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Monoceros
A seventeen-year-old boy, bullied and heartbroken, hangs himself. And although he felt terribly alone, his suicide changes everyone around him.
His parents are devastated. His secret boyfriend's girlfriend is relieved. His unicorn- and virginity-obsessed classmate, Faraday, is shattered; she wishes she had made friends with him that time she sold him an Iced Cappuccino at Tim Hortons. His English teacher, mid-divorce and mid-menopause, wishes she could remember the dead student's name, that she could care more about her students than her ex's new girlfriend. Who happens to be her cousin. The school guidance counselor, Walter, feels guilty—maybe he should have made an effort when the kid asked for help. Max, the principal, is worried about how it will reflect on the school. And Walter, who's secretly been in a relationship with Max for years, thinks that's a little callous. He's also tired of Max's obsession with some sci-fi show on TV. And Max wishes Walter would lose some weight and remember to use a coaster.
And then Max meets a drag queen named Crepe Suzette. And everything changes.
His parents are devastated. His secret boyfriend's girlfriend is relieved. His unicorn- and virginity-obsessed classmate, Faraday, is shattered; she wishes she had made friends with him that time she sold him an Iced Cappuccino at Tim Hortons. His English teacher, mid-divorce and mid-menopause, wishes she could remember the dead student's name, that she could care more about her students than her ex's new girlfriend. Who happens to be her cousin. The school guidance counselor, Walter, feels guilty—maybe he should have made an effort when the kid asked for help. Max, the principal, is worried about how it will reflect on the school. And Walter, who's secretly been in a relationship with Max for years, thinks that's a little callous. He's also tired of Max's obsession with some sci-fi show on TV. And Max wishes Walter would lose some weight and remember to use a coaster.
And then Max meets a drag queen named Crepe Suzette. And everything changes.
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2011
11 people are currently reading
799 people want to read
About the author
Suzette Mayr
18 books155 followersSuzette Mayr is the author of five novels including her most recent, Dr. Edith Vane and the Hares of Crawley Hall. Her fourth novel, Monoceros, won the ReLit Award and the City of Calgary W.O. Mitchell Book Prize, was long-listed for the 2011 Giller Prize, nominated for a Ferro-Grumley Award for LGBT Fiction and the Georges Bugnet Award for Fiction, and included on The Globe and Mail’s 100 Best Books of 2011.
Her first novel, Moon Honey, was shortlisted for the Writers Guild of Alberta Best First Book and Best Novel prizes. The Widows, her second novel, was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Prize for Best Book in the Canadian-Caribbean region.
Mayr is past president of the Writers' Guild of Alberta and teaches creative writing in the English Department at the University of Calgary where she was the 2002-2003 Markin-Flanagan writer-in-residence.
Her first novel, Moon Honey, was shortlisted for the Writers Guild of Alberta Best First Book and Best Novel prizes. The Widows, her second novel, was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Prize for Best Book in the Canadian-Caribbean region.
Mayr is past president of the Writers' Guild of Alberta and teaches creative writing in the English Department at the University of Calgary where she was the 2002-2003 Markin-Flanagan writer-in-residence.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 90 reviews
July 5, 2011
Because you are evil, you continue to live. Because funny that evil is a noun spelled forward and a verb spelled backwards. Because what you did to your son was the word evil as a verb, a verb that means to ignore someone to death, that locket winding around your boy’s neck, lurid neon signs, a verb that means to stand by, place your hands over your eyes while someone dies in front of you. The verb of not putting out your hand to save. That verb. That human-chandelier verb. That verb-an-unnatural-colour-of-blue verb. That gold, heart-shaped-letter-he-wrote-to-you-and-only-you verb. You evilled. Your chest heaves, scratching in and out your breath.
***
Patrick Furey is dead. He is remembered and forgotten, as he was both hated and loved. But worst of all, most damning to his future, he was ignored. His feelings, his attentions and desires thrust back at him with a terrifying coda—a threat to his privacy, his happiness and his life. Because the slang u r a fag scrawled across a locker is a phonetic condemnation that will ripple through an entire school. Because “it gets better” has a necessary umbrella of objectivity—objectivity that, when faced with the hormonal and emotional gravity of the high school experience, is readily sacrificed to the altar of fear.
Suzette Mayr’s Monoceros is Patrick’s story, told in reflection through a select group of individuals—students, teachers, school administrators, parents, family, friends that never had the chance to be, and Ginger, the dead boy’s secret love. Through Patrick’s suicide by hanging in the opening chapter, the threads of fate that surrounded him begin to unravel, and each character—be it Ginger, whose rejection of Patrick was more piercing than any knife; Petra, Ginger’s hate-filled girlfriend who is in denial about his latent homosexuality and blames Patrick for compromising their relationship; or Faraday, a unicorn-obsessed girl who loved Patrick in her own way, through a simple act of kindness that, for her, defined his entire personality—is forced to examine his or her placement within both the school and the social hierarchy, and how those perceived barriers and their failures to act have not only cost a young boy his life, but have also limited the breadth of their own individual existences.
Max and Walter—the Principal and the head guidance counsellor. Lovers for seventeen years, unable to have a simple dinner together in public for fear that a parent or teacher or student might see them and blow the whistle on their romance, exiling them from their careers within the Catholic school system—and possibly the public school system as well, given current levels of trepidation and animosity unfairly targeting gay and lesbian teachers. Their story is perhaps the strongest reflection of Patrick’s, and it is their fear at being exposed for who they are that presents the most obvious and terrible mirror to the bullying and harassment Patrick has faced. Their inaction as Patrick is slowly torn apart by the fear and hatred of others is as damaging as any other form of hurt experienced by the boy.
However, it was not Walter and Max's unwillingness to act, nor was it Petra’s bullying that caused Patrick to take his life—it was Ginger’s rejection and willingness to lead a false existence with a girl who could never reflect his innermost lust.
The essential relationships—parent/child, husband/wife, lovers secretly entwined—are challenged in such a way that, as the weeks following Patrick’s death tick by, the conceit of time becomes both restorative and deconstructive. Through his actions and the resounding effect his death has had on those around him—those who loved him, and those who didn’t realize how much a part of their lives were in Patrick and vice versa—Patrick Furey, in death, is personified as an instigator of change. As the weeks pass and graduation approaches—and beyond that, a life that, had Patrick had the strength and support to see the clearing beyond the trees, still carried promise and hope and the opportunity to find oneself—their journeys are immortalized in headstone chapters. The implications for change, now and in the future, such as with Petra, who remains in denial about her role in Patrick’s death, are deafening.
Monoceros is a loving, intricately written book. Mayr’s language is clean, spare, and overflowing with imagery—so much so that the magical realism of the book’s conclusion does not feel forced or out of place. Its cleansing wrath is earned—a gift to the memory of Patrick Furey.
***
In grade 12, I had the misfortune of experiencing a similar event. I was a teacher’s assistant for a grade 10 art class. In the spring of 1999, sick of being ridiculed as a fag and a retard and every other spiteful tag favoured by his classmates, a young man in grade 10 took his life. He hanged himself from the second-floor banister of the family home, where he remained until his parents returned home later that evening. Whether he was gay or not, no one knew. It didn’t matter—the message was hate, all the same, and like Patrick, obscured by the sense of isolation still so prevalent in high school, this boy saw no other alternative than to end his suffering by any means necessary. I didn’t know him personally, though I knew his older sister through others in my year. It was in the teachers, however, where I saw the greatest impact. The gravity of a child taking their own life was not lost on them. This memory was at the front of my mind as I read Monoceros. This sensation—the loss felt by the teachers, as if they could see the failings in every facet of the world they’d devoted their lives to—has been captured both beautifully and horrifically by Mayr. I would hope that Monoceros finds a home within schools across Canada. It is an essential read.
***
Patrick Furey is dead. He is remembered and forgotten, as he was both hated and loved. But worst of all, most damning to his future, he was ignored. His feelings, his attentions and desires thrust back at him with a terrifying coda—a threat to his privacy, his happiness and his life. Because the slang u r a fag scrawled across a locker is a phonetic condemnation that will ripple through an entire school. Because “it gets better” has a necessary umbrella of objectivity—objectivity that, when faced with the hormonal and emotional gravity of the high school experience, is readily sacrificed to the altar of fear.
Suzette Mayr’s Monoceros is Patrick’s story, told in reflection through a select group of individuals—students, teachers, school administrators, parents, family, friends that never had the chance to be, and Ginger, the dead boy’s secret love. Through Patrick’s suicide by hanging in the opening chapter, the threads of fate that surrounded him begin to unravel, and each character—be it Ginger, whose rejection of Patrick was more piercing than any knife; Petra, Ginger’s hate-filled girlfriend who is in denial about his latent homosexuality and blames Patrick for compromising their relationship; or Faraday, a unicorn-obsessed girl who loved Patrick in her own way, through a simple act of kindness that, for her, defined his entire personality—is forced to examine his or her placement within both the school and the social hierarchy, and how those perceived barriers and their failures to act have not only cost a young boy his life, but have also limited the breadth of their own individual existences.
Max and Walter—the Principal and the head guidance counsellor. Lovers for seventeen years, unable to have a simple dinner together in public for fear that a parent or teacher or student might see them and blow the whistle on their romance, exiling them from their careers within the Catholic school system—and possibly the public school system as well, given current levels of trepidation and animosity unfairly targeting gay and lesbian teachers. Their story is perhaps the strongest reflection of Patrick’s, and it is their fear at being exposed for who they are that presents the most obvious and terrible mirror to the bullying and harassment Patrick has faced. Their inaction as Patrick is slowly torn apart by the fear and hatred of others is as damaging as any other form of hurt experienced by the boy.
However, it was not Walter and Max's unwillingness to act, nor was it Petra’s bullying that caused Patrick to take his life—it was Ginger’s rejection and willingness to lead a false existence with a girl who could never reflect his innermost lust.
The essential relationships—parent/child, husband/wife, lovers secretly entwined—are challenged in such a way that, as the weeks following Patrick’s death tick by, the conceit of time becomes both restorative and deconstructive. Through his actions and the resounding effect his death has had on those around him—those who loved him, and those who didn’t realize how much a part of their lives were in Patrick and vice versa—Patrick Furey, in death, is personified as an instigator of change. As the weeks pass and graduation approaches—and beyond that, a life that, had Patrick had the strength and support to see the clearing beyond the trees, still carried promise and hope and the opportunity to find oneself—their journeys are immortalized in headstone chapters. The implications for change, now and in the future, such as with Petra, who remains in denial about her role in Patrick’s death, are deafening.
Monoceros is a loving, intricately written book. Mayr’s language is clean, spare, and overflowing with imagery—so much so that the magical realism of the book’s conclusion does not feel forced or out of place. Its cleansing wrath is earned—a gift to the memory of Patrick Furey.
***
In grade 12, I had the misfortune of experiencing a similar event. I was a teacher’s assistant for a grade 10 art class. In the spring of 1999, sick of being ridiculed as a fag and a retard and every other spiteful tag favoured by his classmates, a young man in grade 10 took his life. He hanged himself from the second-floor banister of the family home, where he remained until his parents returned home later that evening. Whether he was gay or not, no one knew. It didn’t matter—the message was hate, all the same, and like Patrick, obscured by the sense of isolation still so prevalent in high school, this boy saw no other alternative than to end his suffering by any means necessary. I didn’t know him personally, though I knew his older sister through others in my year. It was in the teachers, however, where I saw the greatest impact. The gravity of a child taking their own life was not lost on them. This memory was at the front of my mind as I read Monoceros. This sensation—the loss felt by the teachers, as if they could see the failings in every facet of the world they’d devoted their lives to—has been captured both beautifully and horrifically by Mayr. I would hope that Monoceros finds a home within schools across Canada. It is an essential read.
May 3, 2012
I appreciated the exoposure to some difficult topics that are still taboo in our society: homosexuality and suicide, but I found the plot strange and the characters difficult to relate to. I also felt like suicide was treated in a distant and cold manner (possibly on purpose, to show a cruel side to human nature), but it didn't get to the raw emotions and tragic impact this has on families and communities.
March 9, 2023
It is extremely difficult to be satirical and "real" at the same time, and yet Mayr makes it look easy.
This novel deals with deep issues, and how we are all connected in ways that we may not realize.
All the characters here are convincing and yet over the top, each their own way. A brilliant novel from an always rewarding author.
This novel deals with deep issues, and how we are all connected in ways that we may not realize.
All the characters here are convincing and yet over the top, each their own way. A brilliant novel from an always rewarding author.
February 7, 2023
All these dancers, strangely flavored, oddly shaped fruit hanging from the family tree. Tucked behind leaves and flowers, behind wedding dresses...the abrupt end to a branch. p121
She is a cardboard cutout of herself. She is a magical, special being with huge beauty and power, this body her sad and earthly vessel. The tower she has built around herself growing upward, thickening. p190
Considering how much I liked The Sleeping Car Porter it seemed like a good idea to investigate SM's earlier work. The first surprise was that I had already read the curious Dr. Edith Vane and the Hares of Crawley Hall only a couple of years ago and even given it a 4 star review. Searching the library catalogue, this title did not appear. In fact, although she has written over half a dozen books. only two are listed. Certainly, now that she is a big winner this may change.
So Monoceros came to me: I had no idea what to expect. The subject matter was disturbing, bullying and teen suicide. Cautiously I started reading. Somehow SM has managed to maintain respect in all of her characters in telling this important story. There is no judgement and no blame, and as the reader gets to know the people who did not appreciate the dead boy until it was too late, it becomes more of a study of missed and fleeting connections, the strange impetus of remorse, and the social impact of the perceived need to conform or die; the impact of death.
There is an element of surrealism that wafts through the book
...the silence so loud it crushes, bruises...the thudding, the mangling silence. p232
She is a cardboard cutout of herself. She is a magical, special being with huge beauty and power, this body her sad and earthly vessel. The tower she has built around herself growing upward, thickening. p190
Considering how much I liked The Sleeping Car Porter it seemed like a good idea to investigate SM's earlier work. The first surprise was that I had already read the curious Dr. Edith Vane and the Hares of Crawley Hall only a couple of years ago and even given it a 4 star review. Searching the library catalogue, this title did not appear. In fact, although she has written over half a dozen books. only two are listed. Certainly, now that she is a big winner this may change.
So Monoceros came to me: I had no idea what to expect. The subject matter was disturbing, bullying and teen suicide. Cautiously I started reading. Somehow SM has managed to maintain respect in all of her characters in telling this important story. There is no judgement and no blame, and as the reader gets to know the people who did not appreciate the dead boy until it was too late, it becomes more of a study of missed and fleeting connections, the strange impetus of remorse, and the social impact of the perceived need to conform or die; the impact of death.
There is an element of surrealism that wafts through the book
...the silence so loud it crushes, bruises...the thudding, the mangling silence. p232
February 14, 2016
[tw:suicide] This sure was a thing. A gay high school student at a Catholic school in Calgary kills himself after being bullied, four months before graduation. That happens just before the book starts. The book follows the rippling effects through a series of first-person vignettes over the course of the seven weeks following, through the parents, the principal, the guidance counselor, the favourite teacher, and the other students. His ex-boyfriend, his ex-boyfriend's jealous girlfriend, and others. Dozens of examples of grief in different ways, of coming to terms both with grief and guilt. It's a dark, powerful, very queer text. It's also quite short -- 188 pages, including unicorn woodcuts -- and I don't think it could be much longer while maintaining both the power and density of the writing.
October 9, 2011
One of the most creative books that I've read this year. This book deals with the aftermath of a suicide in a high school. One of the strengths of the book is Mayr's ability to show the grief of the faculty and other students, and how they struggle to deal with the student's death. The scenes in the high school are true to life and full of honesty.
Interesting characters. The language is very playful and non-traditional. There are fantastical elements in the work, but they fit into the piece. Other reviewers have called this book tragi-comic, which definitely fits.
There's a surprising depth to this book, which may not be apparent while you're in the process of reading it. It's not really about the suicide, but about the lives of the people who have to cope with the death.
Interesting characters. The language is very playful and non-traditional. There are fantastical elements in the work, but they fit into the piece. Other reviewers have called this book tragi-comic, which definitely fits.
There's a surprising depth to this book, which may not be apparent while you're in the process of reading it. It's not really about the suicide, but about the lives of the people who have to cope with the death.
October 5, 2017
Oooh, I really liked this one. Clearly with the suicide topic it is not going to be a happy book but it is a good book. What was it exactly that I liked so much? I really liked the characters. I think people feel more real to me when they are flawed, have bad qualities as well as good. I like how the different characters process the suicide differently and I like how you can see the flaws in the school system in dealing with the suicide and with LGBTQ people. But, it does all this without being preachy like an essay, skillfully done. If I want to be nit picky... I think Crepe Suzette was a little too cheesy and perfect, even for a fabulous drag queen. But I am open to a perfect fabulous drag queen proving to me otherwise.
November 12, 2025
Read this for a class on queer literature
It is very well written and made me cry a few times, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend it.
I understand this topic is important and relevant especially for people who are not exposed to it otherwise, but I’m so tired of the dead gay trope. Can we not have serious literature with like at least one happy queer person?
Maybe I’m just sensitive but it hurts my feelings :’D
It is very well written and made me cry a few times, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend it.
I understand this topic is important and relevant especially for people who are not exposed to it otherwise, but I’m so tired of the dead gay trope. Can we not have serious literature with like at least one happy queer person?
Maybe I’m just sensitive but it hurts my feelings :’D
March 18, 2021
2.5 stars, rounded up.
Monoceros is a bit obscure and considering that it centers around suicide, I had expected it to have more of an emotional tone than it did. I found it readable, but not particularly impactful or memorable.
Monoceros is a bit obscure and considering that it centers around suicide, I had expected it to have more of an emotional tone than it did. I found it readable, but not particularly impactful or memorable.
June 8, 2018
It's an odd novel. I liked it.
January 17, 2013
La bellezza triste degli unicorni
Patrick Furey è un adolescente all'ultimo anno delle superiori: bello, di un fascino triste, solitario, incompreso, fragile, omosessuale dichiarato. Un lunedì - perché tutte le storie più buie e tristi non possono che cominciare di lunedì - decide di togliersi la vita. Scomparso dalla scena, toccherà a ciò che rimane dei suoi contatti umani fare i conti con la sua ultima fatale decisione.
Monoceros non è un libro sul suicidio, e per quanto sia rivolto a un target adolescenziale, non è nemmeno un romanzo sul mal di vivere adolescenziale, sull'essere gay e sulle difficoltà delle superiori. Ciò che appare chiarissimo un istante dopo la morte di Patrick è la precisa volontà dell'autrice di raccontare l'incomunicabilità, l'incomprensione, lo squallore dell'ipocrisia: se c'è un solo effetto scatenato dal suicidio del protagonista, è quello di scardinare il quotidiano e di costringere tutti i personaggi chiamati in causa a un ripensamento esistenziale. La narrazione così si scompone in un fuoco multiplo serrato, scandito dalla rigorosa successione dei giorni e delle settimane di un calendario che si ridefinisce e trova il proprio anno zero nel lunedì nero di Patrick. Scelta quanto meno coraggiosa, per nulla banale e facile, la galleria dei personaggi narranti: studenti e docenti e genitori, uomini e donne, etero e gay, uno più insulso dell'altro - ma proprio in questo trova la violenta affermazione di una umanità irrudicibile, autentica, consapevole delle proprie contraddizioni. Tra gli studenti compaiono personaggi stravaganti, come Faraday, una ragazza, concedetemi il termine, più di qua che di là, ossessionata dalla preservazione della propria verginità e convinta dell'esistenza degli unicorni (i monoceros del titolo), chiamati a salvare i giusti e condannare un mondo ostile sul quale grava un destino manifesto; quindi Petra, glaciale nell'ostilità vomitata addosso al futuro suicida, eppure capace di infiammarsi per un amore in fondo non corrisposto; Ginger, travolto da un'inconsapevolezza assoluta, a cominciare dal suo amore segreto per Patrick che fatica a definirsi. Allo stesso modo il mondo adulto si trova faccia a faccia con le proprie contraddizioni: la madre di Patrick che non sa cosa accettare prima, se la morte del figlio o la scoperta della sua omosessualità, l'insegnante Maureen, stritolata tra una vita affettiva insoddisfacente e una frustrante vita lavorativa, e infine Max e Walter, rispettivamente preside e assistente scolastico, alla resi dei conti della loro segretissima vita di coppia. Il tutto conduce a un epilogo sorprendente, forse non del tutto inaspettato, dal forte sapore allegorico.
Privo di buonismo, facili sentimenti, e dotato invece di un linguaggio schietto, Monoceros smaschera un'umanità triste, ipocrita, incapace di comunicare, ma che ha ancora una via di salvezza, per quanto il terreno sia accidentato. Se il target pare adolescenziale, il suo messaggio risulta decisamente universale: a volte basta poco per cambiare una vita, fermarsi un momento ad ascoltare.
Patrick Furey è un adolescente all'ultimo anno delle superiori: bello, di un fascino triste, solitario, incompreso, fragile, omosessuale dichiarato. Un lunedì - perché tutte le storie più buie e tristi non possono che cominciare di lunedì - decide di togliersi la vita. Scomparso dalla scena, toccherà a ciò che rimane dei suoi contatti umani fare i conti con la sua ultima fatale decisione.
Monoceros non è un libro sul suicidio, e per quanto sia rivolto a un target adolescenziale, non è nemmeno un romanzo sul mal di vivere adolescenziale, sull'essere gay e sulle difficoltà delle superiori. Ciò che appare chiarissimo un istante dopo la morte di Patrick è la precisa volontà dell'autrice di raccontare l'incomunicabilità, l'incomprensione, lo squallore dell'ipocrisia: se c'è un solo effetto scatenato dal suicidio del protagonista, è quello di scardinare il quotidiano e di costringere tutti i personaggi chiamati in causa a un ripensamento esistenziale. La narrazione così si scompone in un fuoco multiplo serrato, scandito dalla rigorosa successione dei giorni e delle settimane di un calendario che si ridefinisce e trova il proprio anno zero nel lunedì nero di Patrick. Scelta quanto meno coraggiosa, per nulla banale e facile, la galleria dei personaggi narranti: studenti e docenti e genitori, uomini e donne, etero e gay, uno più insulso dell'altro - ma proprio in questo trova la violenta affermazione di una umanità irrudicibile, autentica, consapevole delle proprie contraddizioni. Tra gli studenti compaiono personaggi stravaganti, come Faraday, una ragazza, concedetemi il termine, più di qua che di là, ossessionata dalla preservazione della propria verginità e convinta dell'esistenza degli unicorni (i monoceros del titolo), chiamati a salvare i giusti e condannare un mondo ostile sul quale grava un destino manifesto; quindi Petra, glaciale nell'ostilità vomitata addosso al futuro suicida, eppure capace di infiammarsi per un amore in fondo non corrisposto; Ginger, travolto da un'inconsapevolezza assoluta, a cominciare dal suo amore segreto per Patrick che fatica a definirsi. Allo stesso modo il mondo adulto si trova faccia a faccia con le proprie contraddizioni: la madre di Patrick che non sa cosa accettare prima, se la morte del figlio o la scoperta della sua omosessualità, l'insegnante Maureen, stritolata tra una vita affettiva insoddisfacente e una frustrante vita lavorativa, e infine Max e Walter, rispettivamente preside e assistente scolastico, alla resi dei conti della loro segretissima vita di coppia. Il tutto conduce a un epilogo sorprendente, forse non del tutto inaspettato, dal forte sapore allegorico.
Privo di buonismo, facili sentimenti, e dotato invece di un linguaggio schietto, Monoceros smaschera un'umanità triste, ipocrita, incapace di comunicare, ma che ha ancora una via di salvezza, per quanto il terreno sia accidentato. Se il target pare adolescenziale, il suo messaggio risulta decisamente universale: a volte basta poco per cambiare una vita, fermarsi un momento ad ascoltare.
May 9, 2012
Description:
A teen's suicide triggers a community to reflect on its actions. Students, faculty, and family members "tell" their own side of the story, while trying to make sense of a tragedy that could have been avoided.
Review:
Monoceros is definitely one of the most interesting books I have read in 2012. It is an unexpected and unique take on the aftermath of a homosexual teen's suicide, as told by the students, staff, and family he left behind. At first, I couldn't get past the sentence and grammatical structure of the text, it was choppy and strangely formatted. I did not enjoy the repetitiveness, nor did I favor the total lack of quotation marks. The dashes used made it difficult to determine which individuals were speaking during conversations. I did however appreciate the depth and personalities of the colorful cast of characters; especially Max, Crepe Suzette, Faraday, and Walter. The story-line was well-constructed, honest, and full of emotion. Even though each of the characters only had a small section written in their own perspective, I felt that the mix of thoughts and conversations kept the reader intrigued and sympathetic. I eventually got over most of the punctuation problems, but I still found them annoying. The only other problem I had was with the ending, I found it confusing and unnecessary. The writing itself was intricate, but I couldn't pinpoint the proposed audience. Overall, a strange, yet unique read; still unsure about the unicorn aspect... (no spoilers).
Rating: Bounty's Out (3/5)
* I received this book from the author in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.
A teen's suicide triggers a community to reflect on its actions. Students, faculty, and family members "tell" their own side of the story, while trying to make sense of a tragedy that could have been avoided.
Review:
Monoceros is definitely one of the most interesting books I have read in 2012. It is an unexpected and unique take on the aftermath of a homosexual teen's suicide, as told by the students, staff, and family he left behind. At first, I couldn't get past the sentence and grammatical structure of the text, it was choppy and strangely formatted. I did not enjoy the repetitiveness, nor did I favor the total lack of quotation marks. The dashes used made it difficult to determine which individuals were speaking during conversations. I did however appreciate the depth and personalities of the colorful cast of characters; especially Max, Crepe Suzette, Faraday, and Walter. The story-line was well-constructed, honest, and full of emotion. Even though each of the characters only had a small section written in their own perspective, I felt that the mix of thoughts and conversations kept the reader intrigued and sympathetic. I eventually got over most of the punctuation problems, but I still found them annoying. The only other problem I had was with the ending, I found it confusing and unnecessary. The writing itself was intricate, but I couldn't pinpoint the proposed audience. Overall, a strange, yet unique read; still unsure about the unicorn aspect... (no spoilers).
Rating: Bounty's Out (3/5)
* I received this book from the author in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.
October 28, 2011
At the centre of Suzette Mayr's novel is Patrick Furey, a senior in high school who commits suicide after he is dumped by his secret boyfriend and is bullied by his boyfriend's girlfriend (it's complicated). From this shocking event unfolds the stories of seven people whose lives are deeply changed as a result of the suicide in their midst. It's not so much that these people were close to Patrick, but that they are startled awake and find crises in their own lives.
Monoceros is a beautiful novel. I searched for other words to describe the book, but "beautiful" truly captures its essence in so many ways. Mayr writes in sparing prose, with an unconventional lack of quotation-marked dialogue (don't worry, she uses em-dashes like the French). Her triumph is the seven alternating perspectives, in which each character leaps from the page full-formed and truly sympathetic. Characters doesn't get much page space at a time, maybe two or three pages, but their stories, emotions, and reactions are concise and heartfelt.
While I would describe this as a very literary novel, it's also very accessible to readers, with none of that obtuseness some literary prose. The literariness comes from the perfection and beauty in the writing, the careful threading together of the disparate lives of seven characters, and the searing examination of how hiding your true self can lead to a lot of hurt.
Monoceros is a beautiful novel. I searched for other words to describe the book, but "beautiful" truly captures its essence in so many ways. Mayr writes in sparing prose, with an unconventional lack of quotation-marked dialogue (don't worry, she uses em-dashes like the French). Her triumph is the seven alternating perspectives, in which each character leaps from the page full-formed and truly sympathetic. Characters doesn't get much page space at a time, maybe two or three pages, but their stories, emotions, and reactions are concise and heartfelt.
While I would describe this as a very literary novel, it's also very accessible to readers, with none of that obtuseness some literary prose. The literariness comes from the perfection and beauty in the writing, the careful threading together of the disparate lives of seven characters, and the searing examination of how hiding your true self can lead to a lot of hurt.
October 4, 2011
'So what is the appeal of a novel about teenage suicide?' This is what I was thinking before I started this novel by Giller longlist author Suzette Mayr. I really had no desire to read a book on this topic; I lived through all that teenage angsty-ness and really do not care to revisit it. So Mayr basically had a few knocks against her before I even cracked the book. By the end though I was surprised by how much I was moved by this book, and how much I enjoyed reading it. Mayr's wit is subtle but effective in Monoceros.
One thing she did well was choose a great form for her subject matter - the novel flits through the different narratives of various characters who had different degrees of contact with the 'dead boy', from the school guidance councellor and principal, to the secret boyfriend of the boy and the boyfriend's jealous girlfriend, to the girl obsessed with unicorns who sat next to the dead boy but never really knew him. The first person narratives are amazing - Mayr captures all the mundane details, the way people's thoughts shift from everyday boring stuff and from self-absorbed reflections periodically cycling back to these kinds of events, rehashing one's responsibility or lack thereof in this kid's suicide. And in showing multiple sides you can't help but fully realise the tragedy of the death. especially these days with all the talk of bullying.
One thing she did well was choose a great form for her subject matter - the novel flits through the different narratives of various characters who had different degrees of contact with the 'dead boy', from the school guidance councellor and principal, to the secret boyfriend of the boy and the boyfriend's jealous girlfriend, to the girl obsessed with unicorns who sat next to the dead boy but never really knew him. The first person narratives are amazing - Mayr captures all the mundane details, the way people's thoughts shift from everyday boring stuff and from self-absorbed reflections periodically cycling back to these kinds of events, rehashing one's responsibility or lack thereof in this kid's suicide. And in showing multiple sides you can't help but fully realise the tragedy of the death. especially these days with all the talk of bullying.
March 26, 2012
I wasn't sure what to make when I started this book, and now that I'm finished I'm still not entirely sure.
The plot seems set for a teenage audience but the language and sophistication of the writing means it's for adults.
There were elements of the story I really liked, the black 50's guidance counselor, the gilted bisexual (gay?) boy left behind, Santana from Glee up to her wicked tricks, the fact that the author named Ru Paul's biography as inspiration for the book.
Some other things I thought worked less well. The unicorn theme is all over the book, in the title, on the cover, etc, but I don't know that it really went anywhere and didn't intrigue me for one. The characters I felt could have been more drawn out. The reasons the boy killed himself we'll never now, they were barely touched on, the story of the drag queen and of the guidance counselor, both could have gone further. I think equal weight was trying to be given to all points of view, but some should have been left out. The principal who got in the car accident, I never connected with him for even one second, as an example.
I'm glad I read this book, I enjoyed parts of it, but overall the story wasn't fleshed out fully enough for me to totally recommend it.
The plot seems set for a teenage audience but the language and sophistication of the writing means it's for adults.
There were elements of the story I really liked, the black 50's guidance counselor, the gilted bisexual (gay?) boy left behind, Santana from Glee up to her wicked tricks, the fact that the author named Ru Paul's biography as inspiration for the book.
Some other things I thought worked less well. The unicorn theme is all over the book, in the title, on the cover, etc, but I don't know that it really went anywhere and didn't intrigue me for one. The characters I felt could have been more drawn out. The reasons the boy killed himself we'll never now, they were barely touched on, the story of the drag queen and of the guidance counselor, both could have gone further. I think equal weight was trying to be given to all points of view, but some should have been left out. The principal who got in the car accident, I never connected with him for even one second, as an example.
I'm glad I read this book, I enjoyed parts of it, but overall the story wasn't fleshed out fully enough for me to totally recommend it.
September 30, 2012
This review and more can be found on my blog
I think I would have enjoyed this book better if it was written differently. I usually love books that are written from several points of view, but this time I found it slightly disjointed and I found that it didn't flow very smoothly. I also didn't really understand the unicorn theme that appeared to be prevalent throughout the book. I found it kind of odd.
With that being said, there WERE parts of this book that I liked tremendously. Some of this book was utterly heartbreaking and made me really feel for the characters. I loved Faraday and Crepe Suzette, but I couldn't stand Max and wanted to smack him several times.
Therefore, I have a love/hate relationship with this book, but it falls a little more on the 'love' side of the spectrum, so it gets 3/5 stars.
May 3, 2013
Really enjoyed this brutally honest look at how one student's suicide affects those around him, from his teachers to his parents to his classmates. I loved how Suzette Mayr entwined so many different characters' stories, and how Patrick's death became more of the "jumping off" point, rather than the central issue. These characters all had deep issues of their own, but it was through the tragedy of Patrick's death that their own problems were brought to the surface. I also admired how Mayr created so many extremely diverse characters, and I couldn't get enough of Crepe Suzette. I can't quite give this book 5 stars because I can't say I loved every moment of reading it, but I did appreciate the author's clear talent.
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October 3, 2013As a Calgarian, this novel was even more interesting to read because I could identify with that specialized character - setting. Regardless of where you're from, you'll appreciate Mayr's stylized sentences and blended format. This novel begins with "The End," listing the "because" conditions which led a gay high school student to commit suicide. After this brief look into life before death, the novel spreads out to examine the impact of the suicide on the various characters connected, in whatever way, to the absent would-be protagonist. If you're looking for an original read, this shouldn't disappoint.
November 11, 2012
The book is about the lives of the people around a gay high school student after he kills himself. But what made it interesting is that the author moves between the different viewpoints, and we see firsthand how each person is affected. The characters were created with a level of detail and originality that was great. I didn't really get into it until about halfway through (it's a short book), but by the end I was completely involved.
April 7, 2017
I don't think I can explain how much I loved this book. My professor recommended it to me, and it really lived up to her recommendation. The writing is extraordinarily beautiful. Meyr uses fragmentation to a powerful degree. As someone familiar with Catholic schools, and the teachers that work in them, this is also an astoundingly accurate portrayal. If LGBT+ issues, education, or character portraits engage you, you will like this book.
May 19, 2011
What a great book. The style of the book keeps the story fresh - each section is divided into day and then further separated by who has written it. A very honest and modern take on teenage suicide. Don't think that it's all doom and gloom because of the topic - a fierce drag queen by the name of Crepe Suzette (among other characters and events) keeps you smiling.
July 21, 2011
Has an interesting tone that is not unfamiliar in CanLit. There's sex and death, but no incest or drowning. :)
Not a bad read, and extra poignant post-It Gets Better, but can't say it totally grabbed me.
Not a bad read, and extra poignant post-It Gets Better, but can't say it totally grabbed me.
January 30, 2012
This author should have at least talked to a teacher in Alberta to find out if what its really like and not what she assumed.
In the 260+ pages only 3 or 4 pages were worth reading. The story of the dead boys Mom seemed most believable.
In the 260+ pages only 3 or 4 pages were worth reading. The story of the dead boys Mom seemed most believable.
November 29, 2012
A "must read" for teens, parents and teachers. Realistic, strong characterization, never descends into the maudlin. Extremely accurate description of so-called grief counselling in high schools. I loved all the characters but especially Faraday, Walter and Crepe Suzette.
March 7, 2017
This one was one of those books that has always sat with me; colourful, engaging characters and incredibly important subject matter, I urge this one to be used for classroom and personal use.
September 13, 2020
2.5 stars.
I really don't know about this one. I read it because there's an upcoming library event with the author for Fernie Pride. This is my first Can-lit LGBTQIA2S+ read and it was a bit obscure.
This is not plot-driven at all, but there is also very little character growth so I wouldn't say it's about character development either? It's more like...a slow character exposé? I don't know.
Unicorns are not a common symbolic theme in my readings so I had to do a bit of digging after finishing this book to see if everything linked together better than I initially thought. Unfortunately, this was not particularly enlightening. If we take it from the idea of purification, I can see how many relationships were clarified, the faults of the Catholic school system starting to be brought to life, adolescents realizing their vindictiveness, complicity, or suppressed feelings, but there are still unexplained parts. I don't see a good example of "purification" for Patrick's parents and I don't know if this is out of punishment for how they treated their son or if I'm just not smart enough to see it. Otherwise, I'm still left wondering why unicorns, and why is the unicorn girl portrayed the most positively?
There was also a lot of futility in this book. I did resonate with the idea that the adults seemed to think graduation was the key gateway into a less stressful life, as if bullying and oppression are an assumed byproduct of highschool and then things magically get better after graduation. This is obviously not the case but it was shown really nicely through Max and Walter's closeted relationship.
Overall it was fine, and different, but I don't think this is one I'll be recommending to anyone.
I really don't know about this one. I read it because there's an upcoming library event with the author for Fernie Pride. This is my first Can-lit LGBTQIA2S+ read and it was a bit obscure.
This is not plot-driven at all, but there is also very little character growth so I wouldn't say it's about character development either? It's more like...a slow character exposé? I don't know.
Unicorns are not a common symbolic theme in my readings so I had to do a bit of digging after finishing this book to see if everything linked together better than I initially thought. Unfortunately, this was not particularly enlightening. If we take it from the idea of purification, I can see how many relationships were clarified, the faults of the Catholic school system starting to be brought to life, adolescents realizing their vindictiveness, complicity, or suppressed feelings, but there are still unexplained parts. I don't see a good example of "purification" for Patrick's parents and I don't know if this is out of punishment for how they treated their son or if I'm just not smart enough to see it. Otherwise, I'm still left wondering why unicorns, and why is the unicorn girl portrayed the most positively?
There was also a lot of futility in this book. I did resonate with the idea that the adults seemed to think graduation was the key gateway into a less stressful life, as if bullying and oppression are an assumed byproduct of highschool and then things magically get better after graduation. This is obviously not the case but it was shown really nicely through Max and Walter's closeted relationship.
Overall it was fine, and different, but I don't think this is one I'll be recommending to anyone.
October 28, 2025
Read this book for an English course and I’m so glad I did. It brings a lot of things to light that a lot of other books are not comfortable doing a lot of, and in a very raw and personal way. As someone who was once a Patrick, it really meant a lot to me to have been introduced to such a piece at university where I now know I am no longer alone in my struggles as a young queer person.
While I thought the novel was lovely, I had a few issues with the character relationships and how they were depicted. Walter and Max: how could they have been together for 17 years and then suddenly have this issue? I was really rooting for them to work it out too, but that’s just personal bias. Jesus and Faraday: I was super confused since this seemed super out of nowhere. Also, what happened to Faraday and Fumiko? That was like a gun that never went off.
For the book starting off with Patrick ending his life, he sure didn’t haunt the narrative as much as I thought he would. I was looking forward to a deeper analysis of grief from those closest to him, but only truly got his mother’s POV in that depth. While the others are more subtle, it felt like he wasn’t central to the plot after a while.
Regardless of all of this, I think it is a very important read, as well as a beautiful one. It’s sad and funny and angry and anxious and beautiful and raw.
While I thought the novel was lovely, I had a few issues with the character relationships and how they were depicted. Walter and Max: how could they have been together for 17 years and then suddenly have this issue? I was really rooting for them to work it out too, but that’s just personal bias. Jesus and Faraday: I was super confused since this seemed super out of nowhere. Also, what happened to Faraday and Fumiko? That was like a gun that never went off.
For the book starting off with Patrick ending his life, he sure didn’t haunt the narrative as much as I thought he would. I was looking forward to a deeper analysis of grief from those closest to him, but only truly got his mother’s POV in that depth. While the others are more subtle, it felt like he wasn’t central to the plot after a while.
Regardless of all of this, I think it is a very important read, as well as a beautiful one. It’s sad and funny and angry and anxious and beautiful and raw.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 12, 2024
Suzette Mayr bravely ventured into challenging territory as the basis for this satirical — yet heavy — romp. How she could turn a young gay boy’s suicide into something that so creatively weaves together the lives of both the loved ones and acquaintances orbiting “the dead boy” is beyond me. I’m so fond of Suzette Mayr’s writing style — every sentence was an absolute delight to digest. I found myself re-reading passages to savour every quirky and whimsical detail. Suzette Mayr allows the reader to jump in and out of the innermost thoughts of several characters who played a role — however inadvertently — in “the dead boy’s” life and eventual undoing, through a lens of shameless honesty. The fact that a dear friend of mine was a creative writing student of this talented author made Monoceros feel all the more special to read and enjoy.
September 14, 2017
Well. This was... depressing. I guess that was kind of the point, but, man. Read this surrounded by kittens. Something to perk you up from the tragedy of a high schooler who commits suicide, and how it affects the people in his life (from his mother, to his principal, the boy he loves (Ginger), and Ginger's girlfriend. The girl who, coincidentally, writes slurs on said high schooler's locker, and tells him she's going to kill him. The kind of torment one doles out when ones boyfriend is in the closet, cheating on you, and also you're some horrible kind of homophobic psycho.
I think to some it will feel very disjointed, and the meaning will be hard to find. But, it is worth a read.
Whew. This book. Bring me the basket of kittens, guys.
I think to some it will feel very disjointed, and the meaning will be hard to find. But, it is worth a read.
Whew. This book. Bring me the basket of kittens, guys.
June 30, 2020
A sad streak of pain runs through this narrative sparked by the suicide of a queer teen, yet, by focusing on the hypocrisies and self-delusions of the various staff and students at a homophobic Catholic school, Mayr elevates the narrative above the usual cliches. A dark and witty, multi-POV story in which the most in-touch character just might be the nerdy girl who is saving her virginity for a unicorn.
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