Clean (by Amy Reed)

Amy Reed’s debut novel Beautiful didn’t much leave an impression on the cat. However, when a student tells you that the book they just read was “one of the best books they’ve ever read”, you  better make sure you order more of that author, because you know they’ll come back for more, so I had to go out and order Clean.  Unfortunately, this sophomore book didn’t leave any lasting impression, either… (by which I in no way want to belittle this particular student’s reading experience!).

Beautiful still had a certain focus and drive, and that is exactly what Clean misses in my opinion. In Clean we meet 5 teens in rehab, each with their own drug of choice, each with their own background, each with their own set of problems. The only thing they have in common is their addiction.  The way we meet them is too disjointed, though, to make me really care about any of them. I mean, when you read about 5 teenagers in rehab, I guess you should at least feel some of their pain, some of their anger, some of their fear, some of their emotions… but sadly, I didn’t feel anything at all. The fragmentary structure of this novel is just not working for me. Once you get somewhat familiar or close to one of the protagonists, their narrative is cut short for another patient’s narrative or a snippet from their group sessions. This type of structure seems too haphazard for the topics dealt with, despite the fact that Reed’s flow (as in Beautiful) will get you through this in no time.

Most of all, though, this book felt unfinished and underdeveloped. It was more like a draft of a book, than an actual fully developed novel, with 5 clear protagonists who each have their own equally important storyline. If Reed had focused on just Olivia, or Christopher, or any of them really, this book could have been a lot more powerful and I may have cared more about the characters than I did…, which was lukewarm, at best.

Finally, I also think Clean was not researched as well as it should have been. Olivia, for instance, has more than one life-threatening condition, and treating one, but not the other while it’s so abundantly clear to everyone that she is starving herself, is just not how “real” therapy would work. Olivia would not just have been in a regular “rehab” center!

If students come up to me and ask for more Amy Reed stuff, I’ll order it, for sure, but I think I’ll pass on reading them myself, thank you very much…

 

PS. no special cover this time…

33 Snowfish (by Adam Rapp)

After having read 3 Adam Rapp YA novels, so far there are a couple of constants. Thematically, violence and abuse are always key elements in his novels. Stylistically, on the other hand, Rapp is almost Faulknerian in his insistence on voice.

In an almost naturalistic way Rapp shows the influence one’s social conditions and environment have on the human character. And when one grows up in a highly violent environment, violence invariably begets violence. However, it must be made clear that there is absolutely no gratuity to the violence you encounter in 33 Snowfish. Boobie, Custis and Curl behave in a way that appears incredibly crude and cruel, and it really is, but it’s not violence in the “Fuck you, you fucking fuck” Joe Pesci kind of way. These kids behave the way they behave because they have had to grown up in situations that are so tough, so completely caught off from any form of human decency, a world in which violence, brutality and abuse are the norm rather than the exception. In a 2000 interview with Adam Rapp, Ann Angel aptly describes Rapp’s characters as “naively innocent adolescents caught in violent and emotionally isolated places”. The fact that someone like Custis – a 10-year-old! – is almost “naively violent”, in his acts as well as in his use of language, is what makes a lot of what happens to him so tragic: he’s never known anything else.  In that same interview Rapp says: “I am not interested in romanticizing or sensationalizing violence. I am interested in honoring what I know to be true.”

In the end though, especially Custis’s behavior is just that: the way he behaves. And it is a triumph of the resiliency of the human mind and spirit that he can get to a point where redemption seems possible after all that he has seen and done. However, we don’t need to be naïve or mistaken, either. Kids like Custis don’t all make it. Custis is boy who escaped from his pedophile kidnapper. Boobie is an arsonist who probably also killed his parents in his latest act, after which he just takes his baby brother to sell on the streets.  Curl is a 15-year-old drug addicted prostitute. There’s no way all three can beat the odds and Boobie and Curl’s stories show us the other options, both of which are as realistic as Custis’s chance at salvation is.

Style-wise, 33 Snowfish is not all that different from The Children and the Wolves (in which you also get three voices) or Punkzilla. In 33 Snowfish we get Custis (whose narrative dominates the novel), Curl and Boobie (whose voice consists of drawings only, drawings that are as basic and nihilistic as Boobie’s own acts and intentions). Language and voice are ways for Rapp to explore the world of his characters and both almost create the story. Stream-of-consciousness is then the almost logical narrative device to carry a character’s voice, giving the novel a certain cadence and musicality that is almost unique in YA literature today. It should come as no surprise that Rapp refers to William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying in the motto of 33 Snowfish. Like Faulkner, Rapp seems to believe that a true exploration and evocation of a character’s situation can only be done from the inside, not from a detached impersonal point of view (as could be equally tempting considering the subject matter). We get as close to Custis, Curl and Boobie as narratively possible, which is why in the end – despite the horrible things that these characters do and say – a reader can “sympathize” with them. Not pitying them or feeling sorry for them, though, but understanding them and thinking and feeling with them. Custis, for instance, is never guilty of self-pity (so the reader shouldn’t be either), but he acts and reacts in accordance to what he encounters in life, and as it just happens, what he encounters in life is painful, cruel, even nauseating.

In another interview way back in 2000, Adam Rapp claims to “admire Cormac McCarthy’s phenomenal gift of language”, but she shouldn’t be worried. He’s blessed plenty with that gift himself. As for the cat, I think I’m ready to read that Faulkner book again now.

In Darkness (by Nick Lake)

In 2010 Haiti, one of the poorest countries in the world, fell victim to a catastrophic natural disaster that affected an inestimable amount of people. With a death toll ranging anywhere between 92,000 and 316,000 people, the Haiti earthquake got the doubtful honor of being the 2^nd deadliest earthquake ever. It is in the aftermath of this devastating tragedy that Nick Lake’s In Darkness – the 2012 Michael L. Printz Award Winner – is set.

In the days after the earthquake, 15-year-old everyboy Shorty – his real name is never mentioned – is trapped in darkness in the rubble of a hospital room where he was recovering from a bullet wound. At 15 Shorty’s life could indeed have been any slum boy’s life. Shorty is growing up in what is often called the most dangerous place on earth – the slums of Site Solèy. This is the type of place where you see your father brutally murdered in front of your eyes and where your twin sister is kidnapped by gang members when you’re 8, where you kill your first man at the age of 12 and where babies are left behind in the trash.

Slowly dying of hunger and thirst Shorty, without any prospect of being rescued, is recollecting the events that led him to the hospital room. Like so many other children in the shanty towns of Port-au-Prince, Shorty’s childhood was one of violence with (almost) no chance of escaping a life of drugs, gang wars and (political) corruption. After his father gets killed and his twin sister Marguerite is taken away Shorty even wants to be initiated into the gang of the pro-Aristide chimères of Route 9 and the notorious Dread Wilmè to get his sister back. Trapped in the darkness of the quake rubble he also starts dreaming of (or getting visions about…) the legendary Toussaint de l’Ouverture, who will provide the other voice in this dual narrative.

While Shorty’s story is a story of a boy losing his innocence in Haiti’s present, and a descent into the darkness of violence, brutality and even murder, Toussaint de l’Ouverture’s story (set more than 200 years earlier) is that of a man who wants to achieve a free Haiti, a Haiti free of the darkness that is slavery, in this in the least bloody way possible. Shorty and de l’Ouverture are linked in a spiritual way, be it through dreams or visions, or by vodou. It’s a device in which Nick Lake uses his poetic license to the full, and it is at the same time a clever incorporation of Haitian culture and religion (which takes the novice some getting used to). Through de l’Ouverture Shorty experiences what it means to set a country on track to hope and the light. De l’Ouverture, on the other hand, gets visions of a future of his country – one in which freedom from slavery does not equal happiness and riches, but violence, poverty, rivalry, corruption and in essence just another type of darkness.

In Darkness draws heavily on the Haitian vodou culture – Shorty and Marguerite are marassa,  the metaphor of the zombi is used throughout the two narratives – and Nick Lake uses Krèyol phrases and expressions all through the book (which are often but not always translated). This obviously serves to immerse the reader completely into this other world, but it might have been a good idea to add a glossary with some of the most commonly used Krèyol words and expressions. The cat found herself interrupting her reading to look up certain things, consequently losing some of the reading flow…

However, notwithstanding this minor squabble, the strength of Nick Lake’s novel is obvious. Lake doesn’t deal in pleasantries and states the ugly brutal truth of a country that longs to be free but has as of yet not found the right way to make itself truly free: politics invariable turns to corrupt governing, international aid does not reach its intended goal with aid workers often adding to the corruption, violent gangs recruit the illiterate and most vulnerable… The result is poverty leading to violence leading to more poverty leading to more violence. It’s a terrifying idea, and it’s hard to believe that any form of hope for recovery and true emancipation is still possible in places like this. Considering how desolate the circumstances still are in Haiti – 2 years after the earthquake – the cat is not as convinced as Nick Lake himself seems to be that redemption is still possible. Maybe with a couple more stories of people like Shorty and we’ll start to see a few glimmers of hope here and there… maybe…

In Darkness was the 2012 Michael L. Printz Award winner… an unexpected winner for sure, and it would not have landed on the cat’s desk if it hadn’t won the Printz. Many had bet on Code Name Verity or The Fault in Our Stars for a variety of reasons. To be honest, I don’t think that In Darkness has more or less literary merit than either of those two novels. The Printz committee does, however, seem to like “atypical” narration. But these three books are so completely different that any form or comparison is sort of mute. It all boils down to personal preference in the end of course, and if historical and cultural awareness rocks your boat on top of that “unusual” narration, then obviously In Darkness or Code Name Verity will be your top picks. The cat, however, wants to add an additional dollop of awesome to the mix…

Skin Deep (by Laura Jarratt)

Told as a dual narrative, Skin Deep is a cutesy contemporary romance that actually explores more than just first love. Jenna is 14 and is literally scarred for life after having been in a car accident that killed one of her best friends and disfigured a large part of her face. As a result of this, she has withdrawn from life because she can’t live with the way people look at her and be shocked, feel pity, etc… until she meets Ryan, a 16-year-old traveler, with baggage of his own. His mom has bipolar disorder, she’s an old New Age hippie, and travels around with her son on their narrowboat. Ryan not only has to live with his mom’s moods, but also with the intolerance of many town people against travelers (he’s often called gyppo, for instance, or people assume he’s only there to steal, get into fights…).

Jarratt also delves into hot teen topics like prejudice and being judged by appearances, peer pressure and even throws in a bit of a murder mystery in her debut novel. Seems like a lot to pull off all in one book, but Jarratt manages it adequately, turning out an emotional and honest book that the cat definitely sees as a clear winner with the middle-graders.  There’s nothing spectacularly new or exciting about Skin Deep, but a book doesn’t always have to be that way for it to be a solid read. And that’s exactly what Skin Deep is: solid.

Something Like Normal (by Trish Doller)

Trish Doller’s 2012 debut Something Like Normal deals with a pretty sensitive issue: a young Marine (19 years old) who’s just got back from his first tour of duty in Afghanistan. Travis may have left Afghanistan physically in one piece, he’s definitely suffering mentally – from PTSD – after he witnessed his best friend getting killed. Coming back home, though, has never felt so alien to Travis: his ex-girlfriend has hooked up with his brother Ryan who’s pretty much also confiscated his car; his father still thinks he’s worthless and it seems that his parents’ marriage is going the way of the dinosaur too. Mixed in with dealing with the effects that Charlie’s death has on him – Travis sees Charlie all through the book – and his changing family dynamics, is a romance, that of Travis and Harper, the girl he pretty much humiliated when they were both 14.

Something Like Normal is well written, and Doller definitely has the voice of Travis down. It sounds honest, a little raw, but always realistic. So no qualms about Doller’s ability to write a decent character. There’s nothing really wrong with Something Like Normal. The only pity is that it’s not really a book that sticks… The romance is not exactly a necessary aspect of the novel, to be honest. It’s also the weakest element of this book, with Harper being a fairly unbelievable love interest (what girl would hook up with a guy who pretty much ruined her reputation, resulting in her being called a slut by everyone in town since she was 14?). In fact it sort of distracts of the real highlight of this book : the way a young soldier like Travis deals with PTSD, the guilt and the grief he feels.

The fact that lots of elements are sort of touched upon but not really explored to the full is due to the brevity of this novel. Although Something like Normal is a decent enough debut, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that with a bit more attention and fleshing out, it could have been so much more.