Book Review: Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell
When I first encountered Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell, I was buzzing with excitement. As someone who once lost herself in the pages of Lord of the Rings fanfiction, I thought this book might finally capture the magic of fandom that shaped my early writing journey. The idea of exploring the life of a fanfiction writer seemed like a gift, but alas, what I found was a mixed bag—a blend of moments that sparkled with brilliance and a message that left me feeling crestfallen.
At its core, Fangirl tells the story of Cath, an introverted college freshman grappling with anxiety and the challenges of growing up while fiercely clinging to her passion for writing fanfiction. The story strides through themes of identity, mental health, and the struggle to find one’s voice. While parts of Cath’s journey were beautifully rendered—her anxiety manifesting as a tangible barrier to everyday interactions—other elements felt crammed into a typical coming-of-age mold rather than the unique narrative I craved.
Rowell’s writing shines in its dialogue and character interactions, especially between Cath and her roommate, Wren. Their differing approaches to college encapsulate many of the complexities of young adulthood. Yet, perhaps one of the most poignant parts of the book is Cath’s struggle with her identity as a fanfiction writer versus “real” writing. Here, I found myself wrestling with a notion I deeply disagree with: the idea that fanfiction is merely a stepping stone to something more “authentic.” It presents a narrative that feels disheartening and inaccurate to those of us who view fanfiction as a vibrant, fulfilling art form in its own right.
While I appreciated Rowell’s effort in highlighting mental health challenges, I yearned for a more nuanced representation of the fandom community. Instead of showcasing the bonding and support typical among fanfiction writers, Cath often feels isolated, missing the vibrant connections that can flourish in such creative spaces. The argument that fanfiction is simply practice for a more serious endeavor overlooks the joy, creativity, and deep community ties that characterize it.
One scene particularly struck me as reflective of this flaw. Cath, frustrated and vulnerable, seeks support yet isolates herself, opting for a one-person dance party instead of reaching out to her online friends who share her passion. It felt like a missed opportunity to show the camaraderie and understanding that often exists among fans and writers.
The book contains delightful moments and witty lines, often poking fun at the struggles of contemporary life, such as when Wren quips, “Why are you reading that?” about a book without a dragon or an elf on the cover. This humorous insight resonates for many readers caught in the tension between whimsy and reality.
Ultimately, I would rate Fangirl three stars—not out of disdain but from a place of hope for what it could have been. While it offers a decent coming-of-age narrative and speaks to mental health struggles with sincerity, I can’t overlook the limitations in its portrayal of fandom. It resonates with readers who maybe aren’t entrenched in these worlds, but for those of us who identify with Cath’s passion, it feels like a conversation half-finished.
If you’re a casual reader intrigued by college-life stories sprinkled with light humor and relatable anxiety, Fangirl might be a good fit for you. But if you’re part of the vibrant fanfiction community, you may find yourself yearning for a deeper, more authentic exploration of the world we cherish. For me, it reinforced the idea that while every story has value, it’s essential to narrate them with respect for the artistry they represent. As for me? I’m off to revisit the worlds where dragons and elves roam, seeking narratives that truly honor the joy of fandom.
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