The One Memory of Flora Banks Review

The One Memory of Flora Banks by Emily Barr. 

This was our first time reading Emily Barr's work and we feel like maybe, we picked up the wrong book to judge her writing style or to get an idea of how her books would usually be like - because if all of her books are like this then we are sorry to express this but we don't think we will ever pick another book of hers.

Flora Banks suffers from anterograde amnesia and as a result has no short term memory her life is essentially made up of post-its and notebook reminders that reintroduce her to her life every day.

She is seventeen and lives with her parents who keep her “drugged up to her eyeballs” to keep her away from being the person she actually is. Flora was not always like this until a tragedy stuck; scarring her and her brother (literally) for life. 

Now before getting into its issues we must acknowledge that the premise itself is unusual and very interesting and we do applaud Barr for attempting to present a character like Flora, a girl who in addition to dealing with the normal challenges of growing up must figure out a way to lead her life despite her memory issues, however that doesn’t mean we thought she was very successful in her attempt.

Disclaimer guys: this book is for healthy people. This book will seldom appeal to those who have had to deal with, or have seen loved ones deal with chronic illnesses that have created obstacles in them leading healthy lives. The turning premise of the book hinges on Flora kissing her best friend’s ex and becoming magically inexplicably “cured by love”. Flora’s illness which to us presented a number a possible narratives that could’ve been explored: how she deals with it, how she perseveres but instead follows the plotline of a B-movie chick flick. We thought this callous romanticisation of Flora’s illness was frankly just inconsiderate.

Her trip to Svalbard is where it gets a little more interesting. The arctic setting, already a very unusual choice, introduces Flora to the challenges of travelling independently and allows her to make many new friends.

The arctic setting, already a very unusual choice, introduces Flora to the challenges of travelling independently and allows her to make many new friends.

We did think that there was a distinct lack of any real hurdles in her adventures and the fact that literally everyone she met was just perfectly nice and understanding and helpful was just dubious. we did wish Flora had explored Svalbard a bit more once she reached but alas ‘drake drake drake’ took precedence eventually.

Her brother, Jacob, is about the only person who encourages her to reach some level of self actualisation it’s sad but also cute how jacob is the only one who thinks she isn’t ‘broken’. Later, her best friend, Paige and other new friends from Svalbard will also join this bandwagon.

Their patience with Flora’s condition is commendable but also very unrealistic and something that will always remind you of how it is not a real life story. 

This review is a collaboration of @azabihijabi37 and @meeshaslays

Book blog resumed!

So my burgeoning career in reading books and gushing over them got tragically cut short after I got hacked so I'm trying to resume that now Inshallah and maybe discipline myself enough to post regularly maybe hopefully I think :p

So first post yay! A little intro on me I go by Azabihijabi mostly and am currently trying to complete my undergrad degree in IR and Politics from LSE.

I read a lot, drink coffee a lot, argue a lot I started this blog because I want to review books of history and poetry that people normally haven't heard off.

I feel like south asian literature isn't really reviewed or discussed as much as it should be. I would aim to direct people to these if I can...

Also I like ranting a lot so instead of talking my mothers ear off I thought I should write it all instead 😅😅

Below you may see a picture of my bookcase organised painstakingly after a year I think

A Tribute

Today he learned to say no.

A useful practice no doubt, for when he grows up, but for now he delights in drowning her in protests.

Darling will you finish your milk? No,

Darling will you wear clothes properly? No,

Darling will you stop wriggling away from me? No.

Still it’s a lovely day today so she doesn't mind half as much as she should, the icy wind has stopped screaming and the clouds chase the sun across the sky.

She sweeps him into her arms and spins whispering yes yes yes till they're a blur of blue yellow green. The game has begun, she sets him on her lap and points 'Mama' and then 'babydarling' his eyes widen and he gurgles, she laughs. And they are.

People tell her bliss is an impossible mantle to reach after marriage, especially with a child so young but she thinks they've got it all wrong, it's all about perception really, why look at her!

Twenty four years old married for five years to an up and coming army lieutenant with a precious infant of her own. Her life was perfect. Simply perfect. Mama Baba Babydarling.

She smiles thinking of  their little trio when for a second though, a tendril of fear coils within and she frowns, reaching up to cup babydarling's cheek.

He's cold. Stone cold. It must be the outside air she thinks. She smooths her thumb over his forehead and walks back into the house.

They live in a colony. The house is standard issue but the garden is vast and green green green. Every Sunday she dons a large hat and plows into the thicket to tend to it while babydarling watches from the porch. Bliss bliss bliss.

The housekeeper sees her coming in and comes forward smiling tentatively her eyes determinedly avoiding the child swaddled in her mistresses arms.

She doesn't like her.

Her name is Abida. Nasty name. She once had an aunt named Abida who always gave her horrible sugar free lemon drops. Simply nasty.

But this Abida is strange, she never looks at her child. Her beautiful darling child, she never asks after him or coils her spindly finger into his tiny darling hands. Reminded of the affront to her child by the sight of the ungainly woman she sniffs distastefully looking away from the housekeeper,

"Good morning Baji have you had breakfast?"

The gall! To ask if she has had breakfast but not if her babydarling has! This is why she never her child to the servant’s care, no mother would ever leave her infant with such a nonchalant servant.

"Yes" She answers stiffly "I have"

Abida nods faintly and excuses herself quickly to attend to matters elsewhere in the house. She 'hmphs' loudly to air her displeasure before going into her room.

It's time for babydarling's lessons. Her child was far more intelligent than ordinary children, if there were people who thought otherwise she was not aware of them.

But she wasn’t entirely oblivious. They thought they were oh so discreet. Sneaking glances,  always wanting to hold him, to ask after him. Subjecting her treasure to their poisonous prejudices.  Disgusting creatures.

So what if babydarling wasn't ready for school yet? It was no reflection on his capabilities but rather her own fears!.

School meant leaving him. Alone. In the dark. Scared. Without Mama. Her lips trembled at the thought of it. He would never go. Never leave her. Never never never. The thought sated her and she pressed her cold chapped lips to his Red cardigan. He gurgled delightedly.

Babydarling always wore red. A precise undertone of faded scarlet . Like a dying rose…or faded bloodstains. Red red red. Babydarling curled his fist around her hand and whispered no no no. She pushed the strange thoughts away.

Baba is about to come home from work. He's a very important man. He's also very tall.

She remembers the hazy summer days when she and her sister used to imagine their futures nibbling on the flesh of a mango.

They were both so awkward, peacocks with furled feathers. Splayed limbs frizzy curls chapped lips.

Every other moment a bead of juice would drip, faded bloodstain or sunflower yellow?

She could never remember.

Tall! Amina would proclaim. Rich she'd counter. Dimples!. Blue eyes!. An adonis!. Till they collapsed into giggles their blushes barely visible on their tanned cheeks.

She heard a door open and then click shut. He must be home. She scooped up babydarling and made her way out to greet her husband.

She had already set dinner. He was shrugging out of his coat in the hallway.

She loved watching his routine. Coat tossed onto the stand. Keys flung into an ornamental bowl. Tripping over his feet to free them from his suede shoes.

He looked up then, seeing her there and his lips quirked into a smile before flitting to the bundle in her arms and his smile dimmed a flash of pain eclipsing his features. She hated that. Hated the hazy glaze of memory that look always brought upon her like she was supposed to know why he looked at his only child like that But she blustered on.

" Good Evening. "

"Good Evening,  how was your day?"

"It was good. How was yours?"

"Hmm.  Very good."

It was at times like this that she felt she was marionette on strings. Marching a beat she didn't know. It continued. Thrust parry dodge. This was their conversation. Step right step left step back step forward. Paste a smile. Bliss bliss bliss.  Babydarling giggles. Baba ignores him. Look at him. Why won't you look?.

"There's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh?," Her tone is frosty. Look look look.

His gaze drops.

"Yes, he's a…friend."

A short nod is his only reply. Babydarling is done eating she has to go clean him up.

Shetakes him into their room and  wipes his face carefully. Not a bead of it should drip.

Water or blood?. Not a single bead.

She feels discomfited Babydarling looks upset. Perhaps some cartoons. Yes yes yes.

She flips on the television, she hears voices outside the room. Her husband and his friend. Hushed voices. Soft kadences.

The news is on. BabyDarling moans, she shuffles him closer.

The anchor looks grave, her face seems to be melting. She repeats herself too much. It's the 10th anniversary. Of what?.

A montage plays. Small bodies branded scarlet. Faded bloodstain or dying rose. School children massacred. Families broken and sorrowed oh would you like some more please?. Hysterical women beating a drum on their chests. Near the heart? Rip it out rip it out. Stop the pain. Faded bloodstains or dying rose?. They sing a song to her,

Oh how could they  Oh why would they  Oh what now  Oh oh oh

She doesn't like this. A panic builds, near her heart she thinks. Rip it out Stop the pain. Her hands are shaking. She turns it off. She can hear her husband now. It's been ten years. Our son. Murdered. She's never been right after it. Others doctors said severe trauma.

Oh what to do. Oh oh oh.

She sinks to the floor.

Babydarling cackles. Is she laughing? Yes she is. She whispers No no no.

Babydarling says Yes yes yes.

Note: this piece was written in the aftermath of the APS massacre of 150 children in Peshawar in 2014 due to a terrorist attack. We failed you.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un ("We surely belong to Allah and to Him we shall return.")