My rating: 4.5 of 5 stars
Callie doesn't talk. She used to cut herself, but she can't here at Sick Minds (a.k.a. Sea Pines, a "residential treatment facility" a.k.a. loony bin). They can't make her speak, though. It's not that there's anything wrong with the other people here, just that they're crazy and she's not. Right? She's not crazy.
You know Callie isn't crazy, don't you? You're her therapist. If you don't believe she's sane, no one will.
Well? Is she crazy or not?
It's a short book. More of a novella than a novel. Usually 'short' is followed by 'powerful', but in the case of Cut it's really just short. It's not blockbuster, but it's so short it doesn't really matter, even. It's so short that even though I can't really think of very many redeeming factors of it there aren't enough pages for there to be something wrong.
The premise on the surface isn't particularly creative. Been there, read that, worn holes in the T-shirt. There aren't that many books about mental hospitals, but they're definitely there. There are books about self-mutilating teenagers as well, more of them than there are about the hospitals. The really creative part of the book is the narrative itself--written like a letter from Callie to her therapist. A letter written as it happens, ever-lengthening in present tense.
Callie as a character is perfect. She knows exactly why she's in the hospital, but not how she got to that point. She's simple and complex at the same time; knowing more than she realises but not understanding. But she knows she wants to get better, and that she can be helped.
If you come across it, it's worth the read. But it's not so ground breaking nor is it so beautiful that it deserves paying seven bucks plus tax plus shipping. Just seven plus tax. Or the walk to the library.
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