Last Kiss of the Butterfly

One can understand why the Victorians often wrote about early death in their children’s books since there was so much of it still around. But why are some modern children’s writers increasingly turning towards it as a topic? Is it to do with its shock value, given its comparative rarity in today’s young families? Or is it sometimes a way of attempting to raise instant emotion? But like writing about the holocaust – another sure-fire way of getting through to readers’ emotions – such very loaded topics must surely be treated with considerable respect to avoid any charge of mere sensationalism. And on this measure, I am bound to say that for me this novel is found wanting. So determined is it to manipulate readers’ emotions that it eventually self-destructs well before its long-overdue end. Almost every easy sentiment box is ticked: loving, beautiful mother dying of cancer, charming father distraught, angry, mouthy adolescent daughter Jaz storming around in her grief and new, idealised boy-friend Ethan there to help out once the dust starts to settle. Nothing here is ever done by halves. Trapped in a sickly web of mutual admiration, endlessly professing their love for each other and their pets, laughing loudly at family jokes and puns barely good enough to raise a polite smile, main characters wear their hearts not so much on their sleeves but more in their ever-open mouths. Ending with a scene involving – wait for it – some therapeutic swimming with dolphins, a strong vein of literary déjà vu remains evident on almost every page, ending with a double rainbow ‘arcing across the horizon’. But look in vain for any literary crock of gold buried at the end of this one.