Amber and Gummer both question whether they have outgrown their predetermined roles in the group. Grace is established as an unreliable narrator, as Kenzie argues that she wasn’t saved by Grace when they became friends. It felt like we chose each other carefully, to make sure all our odd shapes fitted together. She considers herself to be the hero and saviour of her group of friends, which includes Gummer, Amber, Pete and Kenzie. Grace is a highly emotionally evocative narrator to follow. With her reputation as the town prankster ensuring no one will believe her, Grace is forced to go it alone to uncover why she is being haunted. But after a death-defying crossing goes wrong, Grace finds herself haunted by a ghost, the presence of which brings up a renewed sense of grief for her mother.

She clings to her reputation as the town prankster and record holder for the fastest crossing at the quarry. Everything around her is changing – her friends, her family, her sense of self. The Foley family have moved from the family farm to a house in town, and seventeen-year-old Grace is struggling with the rules her suffocating yet distant father has set, which do not seem to apply to her brother Cody, despite the fact that he is only three years older than her. Rumour has it that William hid her body down the local quarry, the same quarry where he would later fall to his death. It is not the first tragedy to befall the small country town of Swanston, as teen Hannah Holt mysteriously disappeared twenty-three years prior, rumoured to be at the hands of Willliam Dean. Two years have passed since Grace Foley’s mother was hit and killed by a car. Just when I thought I was getting comfortable in the direction the novel was going, Vikki Wakefield changed the tempo. It is part contemporary, part thriller, part murder mystery, part supernatural horror. I can’t help wondering whether he closed his eyes when he jumped, or met the rocks with them wide open.īallad for a Mad Girl is a fantastic genre-bending read. We all know the stories are spread by grown-ups to keep us away from the quarry, but this is the first time I’ve ever thought about Hannah Holt, or William Dean, before I’ve crossed. Some say Hannah Holt is buried in the gully, her uneasy spirit slipping from crevice to shadow, sniffing for fear, and when she smells it she’ll pull you down by the ankles with her teeth.

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