Vernal Thaw: A Novel of Love at a Slant by Frances Cannon, Set Margins’, 284 pages. $24.95. Vernal Thaw, by Vermont- and Edinburgh, Scotland-based author and illustrator Frances “Franky” Cannon, is a commendable experiment in autobiographical fiction. The novel aims to study the author’s polyamorous heart by dissecting it while it’s still beating. Prepare to witness — with increasing concern — as she prods inside her own chest cavity, pinching shut various arteries and chambers as she operates. Watch as her rosy cheeks go from pink to blue to gray before your very eyes. Proceed to scream out: “For the love of God, why?!” over and over again, all while she dissociates by persistently directing your attention to the safest details of her life, such as her favorite albums and bakeries. And do make sure to enjoy her sketches as she fades — they are quite good. Unlike a typical story of queer self-discovery, Vernal Thaw begins with our protagonist’s sexuality already fully realized. Franky (a fictionalized version of the author) is an adjunct professor in creative writing who lives a life of unrestricted romance, with multiple partners across multiple genders. Yes, it’s a fun and sexy approach to love. But it’s also depicted as affectionate and wholesome and honest. It comes naturally to Franky. For her, polyamory just works. Then, both slowly and suddenly, Franky finds herself in a barren tundra of monogamy. It is a lonely frontier, ruled by a domineering queen in high-waisted slacks. This woman sits rigidly upon an icy throne, a glass of cognac in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other. Vera is her name, and whenever it is uttered, a baby bird in Russia contracts scoliosis. This woman is the novel’s irresistible heartthrob. Almost immediately upon getting involved with Vera, a neurosurgeon in Burlington whose two main hobbies are conquering mountains and drawing baths, Franky agrees to a vow of exclusivity. She justifies this as simply “trying out” monogamy. In the same way that a married couple might try to rekindle things by opening up their bedroom to newcomers, Franky opts to spice down her own life by cooking only with celery salt, forever. To the sadness (and confusion) of her other two staple paramours, Franky announces she must sever ties with them both. Even Franky herself doesn’t seem all that sure why this new relationship has taken precedence over all of her other joys in life. She has no choice but to obey the call of Vera. We can only wave awkwardly from the beach and mumble good luck as she marches dutifully into the cold, black sea. Frances Cannon Credit: Courtesy Like the protagonist, the writing is at its best when it is allowed to love without limits. Cannon has a beautiful way of lingering on the subjects of her affection. When she describes someone with fondness, even the Abominable Vera, one feels the author could swim in those paragraphs forever. Cannon naturally channels the time-freeze effect of staring too long at a crush, as when she lovingly notes someone’s “mismatched socks and banjo” or Vera’s bashful fear of dancing. Whenever the plot rushes ahead, at group-chat pacing, the reader may be reluctant to let go of those paused heartbeats. It’s hard to care about dialogue or changes in scenery when we’re still pining for Franky’s keepsake memories, even the troubling ones. This longing is not unlike the simmering remorse that Franky herself endures throughout the novel, a feeling that she seems incapable of acknowledging. You may experience your own version of Franky’s dread — a sense of being trapped with no way out, no solution except to delude yourself into believing this cage has been home all along. Readers will likely react to this book differently depending on their own life experiences. Those who know all too well the hypnotizing allure of a radioactive lover will find camaraderie in Franky’s story. For those privileged enough to have never lived through such a nightmare, reading this book may instead feel similar to shouting at a horror movie: “Hey! Don’t go in there! Can’t you see? She has a gun! She hates your entire CD collection! She only wears turtlenecks. Run.” Despite how severely Franky deteriorates when she’s handcuffed to a single partner, Cannon never depicts polyamory as some enlightened evolution of monogamy. Rather, any suffering that Franky endures from this relationship is partly from an emotionally manipulative partner and partly from the repression of one’s sexual and romantic inclinations. As it turns out, a heart is still a heart, no matter for whom, or for how many, it beats. ➆ The original print version of this article was headlined “Frozen Hearts | Review: Vernal Thaw: A Novel of Love at a Slant by Frances Cannon” The post Book Review: ‘Vernal Thaw’ by Frances Cannon appeared first on Seven Days. ...read more read less