Review: Strange Sally Diamond by Liz Nugent

Filed Under: I want to be where the people aren’t…


I don’t know, man, if my dad was like, “When I die, put me in the garbage,” and I really thought those were his genuine final wishes… maybe I would. I hope he doesn’t ask.

But, that is exactly how this novel opens, and from there the plot was nothing like I expected it to be… but that’s not a bad thing.

It’s an odd novel, but it’s also familiar. Sometimes it’s emotional, sometimes it’s very dark, sometimes it’s mysterious. It even made me laugh a handful of times. It’s just so charming and weird and blunt, much like the character of Sally Diamond herself. But is the tone all over the place? Yeah, it fucking is.

There is a strange but accessible world created within the pages, bringing vivid characters and a plot unlike anything I have read recently, and even though it seems like it should be in my usual genres, there’s so much about the writing style that sometimes felt just different enough that it added to the narrative’s complexity.

Sally grew up in strict isolation – no friends, no school, no interaction with anyone but her psychiatrist parents who treated her more like an experiment than a child. At this point in her life, now in her early 40s, she’s described as socially defective. So when her last remaining parent dies, and she ends up in the news for how she disposes of his body, Sally is forced to learn about the real world and how she can best exist within it.

Broadly, this is a thriller/mystery, but it doesn’t just tackle dark themes – there are also deft discussions on issues like bigotry, racism and sexism as Sally bumps up against living in a society where she is free from all those prejudices, a true blank slate. The trial and error of Sally figuring herself out, the world and her place within, was truly where this novel shined bright like a diamond.

(+1 point for the Rihanna reference. -1 point because diamonds reflect, they don’t shine.)

You get putting a body in the garbage, putting a body in a farm incinerator, a very particular way of doing things, stunted social development, kidnapping, adoption, confession letters, dark family secrets, pedophilia, pulling your own hair out, kids being cruel, broken windows, home renovation, starting over, growing up without context, jaunty red hats, saying exactly what you’re thinking, misunderstanding social norms, bigotry and racism, passion for the piano, karma, trauma, bad parenting, giving birth alone, teddy bears, repressed memories, loving your parents even when they don’t deserve it, finding family, making friends, car accidents, fleeing to a new country, being a bad swimmer, fake diseases, weird dentists, getting therapy, pure rage, soundproofing, DNA testing, Stockholm syndrome, being just like your father, denial.

Between Sally’s story, there are chapters set in the past, detailing a disturbing kidnapping – it’s very much Jaycee Dugard vibes. The two stories feel separate until they don’t – there’s this mirror effect between the threads that I thought was pretty clever, and all the pieces connect in the end.

But the ending didn’t have the impact I was looking for, considering the bulk of the novel has so many wild and emotional moments. The first half is better than the second, but that’s really the only negative thing I can say about this.

One of my favourite reads of 2023!

🔪🔪🔪


Sally Diamond cannot understand why what she did was so strange. She was only doing what her father told her to do, to put him out with the rubbish when he died.

Now Sally is the centre of attention, not only from the hungry media and worried police, but also a sinister voice from a past she has no memory of. As she begins to discover the horrors of her childhood, recluse Sally steps into the world for the first time, making new friends, finding independence, and learning that people don’t always mean what they say.

But when messages start arriving from a stranger who knows far more about her past than she knows herself, Sally’s life will be thrown into chaos once again . . .

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