Embracing the Heat of Love and Longing in Sunburn
When I first stumbled upon Sunburn by L.E. Howarth, I was immediately drawn in by its seductive promise of exploring the complexities of first love against the backdrop of a small Irish town. The book whispered to me—a longing I can relate to, nestled within the margins of youthful discovery and heartbreaking reality. My heart raced with curious anticipation; what truths would Howarth unveil as we navigated the intimate landscapes of Lucy’s mind? With a playlist to accompany this journey (link to my Sunburn Spotify playlist!), I settled in, ready to experience the meandering thoughts of a girl consumed by her feelings for Susannah.
At its core, Sunburn offers an exquisite exploration of young love and the struggle for identity in a setting that tightly constrains both. Lucy, our protagonist, oscillates between her desire for acceptance and her passionate obsession with her friend Susannah—a dynamic that creates a beautiful yet devastating tension throughout the narrative. Howarth deftly captures Lucy’s internal monologue, often a poetic tribute to Susannah’s brilliance that left me yearning to revel in her words forever. “Now is the time between birth and slaughter”—with a line this iconic, it was no surprise that I found myself underlining nearly every page.
As we traverse Lucy’s adolescence from fifteen to twenty, Howarth skillfully paints a vivid portrait of teenage insecurity, unfulfilled desires, and the suffocating weight of societal expectations. In the innocence of youth, Lucy grapples with her longing for Susannah amid a sea of friends who feel more like reflections of each other than genuine connections. “I understand these girls, I follow the pattern, it’s alright,” Lucy muses, encapsulating the bittersweet comfort found in shared loneliness.
The depth of Howarth’s writing shines particularly during the summer when Lucy and Susannah’s relationship blooms. A day spent together in golden sunlight transcends mere friendship, glowing with the warm allure of first love. The exchange of silly letters—“Save this letter: it marks the moment that my life finally started”—is where we see not just Lucy’s devotion but a mutual reverence that makes this relationship feel both tender and monumental. I often found myself lost in the lyrical beauty of these moments, as though seated alongside Lucy in the garden, soaking in the radiant magic of their budding romance.
Folks, the emotional stakes intensify towards the story’s conclusion as Lucy is faced with the stark reality of her choices—a contrast between societal acceptance and the authenticity of her love for Susannah. “All I’ve done is fall for Susannah. It is not shameful or radical or wild.” Here, the heartbreak of Lucy’s internal conflict resonates deeply. Howarth captures the essence of being torn between your true self and your desire to be loved in return.
While Lucy’s journey is marked by a struggle for self-identity against the constraints of her small town, it also serves as a compelling reminder of the universal desire for belonging. The vivid portrayal of Crossmore, with its wild, unyielding landscape, acts as a character in its own right—a constant reminder of Lucy’s roots and the struggles of her heart.
If you’re seeking a story that tenderly unfurls the complexities of first love and self-discovery wrapped in gorgeous prose, Sunburn is a must-read. With its warm, authentic narrative, it invites you to reflect on your own experiences of love, belonging, and the often painful journey of defining who you truly are. For those enamored with beautifully woven tales of queer love and memory, this book will leave a lasting glow long after the last page is turned. As for me, the echoes of Lucy and Susannah linger still, reminding me of the sun-soaked warmth that exists amid the bittersweet struggles of youth.