I found all these stories exquisite. Blain can communicate such a sense of sadness and melancholy without being sentimental.
Many of these stories are about loss and grief: loss of a parent to alzheimers; the grief that comes with lost opportunities, lost hopes and dreams; loss of the world as we know it.

It is strange how often we long for life to move forward: I just have to get through this, we think, as though the past, with all its fears and fuck-ups and anxieties, can be completely left behind, neat, contained, never spilling over the line we imagine is waiting for us. And yet the past is always there, hovering at the edge, teasing us, reappearing when we least expect it, and then sliding away again, where it waits, the warmth of its breath reminding us that it still lives.

In his forward, Georgia’s life partner, Andrew Taylor, describes how he felt on reading her memoir shortly after her death. I cannot say it better…..

As tender and painful as it was, once I started reading, I found it addictive. An old friend of mine once described melancholy as the feeling of enjoying being sad. I can’t say I enjoyed being sad, but I didn’t want this feeling to end.

This is not only an extremely moving meditation on mortality, but an impassioned discussion about words, and language, and how we struggle to use these tools to convey the workings of our hearts and minds.

There is so much to gain from reading this book, so many nuggets of wisdom that I want to hug close, and return to again and again. However, I must share this one in particular, when Georgia and her daughter Odessa were wondering what gods she must of offended to have been burdened with so much loss and sorrow….

If there are gods, they are capricious and their motives are unfathomable. This is life, as I frequently remind myself. This is life.

Blain has created a not-too-distant-future that is very bleak. She has used many current technologies and extended them to the extreme. Children are now created by design; those who can afford it can pay for any modifications for their offspring they choose, be they aesthetic or intellectual, like purchasing a product from an online catalogue. However, for the poorer members of society, there is a lottery and a chance for their child to escape the slums.
Fern is a Lotto Girl: designed from pre-birth to be Special. She will be trained at an elite boarding school to then be part of the privileged class. However, when we meet her, she has had her identity wiped, and is now known as Delia Greene. She is alone and struggling to survive in the harsh world of the slums. And she can trust no-one.
There is a lot of dystopian YA fiction on the market. I felt this was a cut above many others in this genre. Fern is not perfect, she can be selfish and naive, confused and needy, and I feel this makes her more real for the intended audience. Also, this dystopian novel is suitable for readers from Year 7, unlike others that contain more explicit material.
I’m not sure if Georgia Blain intended to continue Fern’s story, and I know others found the ending abrupt. I liked the ending! I feel very confident in recommending this book to readers from Year 7+ looking for a one-off dystopian novel.

I knew of Georgia Blain’s death before I read this, so it’s impossible not to be influenced by the blurring between her character Hilary’s story, and Blain’s own.
This is a book about the sad, tragic, funny, joyful but ultimately wonderful mess we call life. The characters are all flawed, but honest and real: no one is perfect. Blain communicates her empathy for them all, and you, as the reader, share in this empathy.
When I finished this book, I felt more determined than ever to celebrate life and embrace it, mess and all!