Review | Truth or Dare, Jacqueline Green

fe62b5cc5a2b57a344b8c67f776d5ed5Jacqueline Green’s Truth or Dare takes the concept of I Know What You Did Last Summer and Pretty Little Liars to the small seaside town of Echo Bay. Artsy outcast Sydney Morgan and pretty, popular childhood BFF’s Caitlin Thomas and Tenley Reed receive mysterious dares containing hints to long-kept secrets. As with any self-respecting horror thriller, the attempt to keep these secrets hidden only leads to the need to keep even more secrets, and the girls’ lives quickly spiral into a seemingly never ending loop of jealousy and betrayal.

With a book like this, you don’t necessarily expect amazing character development, but rather a tense, gripping read. Unfortunately, the book falls short on both counts. It was an okay book – the writing style was solid, and the suspense was enough to keep me turning the pages. It just didn’t make me care enough to want to read more of the series (and a cliffhanger ending straight out of Pretty Little Liars indicates the story is far from done).

The characters were pretty flat, stock figures. I did sympathize with Tenley’s desperate desire to reclaim her popularity, as well as with Caitlin’s desire to be known for something beyond “perfect,” but not enough nuance was given these characters to make it really stick. Worse, Sydney, the loner who is traditionally the reader’s entry point into stories like this, is such a stereotype that it’s hard to feel invested in her at all.

The dares in themselves begin fairly innocuous then get more and more twisted. I like how for the most part, none of the girls knew the others were also receiving threats, and I also like how the threats were very personal, each dare revealing something new about one of the characters. Yet for some reason, there was little ratcheting of suspense – for the most part it felt like one dare after another with hardly a sense of movement in the overall story.

It’s all right. It just pales in comparison with both I Know What You Did Last Summer and Pretty Little Liars. I remember after reading Pretty Little Liars wanting to read the next book immediately, and the one after that, until I find out who A is and what their problem is. I felt no such urgency in this book, and even when the source behind the dares was revealed, I was surprised, but mostly apathetic. Read Pretty Little Liars instead.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

 

Review | Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock, Matthew Quick

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How can I even begin to describe what an emotional wallop this book is? Ever since the success of We Need to Talk About Kevin, other authors have tried their hand at school shooter stories, and stories of teenagers who don’t fit in are a dime a dozen. Matthew Quick’s Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock however stands out — not only does the author succeed in portraying a despair so deep one actually feels what drives Leonard Peacock to take a gun to school, but he also manages to keep Leonard fully, vulnerably, human.

When we think of school shooters, we imagine either complete psychopaths like Kevin, or emotional wrecks who can’t take it anymore. Instead, Quick creates a quiet, troubled young man whose motivations for committing murder-suicide are far more complex than simply his pain at being an outcast. The book works because of its subtlety and humour; its very restraint creates emotional impact.

It is Leonard Peacock’s eighteenth birthday and he will be taking his grandfather’s P-38 WWII Nazi handgun to school so he can kill his best friend and then himself. As the novel begins, the handgun lies beside Leonard’s bowl of oatmeal “like some weird steampunk utensil anachronism.” He takes a photo with his iPhone, “thinking it could be both evidence and modern art.” Then, he tells us,

I laugh my ass off looking at it on the mini screen, because modern art is such bullshit.

I mean, a bowl of oatmeal and a a P-38 set next to it like a spoon — that arrangement photographed can be modern art, right?

Bullshit.

But funny too. [p. 1]

In the space of its first few paragraphs, the book already manages to convey so much. The horror of the handgun is set beside a bowl of oatmeal, possibly one of the most innocuous objects in the world. The incongruence is troubling, and Leonard’s amusement at the image reflects his bleak outlook. His thoughts on the modern art being bullshit hint at a larger disenfranchisement with the world, and even though he laughs, one already begins to wonder at the pain beneath his words.

Before Leonard shoots his best friend, however, he plans to give gifts to four very special people in his life — his Humphrey Bogart-obsessed neighbour Walt, his classmate Baback who is a talented violin player, the Christian homeschooler Lauren whom Leonard has a crush on, and high school teacher on the Holocaust Herr Silverman. Even more than his plan to shoot, it is Leonard’s interactions with these four that form the heart of the book. Each encounter holds the potential for Leonard’s salvation — not in a religious sense, but certainly in an emotional, somewhat spiritual one. Each time Leonard gives a gift, even though he tells us it’s only so they can remember him after his death, we feel his need for connection, and we sense that he’s yearning for something from each of these friends that he may not be able to define, but if received, may make him change his mind.

These scenes therefore become more painful, because we initially see the relationships only through Leonard’s eyes, and it is only when he offers his gifts that we — along with Leonard himself — are treated to the reality of how each of these friends sees him. While some may offer some hope for actual connection, others spurn him, in a way that almost seems cruel until we realize how Leonard’s actions must seem from their point of view. Quick immerses us into Leonard’s psyche, but not so deep that we can’t see the reality of who he is to other people, and while we sympathize with him, we can’t help but sympathize as well with those who maintain their distance.

The major standout in this book is Herr Silverman. Everyone should have an Herr Silverman in their lives. Here is a teacher who goes far beyond the call of duty for his students; here is a man who genuinely cares about other people, and is willing to go out of his way to make sure you are all right. His story made me cry, and as for his scene with Leonard near the end… It moved me. I can’t even express how emotional I got reading that scene, partly I think because I have become so embedded within Leonard’s psyche, but also because I realize how much the world needs more Herr Silvermans in it, and how much everyone should be so lucky as to encounter a Herr Silverman at least once in their own lives. In a book where the protagonist has built such rigid walls of defence, to the point that he can look at a handgun and laugh, Herr Silverman’s presence is a welcome reminder that no matter how bad the world seems, it will never be all bad.

Reading this book is a profoundly moving experience. I rarely say this, but I already wish there was a movie adaptation, with Ezra Miller playing Leonard Peacock, because he’s the only actor in that age group I can think of who has the ability to portray both Leonard’s darkness and vulnerability. I tweeted my wish for a movie, and Matthew Quick himself responded that one is already in the works:

I’m keeping my fingers crossed!

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Half Lives, Sara Grant

Imagine a lethal virus decimating most of the world’s population. Then imagine  that all that has survived for future generations are the words of a teenager. Not just any teenager, but one with a penchant for combining words just because she thinks they sound cool (e.g. freaking + idiot = fridiot, freaking + creepy = freepy). Now imagine a world where Facebook is the guide to living right, “crupid” is part of the vocabulary, and “whatever” is a form of prayer.

16131051On one hand, Sara Grant’s Half Lives could be seen as a sobering commentary on the devastating effects of nuclear waste. The story touches on terrorism and biowarfare, and makes a convincing argument about the horrors we humans inflict upon each other. On the other hand, the novel can also be seen as social satire — words and symbols that mean nothing to us can easily take on sacred meaning when taken out of context. Could the worship of the Great I AM, founded upon the group leader’s infinity symbol birthmark and based upon the teachings of Facebook, be a rather pointed dig at blind obedience to religious institutions? The problem is, as a reader well-familiar with the original context for these cultural icons and rather grouchily unimpressed by words like “freepy,” I was just annoyed.

The story switches between time periods and points of view. In the present day, seventeen year old Icie escapes the virus along with three other teenagers by hiding in an abandoned nuclear facility hidden inside a mountain near Las Vegas. The teens with her — spoiled rich boy, head cheerleader, and mysterious hot boy — aren’t particularly memorable, though I found Grant’s portrayal of one of the teens’ descent into madness interesting and I wish Grant had explored that character more. Random pieces of literature — To Kill a Mockingbird and Waiting for Godot — are conveniently brought into the story when the author wants to make a point, but neither is used enough to create a potent metaphor.

Generations in the future, Becket is a leader of a group of young people who live in the mountain. They have their own rules, based upon aphorisms paired with smiley faces. Again, on one hand, it’s somewhat believable and realistic; on the other hand, it’s simply annoying. Makes me wonder if some of the writers of religious texts may have included their own language’s version of “whatever” and we just have no idea. Becket’s group refuses to leave the mountain, because they believe crossing a border means instant death, as well because they fear running into Terrorists, whom they imagine as hulking beasts. This storyline had potential, and I really liked the character of Harper, Becket’s best friend and on the losing end of a love triangle. I also liked the storyline about the power struggle Becket has to face.

There are a few scenes in the book that pack an emotional punch, and the themes it raises certainly need contemplating. Unfortunately, much like the Facebook aphorisms of the Great I AM, the story remains comfortably on the surface and never quite brings the edge it promises. I wonder what an author like Margaret Atwood or Suzanne Collins would have brought to this concept.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.