Marshall’s book, in staying so firmly focused on his specific experience, offers a different kind of solidarity. Though I don’t have cerebral palsy, I cringed, gasped, and smiled in recognition of some of Marshall’s childhood experiences ... Abandoning the obfuscation with which many of us learn to talk about disability is hard, even when the only people we’re convincing with our vague wording are ourselves. But in Leg, Marshall makes a convincing argument that becoming more open is also a path out of shame. We need as many writers as possible who, like Marshall, are willing to say the silent part out loud.
It feels weird to say that Leg is hilarious, but it’s true. The exploits of the Marshalls are those of a family that refuses to be buried by hardship and instead develops a great sense of humor ... Marshall’s memoir is also a gay coming-of-age story ... Never slows in its energy, hope and warmth.
Hoo boy, Leg is the kind of book that makes you hyperventilate. On many, very many pages, there’s boisterous, Saturday-morning-cartoon-like, going-in-five-different-directions chaos that might be sibling-based, it might be parental, deeply personal, humorous, relational, or sexual – and on that note, hoo boy, there are some wildly messy and explicit pages to find here. Author Greg Marshall writes candidly about his sex life, doors wide open, sometimes literally. Ah, but he also writes about the kind of love that’s wrapped in a scrap of fleece and handled carefully, the kind that feels like it might blow away if you’re not careful. That’s a delicate thing in the midst of a madcap tale of a limb and the gay man attached to it, and it’s sneaky, too: you’ll be looking every-which-way at Marshall’s life and boom! Tears. Give yourself some time with this book, and breathe deep. Most readers will find it chaotic but thoroughly enjoyable for beach read, airport, or a staycation. Don’t skip Leg or you’ll kick yourself.