3.5 ☆
A Language of Limbs is a tricky one to review—it’s a novel that I really loved in places, but really struggled with in others. Despite its flaws (or, more accurately, things that didn’t mesh with my personal tastes), the novel is a wonderful depiction of queer love, joy, and resilience with a very thoroughly researched representation of Australia’s queer history. I can easily see Hardcastle becoming a prominent voice in the contemporary queer & lesbian literary scene, and it will be well-deserved.
The novel is told in alternating perspectives—limbs one and two—with each following a (mostly) nameless woman as she grows into her sexuality and experiences the shifting dynamics of queer representation and politics in the last decades of the twentieth century. Hardcastle tackles several topics and ideas through these characters, and is mostly successful in doing so. Limbs one and two each have their own relationship to education as an institution, to religion, to unloving blood relatives and loving chosen families, to compulsive heterosexuality, and to queer culture and history. But where things stumble just a touch is Hardcastle’s integration of Aboriginal representation; comments that were made regarding Australia’s long and dark history of robbing Indigenous peoples of their land and their children stick out like a sore thumb—a necessary topic to cover, but one that reads like a checklist of political talking points rather than a carefully integrated element of the novel.
Hardcastle’s writing is generally very strong—descriptive where it needs to be, emotional without being overwritten, and propulsive. The interplay between limbs one and two allowed the novel to just fly by, and I found the book difficult to put down—just one more cycle through these characters’ lives, please! But Hardcastle wrote this novel as part of their PhD work, and it does show in a sort of Iowa-writer’s-workshop way, iykwim. I don’t know how to say this delicately, but the poetry woven throughout the novel was not good, and said poetry being good was somewhat integral to events in the novel. I also found certain sections of the book to play a little bit into the phenomenon of queer fiction being just so incredibly sad and traumatic. If something heartbreaking can happen to these characters, it does, often very explicitly. And while there are necessary reasons for some of this—the devastation of the AIDS crisis, for example—it just feels like a LOT crammed into 200 pages.
But I am overall very happy to have read this novel, as it put a promising author onto my radar and allowed me to learn so much about Australia’s own queer history and culture. An emotionally difficult novel at times, but one that is perfect for an introspective Sunday afternoon.
Thank you to the publisher for an e-ARC of this novel in exchange for my honest review.