A harrowing yet deeply innocent personal narrative of child abuse. Told in a childlike voice and this, above anything else, makes you feel the pain of the storyteller. There's also a strange sense of detachment in the words which only adds to the distressing nature of this book. The hurt Briscoe was feeling and is still feeling as she writes this bubbles from the words. The abusive undertone of the book captures the emotion of the account and it packs a subtle punch to the gut over and over. It made me feel incredibly angry for days afterwards. Not an easy read, yet it isn't meant to be.
Blogging is an amazing concept so here I am giving it a whirl. You'll get words. You'll get pics. Sometimes a vid or two. You'll get tongue in cheek, the odd humble opinion and an honest insight into my travels and writing life. Maybe even a few gems along the way. I'll be musing on home turf as I see more and more of the UK and sharing my experiences further afield on holidays and adventurous trips across the globe.