Let’s start at the very beginning which, I am told, is a very good place to start. There’s no Marilou in this novel. “Marilou” is, in fact, the nickname of Jude Vanderjohn, a teenager of colour who lives with her eccentric, alcoholic and possibly sick mother Bernadette in a predominantly white, rural outpost in Appalachia. Also, Marilou isn’t “everywhere”. She is nowhere… or, rather, nowhere to be found. At the heart of the novel is the mystery of Jude’s disappearance following a camping trip gone wrong.

The story is narrated by Cindy Stoat, the younger sister of Jude’s ex-boyfriend Virgil. Cindy is herself an outcast, raised by a single mother who comes and goes and has now, apparently, left for good, ostensibly “for work reasons”. Left to her own devices with two older brothers, and taking advantage of Bernadette’s confused state of mind, she steps into the shoes of the missing teenager and slowly morphs in a new composite version of Cindy/Jude.

The “missing person trope” has become a genre unto itself, cutting across other longer-establish genres, from plot-driven page-turning thrillers to subtler, philosophical works. Marilou is Everywhere is the debut novel of poet Sarah Elaine Smith, and hers is a decidedly “literary” approach (not my favourite adjective, but I’ll go for that as a working description). The novel’s language is rich and musical and even when it is portraying the numbing boredom of small-town life, it does so in pregnant metaphors. And this is certainly one of this work’s strengths. Yet, depending on your point of view, it might also be its main weakness. Cindy is supposed to be a school drop-out and, despite the fact that her days with Bernadette have taught her about Tintoretto, soy sauce and Nina Simone (unexpectedly turning her into the “family intellectual”), her narrative voice still sounds suspiciously like that of a poet-turned-novelist rather than a disturbed teenager.

This novel should also come with a warning that it is a real downer. Both Jude and Cindy are, ultimately, outsiders desperate to escape their background, their families and even their bodies. And this does not make for jolly reading. But even pain can be beautifully conveyed, and Smith manages to do this brilliantly. Isn’t great literature often uncomfortable after all?

3.5* ( )

Let’s start at the very beginning which, I am told, is a very good place to start. There’s no Marilou in this novel. “Marilou” is, in fact, the nickname of Jude Vanderjohn, a teenager of colour who lives with her eccentric, alcoholic and possibly sick mother Bernadette in a predominantly white, rural outpost in Appalachia. Also, Marilou isn’t “everywhere”. She is nowhere… or, rather, nowhere to be found. At the heart of the novel is the mystery of Jude’s disappearance following a camping trip gone wrong.

The story is narrated by Cindy Stoat, the younger sister of Jude’s ex-boyfriend Virgil. Cindy is herself an outcast, raised by a single mother who comes and goes and has now, apparently, left for good, ostensibly “for work reasons”. Left to her own devices with two older brothers, and taking advantage of Bernadette’s confused state of mind, she steps into the shoes of the missing teenager and slowly morphs in a new composite version of Cindy/Jude.

The “missing person trope” has become a genre unto itself, cutting across other longer-establish genres, from plot-driven page-turning thrillers to subtler, philosophical works. Marilou is Everywhere is the debut novel of poet Sarah Elaine Smith, and hers is a decidedly “literary” approach (not my favourite adjective, but I’ll go for that as a working description). The novel’s language is rich and musical and even when it is portraying the numbing boredom of small-town life, it does so in pregnant metaphors. And this is certainly one of this work’s strengths. Yet, depending on your point of view, it might also be its main weakness. Cindy is supposed to be a school drop-out and, despite the fact that her days with Bernadette have taught her about Tintoretto, soy sauce and Nina Simone (unexpectedly turning her into the “family intellectual”), her narrative voice still sounds suspiciously like that of a poet-turned-novelist rather than a disturbed teenager.

This novel should also come with a warning that it is a real downer. Both Jude and Cindy are, ultimately, outsiders desperate to escape their background, their families and even their bodies. And this does not make for jolly reading. But even pain can be beautifully conveyed, and Smith manages to do this brilliantly. Isn’t great literature often uncomfortable after all?

3.5* ( )

From the beginning paragraph of this story, you expect it will be another domestic thriller, or mystery regarding a missing girl. But the more and more that you dive into this unique debut novel, the more you will see that the mystery at the beginning is counterpoint to the actual heart of the novel.⁣
Cindy’s life in poverty is tough to read about sometimes, the frank depictions of being broke, scavenging for food, struggling with the education system, the stark emptiness a house feels when there is no power or warmth, and how this all weighs heavy on your shoulders and heart. Growing up in a small town, I also recognized many of the townspeople from my past and their whispers of gossip when a crime or scandal occurred. Jude’s desperation to leave her hometown also resonated deeply with me.⁣
When Cindy started acting and dressing like Jude, I understood why. She was desperate to have a taste of a different life, especially when it came to having a solid parental figure in her life. This is the reason, I believe, for why she endured abuse by Jude’s mother. Nothing is worse than her own abandonment and neglect from her own mother. You will also learn right away that Cindy is quite odd, and then see how different she is after having lived at Jude’s. ⁣
I picked this one up at random at my library, and I immediately became engrossed in not only the story, but the characters as well. I have added this to my list of books to recommend. And I look forward to Sarah Elaine Smith’s next book. ⁣ ( )

This one just wasn't for me. It takes place in Greene County, just south of Pittsburgh where i'm from, so the recognizable references were fun, but that was probably the high point. This book meanders, and I sometimes love meandering when the writer is making sharp observations or composing beautiful sentences, but I honestly don't at all understand the reviews that call this prose beautiful. For me, this was too quirky (something I very rarely like), I didn't have a strong sense of who the characters are, and I didn't quite get the point. ( )

A novel in the style of the “here’s-my-mess-you figure-it-out” school of writing, of which I’m no devotee. This sort of nonsense, complete with strained metaphors, sets my teeth on edge. ( )