I didn’t seek out this book – it found me. I was on a walk in a city where I don’t even live, with no intention of buying new books; then I spotted a charity bookshop, and I can never pass those by. I’m also particularly prone to buying books with yellow covers, so I took The Truth About Leo from the shelf, saw that it featured a child protagonist, alcoholism, and abuse, and the book was sold to me. Maybe I just enjoy watching children suffer (my pedagogical education checks out).
As you’d expect, this book is full of suffering. Beyond alcoholism, which the cover suggests is the central theme, we also encounter untreatable diseases, accidents, communication issues, and physical abuse. All of this is combined with the crushing weight of responsibility placed on a ten-year-old boy, as the adults around him are eager to pretend everything is fine, continually slapping fresh paint on the walls of a crumbling house (symbolically, it takes an actual building literally collapsing for the situation to change).
At first, it seems there’s absolutely no hope for anyone; the world is horrible, and it will stay so. But honestly, I envy Leo’s resilience, because he is crushing it! I mean, yeah, he has low marks at school, struggles to communicate with people around him, and is anxious and depressed. However, he’s still doing better than his addicted father, which is often the case in such families. The Truth About Leo is an ode to the bravery, endurance, and determination of children. Not that we should put them in such circumstances.
The world of adults is indifferent to the problems of individuals. It allows wounds to close on the surface and rot underneath while everyone pretends they’ve healed. In all aspects of life, we lie without even realising it, and when kids don’t understand these “rules,” we label them “not the brightest.” The Truth About Leo reveals the influence of these institutionalised lies; Leo really wants us to know his truth.