into adulthood and Speaks publication) with a series of impassioned poems about sexual assault, censorship, menstruation, sex and love, and consent, born of the hundreds of personal stories confided to her at author visits, book festivals, and conferences. These poems address topics ranging from the #MeToo movement to clergy sexual abuse, in muscular stanzas that both heal and hit back. Anderson concludes with a quiet set of reflective family poems that makes peace with her now-deceased parents. By turns angry, commanding, raw, and wistful, this collection is a praise song to survivors, a blistering rebuke to predators, and a testament to the healing power of shared stories. jennifer hubert swan March/April 2019 p 96(c) Copyright 2019. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
"This is the story of a girl who lost her voice and wrote herself a new one."The award-winning author, who is also a rape survivor, opens up in this powerful free-verse memoir, holding nothing back. Part 1 begins with her father's lifelong struggle as a World War II veteran, her childhood and rape at 13 by a boy she liked, the resulting downward spiral, her recovery during a year as an exchange student in Denmark, and the dream that gave her Melinda, Speak's (1999) protagonist. Part 2 takes readers through her journey as a published author and National Book Award finalist. She recalls some of the many stories she's heard during school visits from boys and girls who survived rape and sexual abuse and calls out censorship that has prevented some speaking engagements. In Part 3, she wraps up with poems about her family roots. The verse flows like powerful music, and Anderson's narrative voice is steady and direct: "We should teach our girls / that snapping is OK, / instead of waiting / for someone else to break them." The poems range in length from a pair of two-line stanzas to several pages. Readers new to Anderson will find this accessible. It's a strong example of how lived experience shapes art and an important book for the #MeToo movement.Necessary for every home, school, and public library. (resources) (Verse memoir. 13-adult) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
