Sandwich Joe

”You do, sometimes, remind me of the kind of man who is tempted to put himself in prison in order to avoid being hit by a car.”

James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room is one of the best novels I never want to read again. It's brutally honest and feels inevitable and tragic in a way that moves beyond drama and into reality. 

For one, David is a terrible person I can't help but relate to. He's full of conflict, self-loathing, and quiet contempt for everyone and everything around him. This makes him deeply frustrating, but painfully real. The reader hopes David will make different choices, experience less shame, embrace the potential of Paris with Giovanni, but he never does.

And maybe that's what's so raw and unflinching about Baldwin's novel. Sometimes, when faced with so much promise, it's easier to feel disappointment and fear rather than love.

Ellen Hopkins's Crank isn't written for me. Years ago, I read the similar novel Go Ask Alice by Beatrice Sparks. Crank is undoubtedly better at covering comparable material, but at 35, I'm outside of the adolescent stage to which the novel sings. 
While I enjoyed the verse and the fast pace of Kristina/Bree's stream of consciousness, the novel could have been a little subtler and the characters more developed. There were also parts that leaned into a cliché of addiction. That said, this might be just been a function of the YA genre.

I do remember what it's like to be that age. However, now it's more like I'm a voyeur peering through a foggy window. And that's what reading Crank felt like: a peek at a life not fully formed.