Rachel
I'm pretty new to the romance novel game, and I'm having fun finding out what's out there. I picked this book up after reading an NPR article on romance novels; the author suggested books by Susan Elizabeth Phillips, so I chose this one randomly from the public library's selection. What I loved: this book made me laugh out loud all throughout. I loved that Gracie at times had the outward demeanor of a woman in a nursing home but was in no way a ‘prude.' Gracie and Bobby Tom's courtship was sweet at times. I loved many of the characters of the town itself.
There was a lot that intrigued me, mainly the fine line between fear and excitement and the ideas of power and control that were expressed through the men in the book. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the relationship between Suzy Denton and Way Sawyer. In the end, they were two consenting adults, but before that there was a lot of coercion and fear involved that I wasn't comfortable with. I was also intrigued by Bobby Tom's tendency to exert power and control over Gracie using sex; it seemed there were a few scenes where Bobby Tom initiated sex to shut Gracie up or demonstrate his power and control after she had “taken” it from him. Again, at the end of the day, they were two consenting adults, and it's great if that's your jam, but there were a few moments that gave me pause.
Molly Ringwald wove an interesting web that centers around a separation. All the characters were written beautifully; they were flawed and human in all of their thoughts and emotions. My favorite was the titular story, “When It Happens To You.” I love how, as a reader, I assumed I was reading a second-person POV story, but it became a direct address. That turn took my breath away, and when I finished, I had to close the book and sit for awhile to think and absorb. I was pleasantly surprised by this book – can't wait for another one from Molly Ringwald.
I didn't read this book cover to cover, but I made it about 3/4 through. I don't intend to finish it. The essays are okay; a lot of them seem to just highlight pretty obvious (to me) themes in Mortal Instruments. There were a couple essays I enjoyed, particularly the one about New York City as its own character, and another one that breaks down the “appeal” of incest or taboo.
I'm not in love with this book. This doesn't mean it's a bad book. Often, the books I end up loving the most are the ones that I have lukewarm feelings for at first. Six months down the road, we'll see if I love this book.
But let's talk about what I do love about I Was A Teenage Fairy. The prose is wonderful. I love the personifications of LA and the San Fernando Valley as her little sister, and New York as their cousin. I love the world that Block creates: it's not a magical world, but there is one magical element in this reality, and that is Mab, the fairy that Barbie can see. Mab is sort of an antithetical fairy; she's unpleasant, she's kind of mean, she has pointed teeth, she's obsessed with sex and men. She becomes a respite for both Barbie and Griffin in a world that feels so isolating and objectifying, that glosses over the bad stuff. She also serves as a sort of coping mechanism for these two children who have been molested – in some ways, she's the voice inside them that never lets them become complacent, never lets them slip into numbness. If you took Mab out of the story, we might have exactly the same story, except these characters would be all alone in their worlds and they might never move forward. Mab is the thing that connects them all, makes them feel less alone, moves them.
Something else that I really enjoyed about this particular book was the way that Barbie pushed back at being an object – she always wanted to be behind the camera, looking out, rather than in front of the camera, being looked at. I think that's a really important and subtle move that makes Barbie more than an acted upon character, and ultimately, gives her the power to become who she wants to be and face her past head-on. Griffin doesn't have that desire, and so remains a pretty unchanging character even as Mab takes him on adventures and sets him up with a soulmate of sorts. Barbie has an agency that Griffin doesn't.
What I love dearly about Francesca Lia Block's books in general is that she depicts children and humans as deeply flawed people who find that, despite everything, they are capable of love and that they are capable of being loved. The idea of the nuclear family isn't even considered in Block's worlds; whatever arrangement brings you comfort and love is what is right, and that is absolutely the reason to read any of Block's books (but especially Weetzie Bat). Though I can't put my finger on what makes me give this particular book 3 stars rather than 4, it's still wonderful and it's worth the afternoon it will take to read it through.
I read this twice and loved it more after my second read. The art is simple and the story is simple. There isn't a real “climax” to the story – the main character tries to create one, but it is completely deflated.
What I really loved about this book is that it's less a story about a boy who follows a girl who is his friend to New York in an attempt to confess his love for her. It's more about a guy who's trying to love somewhere other than home. The character has never left Oakland and has all these romantic ideas about traveling across the country in a Greyhound and meeting his friend at the Empire State Building, just like in Sleepless in Seattle. He has a website, but soon learns that he's completely behind the times in terms of web design; he doesn't know how to work a cell phone. He thinks he needs a passport to fly in a plane. He chooses to send his friend a letter confessing his love to her, rather than call her or, even, email her. He lives with his mom, and his job is binding books at the public library. He lives in a world that is still very tactile and concerned with experiencing all sensations of being alive in the world. He's very much a romantic and idealist, where his friend is more of an intellectual and an academic, sarcastic and dry.
For me, “Empire State” is absolutely a love story for Oakland, for home. I'm a sucker for those. There really is no place like home, whether it's the Bay Area, New York or the desert. Read this one through twice.
I'm not even sure I can give this stars because it defies a starred rating system. What I do know: it's post-apocalyptic but completely and absolutely removed from the world we know. The world is strange and disorienting and unfamiliar, and we spend the entirety of this volume knowing as much as John Prophet, who wakes up at the beginning of the novel and follows a voice or urge within himself on a journey through this desolate and shit-filled landscape (literally). Everything he sees for the first time, we see for the first time as well. At least once per chapter, I found myself audibly saying, “WHAT?” or “What the hell is THAT?” or “What the hell is going ON?” I'm still not sure I know 100% of what's happening here, but I'm okay with that.
What I love about this as well is the full realization of this wholly strange and new world. The world feels ancient and futuristic at the same time, and I sense that the author has completely imagined the history of and a future for this universe. In my version of the book, there are artist sketches at the back of some of the different creatures and structures that appear throughout the book, and some have parts that are labeled. I love to observe artistic process, and it looks like some of these completely unfamiliar structures and creatures are comprised of very familiar pieces. I appreciate that the artist took such familiar things (such as Pomeranians) and transformed them into unrecognizable creations of this other world.
Even if the post-apocalypse/graphic novels/sci-fi/completely bizarre isn't for you, at least give this one a shot. It's weird, but I kind of love it.