Tuesday, February 06, 2018
Meanwhile, Little is suffering from issues of her own. During the school year, she discovered that she had a romantic interest in her roommate. But when the relationship that the two girls are having is discovered and the pair are outed, Little panicked and abandoned her lover. Now, she feels guilt over her betrayal that is compounded by her uncertainty over her sexuality.
Things are pushed to a crisis when Lion announces that he's going off his meds and then blackmails his sister to keep quiet about his intentions. Little finds herself anxiously watching as Lion's condition worsens.
An interesting story combining several issues -- not only mental illness and sexual identity, but also biracial families. I found the result busy and felt that the many different threads never quite came together. I also felt that the crisis between Lion and Little was contrived, never quite believing that Little had enough motivation to keep quiet as her brother suffered. But at the same time, the characters were interesting and I cared about them, and I enjoyed their story.
In sum, this is a book about talking. It hardly matters where these characters are or what they are supposed to be doing: They like to talk (and occasionally rage).
Barrow's strength is obviously dialogue and all of the internal motivators that drive an authentic conversation. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of variety in the voices. Everyone pretty much sounds the same (a type of intellectual suburban lingo and manners that is devoid of time or place or gender). So, while everyone was well-spoken, I found it hard to differentiate characters or to visualize them. Characters occasionally drift into selfish and irrational behavior but in the end everyone makes up and plays nice. That makes for a comfortable read, but not one in which you feel much investment. Despite all the heart strings pulled, I didn't feel the emotional pull I expected from such a sensitive topic as teen pregnancy or the choice between adoption and abortion.
Monday, February 05, 2018
So when she discovers that she is in fact adopted and maybe not Persian at all, she is crushed. She seems to belong nowhere and to no one. How can she possibly be true to herself? But in the end, she comes to realize that identity and family are fluid concepts and not tied to a fixed idea. One can be authentic without any sort of label.
Full of lots of fun observations about Southern California Iranians and some much more nuanced observations about ethnicity, family, and adoption, there's a lot swirling around in this book. I could have lived without the fairy tale ending, but I enjoyed so many other things in this story: the frankness and strength of Daria herself, the realistic tension between Daria and her mother, the exploration of adoption and how adoptive families compare with biological ones. And, as already mentioned, I loved the peek into the culture of Iranian Americans.
The stability is alien to her. Things like making friends, falling in love, and getting a job are unfamiliar. Callie's father's large Greek family would be challenging for anyone, but is particularly smothering compared to the independence that Callie is accustomed with. Still, it all has some appeal (and the presence of young smoldering Alex in particular!).
A breezy, but ultimately fulfilling read, Callie is smart and caring. She makes plenty of mistakes, but owns them and tries to make her life (and the lives of others) better. Overall, the characters' struggles sounded real and behaved in believable fashion. The potential pitfall of introducing a Big Greek Family is handled well, deftly avoiding the usual stereotypes. The romance is hot and the ending a real tearjerker, so all the right notes are hit.
The novel doesn't break any major new ground -- children coming to terms with their parents' failures is a pretty common YA theme -- but it is well written and enjoyable to read.
Sunday, February 04, 2018
One day, in the waiting room, she meets Gabe. Gabe has issues of his own (coping with a sister who is bipolar and straining the bonds of their family) but he and Everly click in a more fundamental and romantic way. And through Gabe's attentions and Everly's refocusing on her school extracurriculars, she finds a road to recovery.
A fairly lightweight examination of topics like depression and mental illness that could have easily gotten heavy. That makes for pleasant reading, but doesn't really provide the heft and depth that the topics deserved. And while the romance was pretty hot, I found the fairly frequent sex scenes gratuitous and trashy.
But most of all, I twitched at the foregone conclusion that the only true way for Everly to dig herself out of her sense of low self-worth is to find a new boyfriend. That this final solution follows after explicit nods to the value of support from family and friends, as well as some searching for behavior modification through her counselor, just underscores the message that when you lose a boy, the only acceptable solution is to find a new one. I would have found the story more uplifting if the climax of the story had not been Everly's promposal.