Narrated by an autistic thirteen-year old with major trauma issues, Benjamin Ludwig’s Ginny Moon is a strange but engrossing little novel with maybe one too many narrative quirks. When we meet troubled Ginny, she’s already spent a few years bouncing around various foster homes after being removed from the care of her abusive, drug-addled birth mother. As a narrator, Ginny occasionally feels too much like a creative writing exercise. How badly can a narrator misread situations, as when Ginny throws a tantrum about grapes while someone is dying in the next room? More importantly – without spoiling a major plot point – how much information can an unreliable narrator blamelessly withhold from the reader?