Turtle: The American Contrition of Franz Ferdinand

by Mik Everett

19-year-old Anne tells her mother, "Your father tried to rape me." Her mother replies, "It's not his fault. These things happen. You're going to have to learn how to deal with it." This is not a story about rape. This is not a story about how Anne was raped or why Anne was raped or whether or not Anne was raped. This is not a story about the truth. This is a story about deceit and lies and a world of nonsequiturs. This is a story about snow on the ground when it has not snowed. This is a story about a mother who says, "It's not his fault." Herself a young mother, Anne collects facts in an attempt to make her mother's story make sense and reconcile her rural Creole childhood with her suburban Midwestern family's world.

Genres: Nonfiction

202 pages, Paperback

First published April 23, 2012

About the author

Mik Everett is an American Regionalist novelist born in 1991 in Wichita, Kansas. She studied philosophy and English at Wichita State University, where she also worked as a logic clinician before moving to Boulder, Colorado to open a bookstore. She is the author of Turtle: The American Contrition of Franz Ferdinand, Self-Published Kindling: Memoirs of a Homeless Bookstore Owner, (If a Writer Falls in Love With You) You Can Never Die, and A Two-Member Universe (upcoming).

Reviews

[Caroline · Rating 5 out of 5]

It’s been four days since I finished the book, so I think I can clearly talk about it now without being influenced by post-book depression feelings. I don’t usually do this, but I wanted to write a proper thing for this one, considering I know the author and all. So, here we go:

This book is autobiographical. Before anything, I just want to say something: I don’t read autobiographies. As in never. Most of the time, when I start reading some book of this kind, I get frustrated with the person who is writing it. I feel like they are too afraid to let people know of their mistakes, like they try to justify anything that might be considered wrong and the way they tell the stories hardly makes me believe that they actually remember all that is being told.

However, this is not the case with Turtle. The tone in which it is told, a matter-of-facly way that reminded me of journalism articles, made it easy to feel the story and, at the same time, didn’t give me the impression that the author was trying too hard. As it is said in the cover, this is not Anne’s story. It is her mother’s, and, in while telling us that, she gives us bits of her own to help us understand.

One of the things I liked most on the book was the way that Everett didn’t judge anyone or asked people to pity her. Nobody is the victim here. Not her mother, who had to live through the abuse of a man-rulled society, neither herself, whose rape - or the fact it happened - is the beginning of the story, but definitely not the plot of it. There is a surprising strength in these women, in surviving and rebelling and refusing to accept what is said to be normal, right, and said strength isn’t always in the fighting, in the running. It’s in the silence, and in the small actions, and in the small tales that make you sit back and simply think.

Anne’s mother came out to me as crazy, I’m not going to lie, but I also dare say I understand a bit of her life and reasons right now. This book is as accurate in this part as it could be, considering the story isn’t being told by its main protagonist. It’s told by Anne, who’s finally opening her mouth, and you can see in the story how long she has kept it shut.

I love Everett’s way of writing. I had the pleasure of translating a silly thing - self-claimed - she wrote a while ago called What if you fall in love with a writer?, and even though the thematic isn’t similar in the least, her poetic way of writing makes it even a grander pleasure to read.

This book ate me, begging me to finish it as soon as I could, but, at the same time, I had to put it down several times simply because of the effect of what I’d read had had on me. It made me question, and discuss, and rethink. There were metaphors that made me stop and just shyly smile because of their wit, and short, strong phrases that made me pick my phone up and write it down, because I wanted to have them with me, saved somewhere I could always go to if I wanted to read them again.

My favourite quote, for no profound or meaningful reason, is the following:

“Funny to think that every day you have ever lived is a yesterday, and you will never live one single tomorrow. But then again, every day is a today when you’re living it.”

And I know this is not a regular review, but I don’t think I could do it otherway. Firstly, English isn’t my mother language, so my vocabulary and eloquence has its limitations for the time being, and secondly, I felt really close to the book, as if I was really there with Anne family, with her cousins and siblings and family, so I don’t believe it would have worked out if I had tried to be more impersonal and concise.

I hope this isn’t too confusing and that I didn’t commit any lethal English mistakes. I’m sorry if I did. As I said, not my mother languague.

[Amy Sutton · Rating 4 out of 5]

I recently remembered that I had impulsively downloaded this e-book a few weeks ago, so I thought I'd read the first few pages to see more of what it was about so I could read it after I finished some of the books I'm currently reading. I finished it in two days because I just couldn't put it down.

First, I didn't realize this was a memoir until I started reading, but I think it made it that much more powerful. Not only was the story itself gripping, but the writing was fantastic. The imagery was amazing, and I found myself again and again being blown away by the connection of different tangents to the story. In most books, I find authors that have those image-rich tangents to be boring and rambling, but Mik included the descriptions flawlessly and added allusions in a way that truly helped make the story even richer.

As an example (and of course this is a spoiler, though it doesn't really spoil the context of the book), I really loved the following passage not only because the imagery is captivating, but also because unlike most of books that I read that include random descriptions like this, I think the passage really adds something to the characterization and story.

“One afternoon, I will lay Mona down for her nap. She will lay quietly in bed for a while, as she always does, and then when she thinks I am busy, she will get up and play with her toys. I won't mind. I will do the housework while she plays. I will be folding the laundry this day. I will be folding one of her shirts—it came out of the washing machine inside-out—and as I turn it rightside-out, the edge of my left index finger will rub across a seam. It will feel odd, not like a shirt you would put on a child, but like a doll-shirt. It will feel too thick, not of the same quality as a child's shirt. I will briefly consider that my daughter is only a doll, but I will dismiss the thought quickly.
This is what will scare me. How easily I will dismiss a thought I deem to be unreasonable. It's a habit, something I do quite often. Something totally irrational enters my mind—You know those women who want a child so badly that they convince themselves that they have one? Sometimes they dress up a doll like a baby and carry it around? Sometimes they're such great pathological liars that they even convince people they know that they've been pregnant and have a child? What if I'm one of them?—and I think to myself, Nah, that's crazy. Status quo maintained. My life is a series of things of which I've convinced myself, regardless of whether or not they're true.
I will want to call one of my friends and ask if I have a child, but I will be afraid that I've made up all my friends, too.”

That was just beautiful to me.

The memoir is mostly a long collection of disjointed memories and topics, but she masterfully twists things together and makes parallels and allusions that give everything a sense of connectedness that was perfect and made it feel smooth and flowing and not disjointed at all. Nothing in the book felt out of place or random. Everything flowed together incredibly well, and I felt that each new scene that was revealed truly added to the story.

I feel like I'm running out of adjectives, but I truly did love reading this book. I would recommend it to anyone, especially because the e-book is only $3 on amazon. It is beyond worth it.

[Renee · Rating 4 out of 5]

Good first novel. Does a good job of creating realistic characters.

[J · Rating 5 out of 5]

I decided to order "Turtle" after reading "Self-Published Kindling." And, wow-- it is a spectacular first novel. Ms. Everett invites the reader on an associative hopscotch through childhood and young adulthood with the ease and control of a seasoned author. She glides between years and locations to build a lengthy cast of compelling characters which is never a chore to follow. The writing is crisp and parts of the prose are truly beautiful.
But these are just the basics. Most importantly, this story simply needs to be read. It's a powerful narrative of identity in the face of trauma, told by an author prepared to trace the recurrence of abuse back through past generations. During this process, Ms. Everett has an acute awareness of the psychological and cultural undercurrents that sculpt her emotionally charged environment. But never does the seriousness of the book's content threaten to overload a narrative style that is both energetic and measured; daring and reserved; playful and heartbreaking. This author was forced to grapple with hardship from a tragically young age. Now, she manipulates language and masters story-telling with a wisdom far beyond her years.

[Paige · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm not usually one to write reviews beyond just giving books a rating, but I felt compelled to write a little something about this wonderful book. The second that I started reading, I was drawn in. Non-linear books can often be difficult to follow, and easy to give up on, but neither are the case with Turtle. Mik Everett's voice is the type that I think makes for the very best books: honest, almost painfully and uncomfortably so at times. The story is so unique, and yet somehow holds so many aspects that are entirely relatable, which subtly show us bits and pieces about the human condition, especially within our own families. I would recommend this book to anyone. I can't wait to begin reading Mik Everett's second book, and I look forward to reading all of this author's work in the future.

[Linda Parkinson-Hardman · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was a difficult book for me to read; I’m not sure whether it was the content or the style of writing, but I found it hard to keep my attention focused; it was as if my mind would rather deal with anything other than the story that was unfolding before me. The writing is exceptional and Mik tells her true tale of coming to terms with loss and adjustment in a matter of fact ‘only if you’ve lived through it’ kind of way. I felt a little like I was intruding at times, but her openness came through and whilst I still don’t really understand the metaphor that was Franz Ferdinand, I do now have an inkling of the philosophy and world view that allows the protagonist to cope with both the past and her, very challenging present.