From award-winning author Cherie Dimaline comes a tale of struggle hope and the kind of magic that can only happen when you mix the Mississippi and the Georgian Bay.
Rudy Bloom has a lot going on; her mother is eating herself to death, a soul crushing museum job, and her flamboyant best friend who humiliates and saves her in equal doses. And then there’s a galaxy of odd planets that spin around her head. When Ruby’s sent to New Orleans for work, she finds an astronomer in an attic that just might be the way out of her chaotic solar system.
Cherie Dimaline wins her first Governor General's Literary Award in 2017 with The Marrow Thieves. She is an author and editor from the Georgian Bay Métis community (not a creditable Metis nation) whose award-winning fiction has been published and anthologized internationally. In 2014, she was named the Emerging Artist of the Year at the Ontario Premier's Award for Excellence in the Arts, and became the first Aboriginal Writer in Residence for the Toronto Public Library. Cherie Dimaline currently lives in Toronto where she coordinates the annual Indigenous Writers' Gathering.
Overall, an interesting premise which is bogged down by a synopsis which doesn't seem quite as advertised and a story with overly-padded language. It's sad because Ruby is so likeable and is pretty much one of my favorite protagonist's I've read in a while.
I felt dragged down by the amount of metaphors used to explain a single action, which is subsequently followed by even more metaphors explaining the next action. This is a shame since it prevents the biggest and most powerful metaphor, a planetary cosmos orbiting ones head symbolizing mental illness, to fully highlight itself in its full glory. Nevertheless, it's also been a treat to read Dimaline's earlier works and the amazing progress you can see through the trajectory of her writing career. Love her work! <3
All in all, I thought this book started off amazingly, but near the end, I did find that it dropped off in quality. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed reading it anyway. It reminded me a little of the movie Amelie, although Ruby as a protagonist is edgier than saintly Amelie.
I really did enjoy this book. Dimaline's use of planets as stand-ins for different mental conditions (Guilt, Anxiety, Panic, Longing) was beautiful, and I found it easy to relate to Ruby's mindset. I loved that Dimaline didn't make her galaxy into a complete figment of Ruby's imagination - they have physical impacts and implications.
The text in this book is accessible and easy to read. That said, the book itself has a great deal of depth to it. Accessibility of text is something I've been trying to pay attention to more lately, and I think this book delivers on that, without losing anything along the way.
While this was one of the most interesting and enjoyable books I've read in a while, I still had a few complaints about the book.
Firstly, and my largest complaint, was the language around Ruby's mother, and her addiction to eating and watching television (as a response to her husband leaving). It felt realistic, and Ruby's disdain, from a teenager with self-image issues of her own, felt real, but it never really goes anywhere. It doesn't really help that the narrative never really criticizes or questions Ruby's disdain, which, considering that a) in-text, this is her mother dealing with her own mental health issues and b) in real life, women quite literally kill themselves in pursuit of weight loss, this seemed a poor choice. I wouldn't quite call the book itself fat-phobic, but, certainly, some of the language felt problematic, and potentially triggering for someone with eating disorders, or body image issues.
Secondly, .
Thirdly, I really disliked Ruby's (gay) best friend. He is introduced as someone who enjoys loudly mocking people on the street, and .
“The truth was Ruby was one of those people who edited themselves at every given moment. Before she spoke she thought out what it was she was going to say and then decided whether or not to say it.”
Ruby Bloom has a series of constant companions that buzz around her head and these are the kinds of companions she doesn’t want, but can’t entirely shake. One day, she woke up and they had formed—little manifestations of mental illness that buzzed, zipped, whispered, and shielded her from the reality of the world outside of her bubble.
The Girl Who Grew a Galaxy follows Ruby through childhood, adolescence, and adulthood as she not so much as navigates but follows a set routine she’s designed to protect herself. Cherie Dimaline’s novel is a beautifully crafted story about coming to terms with loss, understanding your own worth outside of the destructive internal voices that accompany anxiety, OCD, and depression, and a lesson in learning how to return to yourself.
There are a few things about this book that irked me. As an adult Ruby isn’t necessarily the most likable character and while I understand how mental illness can shape one’s behavior (I have looked back on my own behaviors when in a really bad place and cringed), it kept prickling at me. The portrayal of Ruby’s mother also irked me, though even this was expressed through Ruby’s lens versus her mother’s reality. And honestly I’m never a fan of a love interest spurring change when it comes to mental illness (though again I understood this in the context of this book).
Overall, this book really hit home for me though. I found myself relating to Ruby in a way I haven’t to any character in a long time. Perhaps most importantly for me, this book is not just about a woman dealing with mental illness and loss but about a Metis woman doing so. Ruby’s identity might not be the in your face variety in the latter half of the book, but it’s clear that being an Indigenous woman has shaped Ruby’s life experiences. Her great-aunt Harriet in particular was a joy to read about and I could feel the love and comfort Ruby derived from her during her youth.
”Water is blood, Ruby. It’s the blood of the earth…Blood’s important, Ruby. Blood’s where we keep memory, the memory of our people. It’s how we pass the songs, and sometimes, without trying, how we pass that hurt, too…Water’s where all of our blood memories collect. Without it…Without it Chibiish’kwe, we are alone; we are without people.”
Water is part of the core of this book. It’s easy to read through the planets, the stars, the universe itself. It’s easy to imagine that Dimaline was trying to explain how when we’re sick, when we’re struggling, we lose sight of the universe around us. When we’re sick, we become hyper-focused on everything we’re doing wrong and Ruby’s journey to self required her to look beyond her own planetary occupation to see the expanse of life beyond. Yet water itself is part of Ruby. She’s always been filled with water, contained so much. This novel took that and carried it lovingly to the end, expressing the absolute importance of water to Indigenous peoples, especially those of us on and near the great lakes.
Damn. This one wobbled for me a little at first because the allegorical planets—Alienation, Envy, etc.—that orbit poor Ruby Moore's head seemed a tad heavy-handed as literary devices. But the more I read, the more I was hooked. This is at heart a coming-of-age novel about Ruby, whose anxieties and OCD and more are presented with great empathy, honesty, and respect. (I'll stop here in talking about the plot so that I can avoid spoilers.) The native southern turn, from Toronto to New Orleans, is absolutely fantastic, and the writing is smart, beautiful, and powerful, especially in the ways it evokes how Ruby is made of water and, in a variety of ways, birthed by and carried through and transformed by water. But there's so much more here, too; I'll be thinking and writing about and (to borrow a metaphor from the novel) inhaling and exhaling elements of this book for a long time, very much including all that it does with Indigenous undeadness and rumored vampires. I've only read two of her novels, this one and the incredible Marrow Thieves, but I'm already ready to say that Dimaline is one of the most exciting and most satisfying of a group of seriously talented younger Indigenous writers.
3.5 - I've been interested in diving in to some of Cherie's earlier works after loving Empire of Wild, and this was one of her first. I loved the concept of this book with the galaxy being this analogy for mental health, but it certainly made me sad that there was so much mental health issues that went unnoticed for so long, and that no one tried to help in sense. I loved when Ruby started to break through those and I wish we saw her develop and grow a little more at the end.
I didn’t know how to feel about this book in the beginning but by the end I felt so proud of Ruby and how much she overcame. The analogy of a galaxy of mental illness makes the concept more tangible.
This story of a young woman with an overload of emotions is one of the best-written stories I’ve read. The plot isn’t unique but Cherie Dimaline’s gift of forming ideas and events in her narrative is such a treat.
Excellent. Really, really excellent. No time for a proper review right now, but overall this was beautifully written. Ruby Bloom is on my list of favourite heroines ever.