Pen Pal

Forrest has done an amazing job creating two very small, fictional minority communities that come alive on the page. There’s a sense of history behind each of them, a feeling that there are far more details about the culture than ever make it into the story. The settings feel rich in their imaginings and the stories the characters tell themselves have an oral quality that transcends the reading experience. The country of W–, a small nation amongst larger powers, is understandably eager to quell violence from its increasingly vocal minority, and the way they go about it feels as though it could actually happen. Even the most well-meaning people misunderstand each other’s intentions, contributing to greater problems.

Though undeniably political in its message of sympathy for vanishing minority cultures, Pen Pal never preaches; instead, Forrest gives readers two protagonists whose innocence draws us in. Em’s child perspective on the world gives her a sense of black and white morality–until she faces situations where she has to question what she knows. Is loyalty always a virtue, even when it’s given to the wrong people? Does wanting to see more of the world mean that she’s not as devoted to her home as her friends? Kaya’s growing understanding that nothing was ever as innocent as she thought–not from the way she described her culture to her peers in the lowland school, or in her plans for a simple festival to honor her people’s traditions–make it easy to have sympathy for the anger that follows. Her change from botanist to activist is a direct result of her incarceration, rather than the other way around. Though her faith in her goddess grows to what looks, to an outsider, like fanaticism, both her visions and her solitary confinement give a clear sense of why she would become the priestess the majority government claimed her to be.