Subhash Dalke Dalke itibaren Murari, Uttar Pradesh, Hindistan itibaren Murari, Uttar Pradesh, Hindistan

A coming-on-age novel in the tradition of Judy Blume, littered with the kinds of blunders Margaret would never make and set to the soundtrack of a Bad Brains album — that's the kind of life Polly Clark, our eponymous heroine, drags us through. In band T-shirts and Doc Martens, Polly stomps her way through eight chapters, each aptly named for the boy currently shaping her life. Surrounded by an overbearing stepfather, mourning the loss of an absent father to an alcoholic haze, and usually locked in her room with her radio turned up too loud, it's no wonder that Polly defines herself by her relationships with the opposite sex. Her determination to survive in the world of lust, loss and love would be almost admirable, if not for the fact that the bulk of her relationships end badly. Age and maturity don't seem to help much – the older Polly gets, the worse things become. This, however, is not enough to deter her from her quest, even as it becomes increasingly clear that Polly has no idea what it is she's looking for. Insecure, optimistic, and hopelessly eighties, the only other love in Polly's life is music. With references to cultural icons such as Bad Brains, Iron Maiden, and the Beastie Boys, Bryant captures the late 80's Washington D.C. hardcore punk scene with surprising honesty, and the reader can't help but suspect that the writer and her character have a lot in common. And that's precisely Polly's charm — reading her story is like flipping through the pages of the journal you kept when you were sixteen. You cringe, you consider burning it, but in the end you simply own it. Like that journal, tucked away in the dusty corner of your parents' attic, Polly pulses with the same, unavoidable truths — that growing up means messing up, and learning from your mistakes is overrated.

PHENOMENAL.

Had to read this novel for its postcolonial value. And while it certainly satisfied on that level, it turned to be rewarding on other levels as well; surprising for a redo of Robinson Crusoe, a novel which I didn't like at all. Foe, however, is a lot better. Beautifully written and very concise (something that definitely doens't count for Crusoe) this short novel manages to pose intriguing questions such as Why do we write stories and Why do people wish to read them; How do we use language; Why do we treat other people the way we do. In all, Foe got me thinking about all sorts of things; one of them, which novel of Coetzee to read next.

Another really fun read. Look forward to the next one!