Brooklyn, Burning, by Steve Brezenoff

This is actually only one of two books I really want to talk about. I also want to talk about Please Ignore Vera Dietz, by A.S. King, but I just un-reviewed The Dust of 100 Dogs, by the same author, so I'll try to get to Vera on Monday.

As you know, when I write a post specifically recommending a book, I usually do it at Afterglow Book Reviews. Like I did for 100 Dogs. But Brooklyn, Burning, is different. It's a book unlike any other I've ever read, and it has something important to say. Something that's close to my heart.

Brooklyn, Burning (Carolrhoda Lab), at its heart, is a love letter. It's a love letter from the protagonist, Kid, to Scout. But it's also a love letter to Brooklyn, and a love letter from humanity to music. Centrally, though, it's a love letter from Kid to Scout. Kid is a street kid, a teenager that has runaway from home, we think at first, but later discover Kid's father kicked his child out of the house. Kid spends two summers in the book, working (and sometimes drinking) at a local bar, but mostly playing drums in the basement, with two different guitar players so attractive in their stark humanity, one can't help but fall in love with them.

I'm not here to talk about the plot. This isn't really a book about what happens. This is a book about people. About characters. About who something happens to. In some ways, I'm kind of a moron, because I didn't realize it was laid out plainly in the blurb (I read on Kindle, purchased with my own money), but I soon discovered that Brezenoff was doing something incredibly unique with his characters. Felix, the boy Kid falls in love with the first summer, is clearly described as a boy, but due to the unique style of first person narration, neither Kid, nor Scout, the guitarist Kid falls in love with during the second summer, are ever explicitly described as one gender or the other. It's really a brilliant thing, even if easily missed at first.

That being said, this isn't a LGBTQ issues book. The fact that gender identity is something Kid's friends and chosen family of the streets agree is something each individual has the right to decide for themselves is not the forefront of this tale. But it is what struck me the most about this novel. I thought it was a beautiful homage to the power of character, because it illustrates the point that people are people, and characters are characters, and they don't have to be defined by whether or not they have a penis, and whether or not they are attracted to people with penises. There is so much more to a person than that.

There is music, and there is defiance, and there is loneliness, and there is hope. None of these things is exclusively masculine or feminine, and it really makes for an immersive story experience to read a tale through a lens that is not adulterated by any of the expectations society places upon one gender or another.

I highly recommend you read this book, not only because it's a lovely story, but because it will open your eyes to the idea that there is not only one way to tell a tale.

Here are some places you can find out more about Brooklyn, Burning, Steve Brezenoff, and Carolrhoda Labs:

Steve Brezenoff on Twitter.
Steve's Blog.
Steve's Website.
The Carolrhoda Lab Website.
The Carolrhoda Books Blog.