Review
Title: Sharon O. de Bergerac
Author: J. Scott Bronson
Publisher: ArcPoint Media
Date: 2024
Pages: 362
ISBN: 978-0-9743155-2-2
Cost (paperback): $17.99
Reviewed by Julie J. Nichols for the Association for Mormon Letters
Scott Bronson, novelist, is back!
“Actor — Writer — Director … Thespianaire,” says his Instagram handle. In 2015 ArcPoint Media (aka Scott Parkin, I think) published Bronson’s first novel, The Agitated Heart, a short but moving journey into the secret places of an imperfect Mormon family. It has a tragic ending, fully and terribly earned, worthy of a playwright and director of tragedies and other terrors of the stage. For its inevitability and beauty, the book deserves a wide readership.
Now Bronson has returned with another novel. This time, it’s a Young Adult semi-fantasy about a shapeshifter. I don’t know what else Bronson’s been doing in the years since The Agitated Heart, but Sharon O. de Bergerac is equally notable, of a very different type.
This time, the family isn’t Mormon. There’s a supporting character who is (and she really is a supporting character—there’s a play in the book—Cyrano de Bergerac, of course—in which the Mormon girl has a minor role), but Mormonness is not an issue in this book, as it was, at least more prominently, in The Agitated Heart. Oh, so many other issues are addressed instead—issues whose playing out will have immense appeal to kids in their early and middle teens, their parents, their teachers; people who like drama, who spend time with smart kids putting on plays together in high school; and maybe especially, though the word is never used, to transgender-curious kids and their worried parents.
The title character—an apparently normal American high school sophomore of the twenty-first century whose last name begins with O—is a descendant of the Nemescu clan, which means when she “becomes a woman,” she will begin to Change. Only the women of the clan Change, and they’ve developed a whole tradition of keeping their superpower secret except among themselves. Mothers teach their daughters while the men look on, supporting and appreciating. Sharon’s mom’s doing a study to see how Change works for and in the Nemescu women, so she’s transparently grooming Sharon and requiring her observations as the moment nears. Sharon has lots of questions: when will it happen? What will it feel like? What can she do with the ability to Change? What should she do?
Her mother shrugs: no one actually does anything with it, they just have it. Nobody has made a huge difference in the world with the Change. It’s just—an ability. For example, Mom blithely changes into a chimpanzee to reach the chandelier in the house to clean it. It’s no big deal. Just kinda fun.
Against this background, then, the setup is this: Sharon’s of the right age to Change. That in itself is a major issue for her. In addition, she’s a theater geek. It’s just been announced that Cyrano de Bergerac, her favorite play ever, will be produced this semester at school. She wants more than anything to be in it, except there aren’t any decent roles for women.
Enter also her twin older brothers, who finish each other’s sentences and tease her unceasingly; a persistent dork of a stalker; a best friend who’s neither a theater geek nor a Nemescu; and a bully of a girl who corrals Sharon into helping her with her homework or else.
All of this positions Sharon for Change—and for change. It comes in spades.
What makes this book particularly appealing is the voice. I suppose that’s true for all the best YA novels—young adults need a voice they can relate to, a protag with a voice that sounds like them, just a little wiser, with obstacles to overcome and allies to overcome them with. In contrast to current genre-trendy tendencies to remove parents from the scene, Sharon O.’s mom is a major player. Their interactions are both tender and gentle, humorously contentious. When Sharon first stumbles into Changing, her mother guides her through it. When she considers Changing into a boy so that she can audition to be Cyrano, her mother implies that she tried that once and found it not easy, not the best move. When Sharon does it anyway (yes, this is partly a spoiler, but only partly), one of the most beautiful things about the novel is that the whole family comes on board so that she/he can actually be in rehearsals and in the play itself. Their sympathy, their curiosity, and their support are sometimes funny, often spot-on, always heartwarming. Kids who consider themselves non-binary and their parents, need this book in their hands.
In Sharon’s story, though, no one outside the family can know. So as Sharon (as Sharon) deals with the nerdy stalker, the oblivious best friend, and the bully girl, and as she deals with other issues in her Changed forms, she learns how to keep secrets—her own, her family’s, and her friends’—and how to use them to make her community better. Kinder. More inclusive.
You’ll like her. Like all of us, she’s many beings: she’s Sharon, she’s a Changer, she’s a member of the cast of Cyrano, in each instance encountering troubles and peculiarities that make her unique even for a Nemescu. Keeping herself straight in all her varieties becomes a challenge that feels familiar to any of us who have gone through real-life versions of Changing. Navigating community, becoming who we are, taking on new roles, some that we choose and some that we don’t—these are universal struggles. Bronson has made Sharon and her family role models we want to stay with and learn from. Like The Agitated Heart, this is a wonderfully written story about good parenting, honest growing-up confusion, and wise discoveries. Like The Agitated Heart, there’s a potentially tragic ending. (One reviewer on Amazon complains about its ambiguity; I concur). Like The Agitated Heart, Sharon O. de Bergerac deserves a wide readership—and begs for more to come. Welcome back, Scott Bronson. Bring on the next one!