June 11, 2018
In her provocative debut, linguist Dalcher imagines a near future in which speech and language—or the withholding thereof—are instruments of control. The election of a conservative president with a charismatic (and psychotic) religious advisor is merely the final straw in a decades-long trend toward repression and authoritarianism. For years, cognitive linguist Jean McClellan, a well-educated white woman, chose to immerse herself in academia rather than become politically active, even as signs of authoritarianism were proliferating. Now, however, a year after the election, women in the United States have been limited to speaking no more than 100 words per day or face painful consequences. When the President’s brother suffers an accident that affects his brain’s speech centers, Jean might be able to leverage her expertise to restore her status. Dalcher’s narrative raises questions about the links between language and authority; most chilling is the specter of young girls being starved of language and, consequently, the capacity to think critically. The novel’s muddled climax and implausible denouement fail to live up to its intriguing premise. Nevertheless, Dalcher’s novel carries an undeniably powerful message.

June 15, 2018
In the not-too-distant future, American women and girls are allowed a quota of 100 spoken words per day, after which each syllable triggers electrocution via wrist band.Narrator Dr. Jean McClellan, wife and mother of four, is a cognitive linguist at the top of her field--or she was, until the government was hijacked by fundamentalists led by Reverend Carl, architect of the patriarchal Pure Movement and close adviser to the president. Under Reverend Carl's direction, women are no longer allowed to hold jobs or bank accounts, study biology or physics, or, most punishingly, to speak more than 100 words a day, read, or write. When the president's influential older brother is in an accident and damages his Wernicke's area--the part of the brain that controls language--Jean is temporarily called out of forced retirement (and silence) to resume work on a cure. Along for the ride is Lorenzo, Jean's smoldering Italian colleague--and erstwhile lover. In flashbacks, Jackie, Jean's radical grad school roommate, warns her about the rising tide of fundamentalism and condemns her unwillingness to engage. There are welcome glimmers of insight in the narrative, such as when one black character reminds Jean of the importance of intersectional feminism: "Look, I don't mean to be unkind, but you white gals, all you're worried about is, well, all you're worried about is you white gals." Like Jean, first-time novelist Dalcher has a background in linguistics, and the story sometimes gets bogged down in technical jargon, including multiple explanations of the function of an MRI. The ending of the novel, while surprising, is rushed, unearned, and the least convincing part of a story that continually challenges the reader's suspension of disbelief.The oppression of women is an ever relevant topic. Dalcher's premise is tantalizing, but the execution of her thought experiment--what happens when women's voices are taken, in the most literal sense?-- quickly devolves into the stuff of workaday thrillers.

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July 1, 2018
Language and women's facility with it are the focal points of linguist Dalcher's chilling dystopian tale and first novel. Jean McClellan and her family live in a U.S. taken over by religious extremists who have forced the female population to wear electroshock bracelets that deliver painful charges to any woman who speaks over 100 words a day. Jean, a scientist whose research centered around a neurological condition that causes aphasia, is forced to watch in virtual silence as her three sons become indoctrinated and her six-year-old daughter tries to speak as little as possible. Jean's marriage grows strained as her husband goes along with the new regime. She is then offered a potential respite when government officials come to her for help after the president's brother is diagnosed with the very condition for which she had been seeking a cure before women were forbidden to work. With its focus on the vitality of communication and human interactions, Dalcher's tale is a fresh and terrifying contribution to the burgeoning subgenre about women-focused dystopias spearheaded by Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2018, American Library Association.)

Starred review from August 1, 2018

Jean McClellan was a neurolinguist and mother of four before the Pure Woman movement swept the nation. Now, like all women, she wears a counter that tracks every word she speaks--no more than 100 a day. If she goes over the limit, she's painfully shocked. Her son's superior attitude only emphasizes that her daughter is speaking less and less. What happens to society when 50 percent of the population's voices, along with their ability to even learn language, are taken away? This work begs comparison to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, as both feature religious governments forcing women to become subservient, but here the focus is on technological control, rather than fertility. Neurolinguistics and technology balance a compelling narrative shot through with genuine emotion. Jean is multilayered, with definite faults that enrich rather than detract from the story's momentum. VERDICT Dalcher reflects current politics in a clarion call against apathy in a page-turning first novel that is perfect for fans of speculative fiction or women's studies and ripe fodder for book club discussions.--Charli Osborne, Oak Park P.L., MI

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