The Best We Could Do, by Thi Bui

 

The Best We Could Do is an adult graphic memoir relating the story of the author's family during the occupation of Indochina and their eventual escape as 'boat people' after the fall of Saigon, eventually ending in America. I've read reviews that compare it to Persepolis, but I found the story's structure and tone to be similar to Maus as well, particularly with the fraught relationship with the author's father. The illustrations, which are drawn by Bui (who appears as the small child in stripes on the front cover) are all in shades of black, white, and red similar to those on the cover; it's interesting how these same colors flow from conveying warmth at some times to danger at others. Although this is largely the story of her parents' lives from childhood to the family's harrowing escape from Vietnam and immigration to the US, it is also about the larger impacts of family history on relationships through generations, and weaves in flashes forward throughout the narrative to make connections. As someone who has almost no understanding of Vietnamese history, I both enjoyed the memoir and appreciated the history lesson inherent in its telling; the graphic historical chart at the beginning is very helpful in keeping track of the key leaders and events, and I referred back to it continually not because the text was confusing but because focusing on the historical context really brought a deeper level of meaning to the book. I also did a little research on a few of the events that the chart mentioned before I started reading, and I was glad I did. The narrative opens with Bui having her own child, and right away it's obvious that there is so much under the surface; her mother struggles to be present in the delivery room although she had had six children of her own, and although her parents are divorced, they all still live very interconnected lives. Bui uses conversations with her parents to propel readers back and forth through time, hitting on a point of contention in family relationships in the present day before sliding back into the tale of how the conflicts and pain rooted decades earlier. One particularly painful admission from her mother - who Bui notes will confide more in Bui's husband than in her - has been seeping through my brain like a mist since I finished the book about a week ago, as I wonder how many women have felt the exact same way, only to find themselves somehow entangled in an entirely different life. It was these moments that gave the book such realism, as not simply a memoir where everything has ended up tied up in a bow; I suspect that would have been an easier book to write. Instead, she lays bare the bumpy, scratchy truth that allows readers to gain purchase, making it a work that can stick.

Clap When You Land, by Elizabeth Acevedo

Clap When You Land is a narrative in verse, alternating in voice between two girls who do not realize they are sisters, one in NYC and the other in the DR, after a plane crash kills their father. It is beautiful, and uses wording and structure to just swallow the reader whole. I loved the frequent use of Spanish, the inclusion of a beautiful, same-sex relationship for one of the girls (which is presented not as a main dish of the plot but as a perfect side dish, the homemade macaroni and cheese of Thanksgiving - warm and inviting and exactly as it should be) and how their lives and experiences were mirrored and yet also individual. I particularly appreciated how occasionally the girls would even use the same phrases, but due to the structural presentation and the way each sister would incorporate the words, they felt entirely her own. For the bulk of the novel, Yahaira, who lives in NYC, accidentally learned what she thinks is the whole truth of her father's dual life in the year prior to his death, and copes with complicated, silent fury while also being buried in grief. Camino, in the DR, has no such knowledge, but faces her own devastation at the loss of a second parent while having the dangers he had protected her from in the barrio closing in around her in the wake of his loss. Acevedo depicts the difficult balance of maturity and naïveté that high schoolers experience, and that lead to decisions both completely understandable and wretchedly painful. The deeper details of each sister's experiences unwind slowly, so the reader's connection to the characters as well as their pull towards each other is almost magnetic. When the girls finally learn of each other, it's as if those magnets spin, pushing and yet silently, irresistibly pulling. While the ending is not a surprise, it is satisfying and leaves the reader full of anticipation. I wanted more.

CWYL is older YA, and does include a description of a form of sexual assault as well as references to issues surrounding sex trafficking. While neither is unnecessarily graphic or overlong, they really are the only things that make this novel inappropriate for middle school, so if you have a mature 8th grader, this may be OK. As an adult, it was compelling and absolutely worth the time. I will probably read it again.

Miss you!

I miss writing on this blog so much!  I have a new teaching assignment this year, and have had to write everything from scratch as we are also in the process of switching to a new curriculum.  I haven't had time to even breathe on my bookshelf.  I have just over six weeks of school left, and once I'm done for the summer, I hope to be back reading up a storm.  In the meantime, I'm removing the ability to comment from the blog, because I've been getting a lot of spam recently.  When I start writing again, I'll put the comments back on.

A Note on Abraham Lincoln, the film

I never do this, but I wanted to post a short comment here on the new adaptation of Seth Grahame-Smith's Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.  I reviewed this book shortly after it came out; the book is GREAT.  It does a wonderful job putting history into a fun context; if you remove the vampire parts, you can actually LEARN about Lincoln, and the civil war, which as a history buff I love, and as an educator practically makes me swoon.  It's entertaining and adventurous and fun.  The film does a terrible job at showing off the novel's quirky side, and instead focuses on action scene after action scene, to the detriment of the plot.  Had I not read the book, I wonder if I would have had any idea what was actually going on; it was THAT choppy.  I was *shocked* that SGS was actually listed as a screenplay author, since it was so poorly done!  They must have offered him a TON of money to sell out his material like that.  The film doesn't emphasize what I think is the most interesting part of the alternative-fiction history, and what, I think, holds the entire plot of the novel together - that slavery was, yes, for the plantations, but secretly it was used to feed the vampires in the region, and as such was the political driver behind the civil war, and Lincoln's anti-slavery focus.  This was fascinating to me, and such a clever twist on the entire event, from the declaration of war to why Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation (when the war wasn't really about human rights, and the EP was issued late in the game) when he did, etc.  The cardinal sin, however, what that the film didn't use the original ending.  Good endings are hard to find, and ALVH had a PERFECT ending, excellently done, satisfying, and thought-provoking.  I was so excited to see it play out, after the debacle of the rest of the film; the dialogue between characters set it up, it was all ready to go.... and then it was the lamest, most stereotypical ending EVER that replaced it.  WTH?!  It was an OUTRAGE, just insulting.  This film took an intelligent book and eviscerated it.  The action scenes are fun, and some people in the theater with me who had not read the book thought it was good, but really what it was was a terrible, missed opportunity.  I almost don't know what to recommend here, because if you read the book, you'll be angry at the film.  If you see the film but don't read the book, you may enjoy the action, but be confused and lose out on everything that makes the story wonderful.  So, I guess I would say, read the book, and then watch the film if you want to see the fun action (the final scene on the train is cool, I have to admit), but have NO expectations of being satisfied intellectually while you're watching it.  In fact, maybe you can play a fun party game while you watch - Name The Missing Plot Pieces. 

Rating: 1.5 stars.  A travesty.

Review: Unholy Night, by Seth Grahame-Smith

Seth Grahame-Smith has been making a name for himself for several years now as the author of unconventional reimagined events, from (my favorite) 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies' to the soon-to-be-released film 'Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter' (also very good, can't wait to see the movie!).  His recent foray into fiction is 'Unholy Night', a revamping of the ancient story of the three wise men.

Because the Christian bible doesn't focus overmuch on who the wise men were, what they thought, or what happened to them, Grahame-Smith is free to imagine a completely new history for the three.  UH is focused on Balthazar, a scoundrel thief and lover, who joins with the other two after a particularly daring prison break wherein he saves the lives of the other two men, Melchior and Gaspar, not out of kindness but because it was the only way for him to escape himself.  They in turn stick with him because they are duty-bound to him until they save his life in return, or pay him back in some other way.  Together, the three of them stumble upon Mary, Joseph, and the baby in the barn while running from the Romans, and the real action of the story takes off from there in a very Indiana Jones-type fashion, following the group through their escape from the Roman army to Egypt.

While the main heroes are interesting on their own, the runaway scene-stealer of this novel, to me, was the disgusting King Herod, whose body is vividly described as it rots away due to the vile lifestyle he has led.  His fury at being foiled time and again by the wily Balthazer, and his increasing desperation to destroy both the thief and the baby, are fascinating, and he spins out of control like an overgrown, petulant child on an over-wound swing.  Also interesting is SGS's portrayal of a young Pontas Pilate, who is secure in his ambition yet stutters at the last moment in his quest for glory. 

The biggest fault with UH is that it starts v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y.  I actually pre-ordered this a month in advance to its April release, started reading within a week of it's arrival on my Nook, and put it back down until about a week ago.  The only reason I picked it back up was because I have loved SGS's other novels, and was going on faith that there would be improvement.  I'm glad I did, because once the action started in earnest it was difficult to put the book down.  I enjoyed experiencing the alternative perspective of Balthazar, and also SGS's creation of the very-real, very human Mary and Joseph.  Their conversations, and the occasional insights into their thoughts on their own predicament, were food for thought and brought the novel, and the ancient story it somewhat follows, into sharper relief.  He is also a master of satisfying endings, and his epilogue in UH is no disappointment.

Overall, Unholy Night was another success by Grahame-Smith.  His ability to breathe life into stories and histories that we all take for granted makes for fascinating reading. 

Rating: 4.5 stars.  An enjoyable, satisfying reimagining that picks up speed with each chapter.

Review: This Is How: Proven Aid in Overcoming Shyness, Molestation, Fatness, Spinsterhood, Grief, Disease, Lushery, Decrepitude & More. For Young and Old Alike, by Augusten Burroughs

Augusten Burroughs has lived enough life for several people, coming out the other side of child abuse, alcoholism, and the loss of a partner.  He has written several memoirs on these experiences, and in his newest work attempts to take the kowledge he has gained from these events and apply it towards an advisory bent.  This Is How focuses on giving advice on dealing with life's various problems.

Many of the sections of this book are well-written, and include direct references to personal experiences, although without in-depth explanations of the context of those references, which might be confusing to one who hasn't read his other works, or at the very least make the book less engaging.  His discussion on letting go of regret, and of the past, is particularly  plain-spoken and applicable to almost everyone.  It is Burrough's ability to make compelling metaphors, and put complex emotion into simple terms that make this work valuable in these areas.  Rather than creating a cumbersome self-help tome, Burroughs reframes concepts like letting go of the past by discussing the concern that by revisiting the past repeatedly, you are only getting your own distorted point of view; he does this using well-constructed metaphors and life stories that illuminate his ideas.  In these chapters, Burroughs is at his best.

However, in later chapters Burroughs allows his feeling of advisory ability to get away with him, and he writes on topics such as how to discuss terminal illness with a child, and how to deal with the death of a child, and in these areas he is much less skillful.  In fact, I found these sections to be fanciful at best, and completely offensive at worst.  As someone who has had a family child die (my wonderful nephew was killed in an accident five years ago), I found it presumptious of someone who has not had that experience to attempt to give others advice on how to handle it, and his example of a potential conversation with a dying child was utterly ridiculous.  People, if you don't have children, and you don't have a lot of experience with them, please don't tell parents how to talk to them, particularly on these topics.  It makes you sound pompous and foolish.  Truly, these later chapters feel as though Burroughs wasn't satisfied with the length of the book as it stood using his own personal material, and was looking for ways to stretch the book out.  They are far less sincere and personal than the others, and the writing suffers for it.

That aside, about 3/4 of 'How To...' is a decent read, with eloquent and thoughtful material.  We all have regrets, and shyness, and things in the past we'd rather move on from, and at this, Burroughs shines.  I may even go back through these areas and reread them from time to time.  He has taken the concept of living in the now and given it a conversational, bare-bones makeover that is appealing for the casual reader.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars.  A plainspoken, relatable advice book on various topics that would have received 4 or 4.5 stars without the pompous filler material near the end.

Review: Drop Dead Healthy, by AJ Jacobs

Note: I'm baaaa-aaaack!  Sorry about the extended hiatus.  Lesson planning plus grading plus kids plus end of year craziness = no time for fun reading or blogging.  I'm looking forward to adding a lot of content here this summer!  If you have suggestions for material, please leave comments here, and I'll put your ideas on the top of my list!

A couple of years ago, I reviewed AJ Jacobs' previous work, titled The Year of Living Biblically, in which he attempted to follow all of the rules in the Old Testament.  It was quite funny, and I had been looking forward to reading his latest quest into the 'Ultimate Rule Follower' domain, Drop Dead Healthy, for some time.  Having previously enjoyed Jacobs' everyman persuit of perfection, I expected more of the same in his newest volume.

For the most part, Drop Dead Healthy follows the same journalistic patterns as Jacobs' other books; decide upon a goal, read up, talk to experts on both sides of the various aspects of said goal, and follow the decided path ad nauseum, or at least until his wife puts her foot down.  Maybe it's that the formula has gotten a bit stale, or that this topic wasn't quite as funny, but DDH reads much more like an extra-long article than a compilation of humerous exploits.  Actually, this may be the case, since the bible quest required a lot more social discomfort on Jacobs' part, resulting in some pretty funny situations, whereas being more healthy and in-shape actually makes one, if anything, more socially accepted.  Regardless, lack of humor made this work feel like a much longer read, and portions are pretty dry, particularly some interviews with various experts.

This is not to say that DDH isn't entertaining and enlightening, because I did find it interesting, and those who have not done a great deal of reading on the plastic debate, air quality, and the virtues of various diets will probably find it especially so.  For me, the best parts involved Jacobs' interactions with family, friends, and some of the more out-there health nuts he interacted with.  He also spends a decent amount of the book detailing visits with his grandfather and aunt, both of whom die during his writing.  The material including his aunt is more pertinent, as she is a colossal health nut who has informed and emphatic opinions on health matters, while the material with his grandfather is more sentimental and slightly less so, except for that it follows the rule that says that those in contact with family will live longer.  It is obvious that Jacobs has a strong attachment to his grandfather, which is touching to read, however, at the risk of sounding like a complete grinch, I have to say that I feel that he included a bit more of that material than was necessary, probably out of sentimentality due to the circumstances. 

Jacobs gives a very thorough discussion of each side of arguments, such as what the best diet is, or the best exercise plan, including a very funny 'caveman' program in Central Park.  I would have liked to have read more on the actual impact of all the changes on him, personally; Jacobs spends very little time discussing whether these changes are difficult for him, especially the changes in diet.  Including more on personal struggles regarding abstaining from certain foods would humanize the book more, and thus make it more engaging.  While Jacobs mentions that he has stopped eating this and that, he doesn't include anything on whether this is difficult for him, or how he copes with cravings. 

Overall, I would probably read another work by Jacobs.  His style is fairly conversational, and he seems to be a likable person.  Perhaps next time he could return to a more off-beat topic, which would reintroduce the humor back into his work and allow his personality to shine through more.

Rating: 3 stars.  Not as entertaining as previous works, but still a worthwhile read with occasional moments of humor and sentimentality.

Review: World War Z, by Max Brooks

In his novel World War Z, Max Brooks uses journalistic entries to create a post-apocalyptic world where zombies (yesssss!) have threatened to overcome humanity.  His approach incorporates the use of the premise that a reporter is compiling interviews with survivors into a chonicle of the entire zombie infestation from the first wave through the eventual triumph of the humans. 

At first, this 'report' grabbed me with the strength of its unique approach and fast-paced change of character.  Brooks keeps his interview segments short, so each new character the reader is introduced to is only present for ten pages at most; many keep their recollections to only three pages, or even less.  A couple of characters make brief reappearances in the final post-apocalypse part of the story, but the vast majority are gone after serving their purpose of telling their own tiny experience.  The storytellers range in age and station, varying from young adults to retired officers, wealthy people who got their hands and consciences dirty in order to survive and children whose parents tried to kill them before the zombies could.  One drawback to this kind of storytelling, however, is that there is no main character for the reader to attach to; the only creatures that are constants are the zombies, who have no voice of their own (this would have been an interesting addition, had Brooks been able to figure out a way to include it).  With no individual protagonist, during times when the pace slows, there is less of an incentive to pick the book up.  One could make the argument that Humanity is the protagonist, but since that's more of an abstract concept it doesn't really help the reader to be invested.  This is one area that Robopocalypse, a novel with a similar concept, did better - the author gave us a set of interwoven characters to root for. 

As I mentioned, the novel had a strong beginning; there was a wide variety of perspectives given, and the voices were very different.  The ending was also fairly strong, and I enjoyed finding out what had happened to one character, a woman who had been a child when the invasion occurred, in particular.  The tales of those trying to escape, protect their families, or cope with infected loved ones were well-written and emotionally charged.  The middle third of the novel, however, was dominated by military voices, and at that point, the tone flattened out for quite awhile.  Many of the 'interviewees' had basically similar stories, and I didn't feel anywhere near the emotional connection to them as I did to those presented in the first third of the novel because their interviews focused more on strategies and battles. 

Another issue was that the zombies were killed in a shockingly mundane way - you had to hit them in the brain.  This was so obvious that it almost hurt my own brain.  Who wouldn't know that you couldn't shoot a zombie in the chest, when they obviously don't rely on a heartbeat?  Also, there is no notation of how the first zombie was created, or where the disease came from, and that would have been welcome creativity. 

One interesting portion, however, was an obvious connection and critique to the current military engagements around the world, as the sluggishness and rigidity of the American military was criticized in its inability to change tactics and fight according to new, guerrilla rules.  Also fun was the fact that the zombies would freeze solid in the upper hemisphere winters, or could be half frozen into a lake and yet still snapping and grabbing with its unfrozen limbs.  The concept of the undead being able to bob along in the ocean was interesting as well, and I think more could have been done with that. 

I think a main problem with this novel is that it takes itself too seriously.  There is no humor present, really, at all; WWZ is at times as dry as the report-status it purports itself to be.  This is not to say that I didn't enjoy the novel, just that at times it could have benefitted from a little good-natured poking at itself.  With all the short stories included in the larger context, it would have been easy to inject a few colorful characters inside to spice up the longer spells of military strategy description. 

Overall, WWZ was a fairly good read, enough so that I finished it in a few days of off-and-on reading.  Since I have read both, and seen them compared in several sites, I will say this; if you are more interested in personal connections, Robopocalypse is the armageddon book for you.  If you prefer more streamlined, documentary approaches to your end-of-days scenarios, WWZ will be the more fitting choice.

Rating: three out of five stars.  A fairly unique effort with an uneven engagement factor for the sci-fi inclined government-report fan.

Review: The Sisters, by Nancy Jensen

Writer Nancy Jensen's first novel, The Sisters, starts with heartbreak, and continues from there.  The teacups on the cover are a clever insuniation of the how things that are beautiful can be broken; thankfully, they also portray how things that are broken can still be beautiful.

**SPOILER ALERT: It is difficult to discuss this book without giving away a small part of the resolution.  I will do my best.  If you're worried, skip to the bottom for the final review.**

The almost three hundred page novel opens with teenage sisters Bertie and Mabel living with their stepfather, who is a disgusting excuse for a human being, in 1920s Kentucky.  Most readers will immediately know something is Wrong in that house, but the truth of just how awful things have gotten isn't revealed until much later in the novel.  Jensen is masterful at making you completely involved with these girls in just one chapter, and at ripping your heart out as they are separated over a terrible misunderstanding that will affect the rest of their lives.  (I am serious, it was almost physically painful to read.)

Beginning with Chapter 2, Jensen traces the broadening stories of the two girls, and their subsequent families, as separate strands.  Each girl reinvents herself in an effort to escape the past, with outward success, but inner turmoil that is not so easily washed away.  The repercussions of Bertie's anger and bitterness extend far-reaching tendrils in her children and grandchildren, most of whom are, frankly, somewhat unlikable products of the secret horror that has shadowed their family.  Mabel's cobbled family is more emotionally successful, but the guilt and sorrow she carries with her threatens her sanity on more than one occasion as she ages. 

The most difficult part of reading this story is the knowledge that it is all entirely unnecessary.  Had Bertie not been so devastatingly proud, if Mabel could have had just an ounce more courage in later years, had both not been so committed to silence, it all might have been averted or at least repaired.  The greatest sorrow of their lives comes to rest on the reader as he or she realizes that not all things are tied up in a bow, and that the constraints of society and one's own shortcomings really can lead to unrepairable ruin.  It is a testament to Jensen's fortitude as a writer that she allows this to happen, lets the reader squirm, without ever feeling the need to pull the drawstring and provide a tidy resolution.  Life is messy and painful, and she is honest and unafraid to let it be.  I do have to say, though, that in this instance, letting it all hang out to dry, so to speak, was a punishment for the reader.  I didn't need it tied up with a bow, but

*skip here if you are even thinking about reading*

... even if Bertie and Mabel never made up themselves, if in the end Jensen had closed with Grace, Bertie's grandaughter, beginning an internet search for the mysterious Mabel, using the clue that she was possibly seen on TV by Bertie just before she died, it would have been a much more satisfactory ending without being falsely sweet.

*start reading again*

The one problem with this story is one that many others like it have had; I simply didn't care as much about the later generations as I did Bertie and Mabel.  The beginning of the story made me so attached to the two of them, focused so strongly on them for several chapters, and their initial event was so devastating, that little in the subsequent characters lives seemed as important or interesting.  Also, because of the number of new characters grew as the generations passed, it became more difficult to track who was who, and to have an in-depth relationship with all of them.  As I mentioned, several were fairly unlikable, in part because Jensen was probably quite caught up in capturing the ripple effect of the past rather than making them seem like appealing people in their own right.  It was definitely the chapters on the elder generations that I enjoyed reading the most, and the resolution of Alma in particular was rewarding to read.  I felt as though Mabel's character wasn't wrapped up as well as Bertie's, and actually that Mabel's life in general could have been more filled out.  Jensen does an excellent job of carrying motifs through the tale, including adoption, suicide, and the idea that a family is what you make it; watching the results of parenting coming home to roost is both painful and thought-provoking, particularly considering trends in our current society. 

Ultimately, the book does seem to lose some focus, and several characters are just completely unlikable, which makes it a hard go for awhile.  The story of Mabel and Bertie was really what the reader is sold on at the beginning, and the book would have been better had that thread remained more prominent rather than straying into less-developed, and largely unlikable, characters.  However, the writing is excellent, and the initial third to half of the book is so excellent that it carries the reader through the less engaging portions to the final description of what actually happened on Bertie's graduation day; while the basic points of the secret are not a surprise, it heralds a return to Jensen's obvious familiarity and fondness for the initial characters whom the reader is much more closely bonded with.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars.  A tale of profound heartbreak, and its aftermath, that is at several points breathtaking; more likable later characters and a slightly tweaked ending would have earned a 5.

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.