Review: Girlchild, by Tupelo Hassman

The title of Tupelo Hassman's first novel, Girlchild, comes from the nickname the young teenaged Rory Hendrix is given by her mother, and is a significant clue regarding the nature of Rory's existance; the facts that she is a child, and a girl, define the experiences she has in the small, poverty-stricken trailerpark that is her home to the exclusion of all else.  It is an indictment of the inevitable that her mother feels is to come.  This frank focus on unaviodable predestination, which the reader sees applied to other residents in the periphery, leads all characters down an anything but rosy path towards an ending that is simultaneously hopeful *and* hopeless. 

Hassman's style in this first effort is to allow Rory to tell her tale in first person.  This increases the reader's connection to her life as she struggles with an alcoholic barmaid mother, and the ramifications of a family history of sexual abuse dating back at least one generation.  Rory is largely a social outcast, in large part because she is inexplicably brilliant in school;  unfortunately, rather than being a road out of her environment, this actually increases the load she must carry as it distances her from her peers and even her mother, who is intellectually unable to understand what a gift her daughter has, and financially unable to aid her in her pursuit of winning the state spelling bee.   Instead, her youth and downtrodden upbringing begin to make see her potential as something that is diametrically opposed to the success of her family.  Heartbreakingly, she first sabotages and then rejects entirely her chances of scholastic achievement, pushing herself back into the spiral of loss and despair that is the trailer park, which is itself a failed Las Vegas real estate venture long-abandoned by developers.

As Rory slowly uncovers her family's abusive past, she must deal with her own experience at the hands of a local pervert, the father of her babysitter, who offers Rory up in an attempt to escape her own prison.  While the situation is eventually resolved, somewhat satisfactorily, by cosmic justice, the entire novel focuses on the fact that children, particulary girl children, live in a small ocean filled with predatory sharks.  To be a 'girlchild' is to have a cloud over your head, and to be the inevitable target of all the ills society can visit on a person; this nickname is what Rory's mother calls her in her most hopeless moments.

While the tale is told well, there is room for improvement.  The first-person style works well until it is disrupted by the author's decision to use redacted text, which jolts the reader out of the spell cast by the story into the metacognition that, oh, yes, I am reading a book.  Hassman uses the redacted text as a means to indicate that an unspeakable event has occurred, and perhaps a much shorter segment would work with the text rather than against it.  This appears more than once, however, and for several pages at a time.  Because I was reading this on a Nook, it was actually more confusing than anything, because I was concerned that there was something wrong with the electronic book before I realized that this was a purposeful convention.  Also, Hassman is obviously determined to have an understated tale, and thus verbally circles around the actual sexual abuse like a coyote afraid to pounce into the light.  Unfortunately, such concentrated circling is just as beat-you-over-the-head as repeatedly just coming out and saying it.  I wanted to scream, 'I get it!  She's being abused! Let's deal with it already!!!' Subtlety is good; too much subtlety is obvious and almost self-congratulating. 

Where Hassman is strong is in her ability to convey the horror of what Rory experiences without resorting to vile details.  She is excellent at showing, rather than telling, the story, and in respecting the reader's ability to make some leaps independent of guidance.  Also, while the events in the story aren't surprises at all, she gives them just enough of a twist, and personal nature, that this isn't tiresome.  Finally, in Rory, she has breathed life into a complex character who is full of real-life contradictions and emotions; the girl who is experiencing the ugliest of life's events simultaneously reads the Girl Scout Handbook like a bible despite never having the chance to actually *be* a scout.  Her inner resilience cannot be squashed, and when covered at one outlet burst forth from another like a redirected geyser.  The novel's close leaves the reader wondering at the entirely blank canvas in front of Rory, and in her ability to walk into the nothingness with a determination most adults might not muster.

I have seen on other sites that others have pointed to Hassman as a trailer-park Shakespeare.  I'm not sure I would go that far, but her molding of a story full of inevitability into an interesting and worthwhile read is impressive.  This would be a good book for if you're sick in bed, and need a short read that will take you through your illness; it would be best if you were able to read the entire thing with as few breaks as possible so as to avoid breaking the connection.  Because all of the sordid details are redacted, and she uses a ton of insinuation rather than plain speech, Hassman has widened her potential audience, and I would say that this would be appropriate for mid-teen up depending on your child, but definitely read it yourself first because there is discussion of adult relationships and drug use.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars.  A good initial novel that quietly conveys resilience amid despair.

Review: Behind the Beautiful Forevers, by Katherine Boo

Let's face it - for most of us, no matter how interested we are in world affairs, truly connecting with a vastly different environment can be difficult, if not impossible, by simply reading literature.  Much of what is published as non-fiction documentation of so-called 'third world' countries, while meaning well, is dry and lacks the capability to truly connect the reader.  In Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Katherine Boo goes a long way towards bridging these issues by pulling the reader directly into the lives of families living in Annawadi, a massive slum located in Mumbai.

As I write this, I have to resist the temptation to write 'characters', because while the people in this story are very real, Boo has done such an excellent job of including small details, things that only someone truly interested in people and situations would notice, that the individuals almost seem fictional.  Her descriptions are personal rather than clinical-observer, and give the book the feel of one person simply describing the life of another.   In fact, if anything, occasionally Boo is a bit heavy on the description, and the lens is so closely placed on a few characters it is difficult for the reader to experience them in the larger context of the society; this issue is somewhat tempered by the spreading the focus on a few interconnected families, from which the reader can glean some perspective.  Overall, the book is extremely readable.

While the reality of the poverty described in the Mumbai slum, located near the airport in a small clearing between five international hotels, is not especially shocking, what I did find surprising was the occasional intermingling of current technology, and the almost anachronistic presence of televisions, iPods, and the occasional computer in a few of the luckier homes.  Everyone there is within one police bribe, one accident,  or one argument of homelessness and death, and the entire village lives around a lake of sewage,  yet they are in the shadow of unbelievable opulence and international transaction.  This dichotomy, and the Annawadian determination to turn even this to their advantage, is fascinating and uncanny.  What is shocking, and maybe shouldn't have been, was the unrelenting corruption of every person with even the tiniest amount of power, and the casual understanding that any and all money will be essentially stolen and used for alternate purposes; grants meant for orphanages are stolen by front organizations while police and legal officials extract thousands of dollars from people who are framed for crimes, and even locals step on the heads of those around them in an attempt to grasp some small feeling of power.  The need for a feeling of power is so great that the book opens with one family being accused of causing the self-immolation of a neighbor, who had lit herself on fire in an attempt to get back at them for disrespecting her and gain the upper hand in the neighborhood.  Much of the book deals with the fallout of this event for the accused family, and those peripherally involved, and is a complete horror-show of corruption and unbelievable stress.  Death, frequently by suicide, steps out of the shadows to snatch people away, and it's difficult to say whether the violence or the lack of surprise of the community are more distressing.

While it would be easy to say that the point of the book is to illustrate the desperation of those who have nothing to do anything to have something, there is more to Boo's writing than this.  Also present are moments of loveliness, and a demonstration of the tenacity of humans.  Though surrounded by filth, poverty and general hatefulness, people still work towards something more, and dream of an escape that is all but impossible.  One girl takes college classes (the only person in the village to do so) and tutors young village children while watching her aspiring-slumlord mother steal school grant money and swindle everyone around her, another impoverished boy, who works as a trash collector, vows to only accept materials that are not stolen, even though it will cut his already miniscule earnings by at least 15% and jeopardize his family's livelihood.   Sadly, at the close of the book, as both are nearing adulthood, their aspirations begin to be dimmed by their surroundings, which prompt the boy to pray that he had tried to be a good boy, but wasn't sure if he would be able to continue as a man and still survive. 

What are we to do about all of this?  Boo offers no answers or suggestions.  The book simply stops without coming to a resolution on several points, which is a testament to it's current-events status.  It is difficult not knowing what happens to the individuals in the book, because Boo inspires readers to honestly care for them.  Do they continue on in Annawadi?  Do they escape?  How does the remaining portion of the immolation court case resolve?  We don't know.  We can only watch the news to see if Annawadi itself continues to exist, or is demolished in the way of progress as is threatened throughout the book, and know that while it stands, there will continue to be thousands of compelling stories hidden inside.

Rating: four stars out of five.  A compelling, well-detailed account of life in one of Mumbai's largest slums.