by Megan Amato
Content warning: Death, self-harm
Tanya Boteju’s second contemporary LGBTQIA+ YA novel Bruised has all kinds of emotion erupting from me, but mostly joy emerges that teenagers and young adults will be able to read this story and connect with the anger, grief, self-discovery and acceptance within the pages of this book.
Bruised follows Daya Wijesinghe, a second-generation Canadian Sri Lankan teenager who copes—or perhaps avoids coping—with the grief and guilt of her parents’ death by substituting her emotional pain with the physical—by bruising. After skateboarding fails to keep the memories at bay, she is introduced to roller derby and is immediately enthralled by the contact sport. Afraid of weakness in any form and used to handling things in her own way, Daya collects more bruises—both internally and externally—as she learns to work with a team, manages her turbulent emotions and discovers that strength comes from more than just brute physicality.
Having read Boteju’s debut Kings, Queens & In-Betweens, I knew that I was in not only for a lesson in roller derby culture but also an exploration of themes through the protagonist’s many stumbles. Daya’s inclination is to push away love, kindness or anything emotional, as weakness is the main point of tension driving the plot. It shows especially in her inability to accept her aunt and uncle’s eccentricity in a misplaced sense of loyalty to her father, who saw them as frivolous. Memories of her father display him pushing her to reject weakness at any cost, and the reader’s inclination may be to yell at him for his tough love, but through it, Boteju hints at the systematic racism that many immigrants of colour face when moving to Canada. After experiencing this, Daya’s father pushes her into creating a barrier of brute strength to protect herself from the world.
Breaking through that barrier would be tough for anyone, but Boteju has created enthralling characters with depths that manage to break through Daya’s wall of self-preservation—from the love interest, Shanti, whose soft and sweet demeanour continues to surprise Daya into seeing that real strength comes from within, to the amazingly spry and spunky geriatric lesbians who begin to break down Daya’s perceptions of what strength looks like.
Books like Bruised are one reason I disagree with people when they say we don’t need any more queer coming-out stories. While I agree that there is an oversaturation of a type of coming-out story, Boteju shows that everyone’s coming out is not the same. Daya’s coming out is subtle rather than a big revelation, and she receives both love and acceptance. It’s a part of her story, but only as a component of the self-acceptance she gains for herself as she allows herself to love and be loved.
It’s a well-crafted book, one that flows well even as Daya stumbles and makes it hard for the people around her to care about her. The only piece of criticism I have is more of an unanswered question: Daya lies about her age to get into the Killa Honeys, but it’s never brought up again. Besides this small issue, I think the novel belongs on bookshelves in all libraries so that young people on the verge of self-discovery may stumble upon it and possibly recognize themselves as any one of the relatable characters Boteju has created.
*Thank you Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review