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297 pages, Paperback
First published September 10, 2019
The Stillreal. The underside of the Imagination that nobody remembers to clean. It can be a rough place, but it can also be beautiful. Fortunately, you have me to help you find the latter instead of waltzing face-first into the former.
"Miss Mighty was created as her person's way of standing up to bullies. She was her person's strength, her confidence, but also her belief in goodness and justice"
“Here are the two things you absolutely need to know. First: In case you didn’t know, you’re an idea. I��m not sure if you’re an imaginary friend or a novel’s protagonist or a mascot or what. But if you’re here, you’re an idea.
Second: You were loved. You were loved enduringly and unequivocally, and that made you capital-R Real. Not an idea; an Idea. A Friend.
But then – whatever just happened to your person, your creator – it happened, and it was horrible, and it affected you. I won’t pretend to know what, and I won’t ask, but whatever it was, your person couldn’t keep you around. For most ideas, that’s it, lights out. But now you. You’re Real. So… what happens to you?“
“The first thing I remember is the spinning; after that comes the squealing and the screaming. I remember Daddy giving us order, but I don’t remember his words. I remember the awful, high-pitched punching sound of glass giving way. I remember Sandra’s legs, hurting and not hurting at the same time, and this heavy feeling like she couldn’t quite move. I remember the crimson color of Daddy’s face, and the weird way he hunched over the steering wheel, and how everything smelled like thawing steak and Daddy’s cologne.”
“Friends can’t die. We can be already dead, like Lloyd and Rocky, the vampire couple in the Terrible Old House. We can even be dead for a while, like King Max Courage of Pluto after he fought the Steel Serpents. But we don’t stay dead. Even in the Ideas where murder does exist, it happens according to set parameters, and it’s never really permanent. Yes, it’s violent, but one is really hurt in the end. Trust me, we’ve asked the victims.
But this…”
“’I yelled at you because I was hurting, but I was mad at you because you didn’t trust me. You thought I would say no to danger, and not only is that a total misunderstanding of who I am, that is not a decision you get to take from somebody.’ Her teeth clench. ‘Ever.’”
“’Hi,’ I say, with ashes in my mouth. ‘I’m Detective Tippy. What’s your name and pronoun?’
Frieda clear her throat. ‘Her name is – ‘
‘I asked them,’ I say, barely taking my eyes off Wrrbrr.
Frieda’s mouth goes quiet, but her eyes glow red.
The blobby little Friend looks at Frieda, at me, face scrunched up as they try to make the hardest decision. When they speak, it’s in a breathy little whisper, like air escaping from a party balloon. ‘I’m Wrrbrr,’ they say, a little roll to the ‘r’s that Frieda didn’t quite nail. ‘And… and..’ They scrunch up their face again. ‘What’s a pronoun, please?’”
“We make sense of a world that sometimes refuses to make sense. We remind everyone that the world is basically a good place, even – especially – when it seems to be anything but. We help people.
I like solving mysteries. I like gathering clues. I like feeling a puzzle come together in my mind. But those are tools, a means to an end. What I really do is help people, both with their problems and with believing the best of the world. That’s what Sandra wanted me for. That’s what… that’s really what got me stuck here in the first place. But as long as I do that – as long as I help – I know everything will, eventually, work out alright. Even if getting there hurts.”
"The worst part? A part of me feels good. I'm on a case, and that means I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. And maybe this time.. maybe this time I can make it make sense. Real healthy there, me."
If you’re having trouble, the moon will talk to you. That’s the legend of Playtime Town. Of course the legend is true. This is the Stillreal.
“Do you talk to every Friend who seems sad?” I ask.
The moon smiles. it’s not a smile I’m ever hoping to comprehend.
“Only the ones who really need it.”
“That seems judgmental.”
I like solving mysteries. I like gathering clues. I like feeling a puzzle come together in my mind. But those are tools, a means to an end. What I really do is help people, both with their problems and with believing the best of the world.This is a book that will make you go hug all your childhood plushies. Though it deals with trauma heavily, the end result is whimsical and imaginative and utterly adorable. Or is it the other way around? Though it may seem fluffy, it has a lot of substance to it too. Either way, if you've been recently let down by a book or just need a palate cleanser, I'd highly recommend it - it's a pure comfort read.