Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Posted on September 8, 2013 | 4 Comments

whr gone★ ★ ★ (3 stars)

Initially, I thought this would turn out to be a five star book. I tore through the first half, feeling that I had discovered something special in this highly readable tale of a disappeared wife and her left-behind husband set against a backdrop of industrial decline in Midwestern America (coincidentally the book I am now reading, Curtis Sittenfeld’s Sisterland, is also set in Missouri, but is there depicted much more positively). When the big twist hit, at around the 50% mark, I was left simultaneously smiling at its cleverness and cursing myself for not having seen it coming, but from there on in the book only went downhill.

Gone Girl‘s premise is that Amy has disappeared on the morning of her fifth wedding anniversary. Her husband Nick narrates the story in the present in the first person, and quickly shows himself to be both a likeable narrator (at least to me. He himself acknowledges that he’s a bit of “a dick”, but at least he knows it, owns it, even. And as the novel is told from his perspective we sort of become him for the duration, so it’s hard not to root for him) and an unreliable narrator. He is keeping at least one secret not just from the reader but also from the local police, who soon home in on Nick as a suspect (I didn’t want it to be him, but also after a while started to see why they thought it couldn’t not be him). Nick’s viewpoint alternates with entries from Amy’s journal (and you know I love novels that use journal entries!) which begin at their first meeting and stretch forward to the present day. Through these the reader gains insight into the marriage’s dynamics, and also experiences the wrench Amy felt at having to move from New York, where she had always lived, to a much more rural (and, dare I say it, less vibrant? I’ve never been, but she seems to feel it is) part of America when her and Nick fall on financial hard times. Nick opens a bar with his sister Margot (known as Go) but Amy, who dislikes Go, doesn’t have anything to do with it and instead stays home alone all day, becoming ever more miserable.

Whilst I was reading the first half of Gone Girl I went around earnestly recommending it to people, as I was finding it very hard to put down. “You should check out this book I’m reading”, I said; and now I’ll have to go back around those people and, shamefacedly, direct them to this review. I’ve learnt a valuable lesson – never recommend a book until you’ve finished it, no matter how confident you feel that it’s going to stay awesome: because Gone Girl certainly didn’t. I can’t go into why too much just now without spoiling the plot, but Amy’s journal entries stop, another viewpoint comes in, the viewpoints start switching far too fast for the reader to engage with them properly and the plot as a whole starts to get ever more ridiculous and unbelievable. The characters also started to grate on me after a while – Amy and Nick are, I believe, intended to be at least a little bit annoying (and perhaps at least a little bit evil, too, in at least one instance), but I just wanted to bang their heads together after a while. And their parents were all rather one-dimensional, as were their friends (who hardly ever made an appearance anyway). The only likeable character was Go, but I was irked when reading anything about her because of her silly nickname. Why couldn’t she just have stayed as Margot? Every time I saw the word Go my mind wondered why the word “go” had randomly been written with a capital letter – was it a typo? – and then a split second later remembered it was a name and clicked back into reading the story as intended.

I’ve still given Gone Girl three stars (and it was almost four!) because I enjoyed the first half so much, and because (until the narrative started flipping every page or so, and aside from the small matter of giving a significant character an annoying verb-name) the writing itself wasn’t bad at all; plus I did, overall, enjoy the reading experience and that’s what I judge a book on (I’m not a book snob, I just want to be entertained, albeit not mindlessly, which is why I watch very little TV). It hasn’t put me off reading other books by Gillian Flynn, and I would like to see the film (I’m actually quite pleased with the cast selected for it, which is unusual, frequently my reaction when I hear who is going to be in a movie version of a book is “nooooo! S/he’s not like the character at all!”) but this could have been so much better if it had maintained its early momentum. I hope the film version has a different ending, as the ending was what I hated most, and if you scroll past the spoiler warning (it’s a massive spoiler, so don’t read it if you have any intention of reading this book) you’ll see my suggestion for an alternative. 

 

 

 

 

Massive huge ginormous spoiler beyond this point!

 

 

Okay, so you’ve read the book, or aren’t planning to. In case it’s the latter, let me explain: Nick was framed by Amy to make it look as though he murdered her when in fact she ran away. She enlists the support of a friend, Desi, when her money runs out, but he does in fact keep her captive (oh the irony!) and she then kills Desi, making it look like justifiable self-defence. Nick tries to communicate this to the police but they can’t do anything as Amy hid the evidence so well, and he gives up trying to find evidence when Amy announces that she is pregnant and should Nick do anything to implicate her in Desi’s death she will prevent him from seeing his child. So he gives up. And giving up is THE MOST ANNOYING ENDING IMAGINABLE. Instead, the two people who knew (and robbed) Amy when she was hiding out in the Ozarks should go to the police after Amy reappears – they may not have recognised her at the time (and it is implied that maybe they did) but surely once she reappears it will be obvious that the person they saw was the same person who had disappeared – thus proving that she was not kidnapped by Desi after all (or at least not in the manner Amy claims), and that she framed Nick (which is surely an offence). They might seem like unreliable sources to the police, but as they go on a daytrip with Amy at one point it’s feasible that she would have ben captured on CCTV with them. Likewise, she would have been captured on CCTV with Desi when she first meets up with him after her disappearance (I believe it’s a casino they meet at…?) maybe someone should check that and find her? Either way I feel the ending would have been much more satisfying had she been caught. Granted, that way Nick isn’t punished at all for his wrongdoings, but he does so much less wrong than her that I would be okay with that.

Do any other readers have suggestions for a better ending? Or did you think the original one was ok? Leave a comment and let me know!

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Internetting, August 2013

Posted on September 1, 2013 | 4 Comments

What’s this about?
I’ve seen a couple of bloggers include a monthly round-up of interesting links they have found and thought I would jump on the bandwagon.

***

I read a lot of parenting and unschooling blogs, and one of my favourite in the latter category has to be Jennifer McGrail’s. A mother of four unschooled kids, reading about her days with her enthusiastic, creative, intelligent and energetic brood never fails to inspire me. Her blog is also brilliant for quelling fears about unschooling and those occasional “what if he never learns anything if he’s not “made” to?” moments. My favourite post of hers this month was a Q & A in which she answered some readers’ questions about unschooling (see also this Unschooling FAQ page on her blog). Penelope Trunk is sometimes seen as quite a controversial blogger but I love her no-nonsense, heavily-referenced style – and again, she’s excellent for those days when unschooling feels almost too risky a step, reminding me that it just makes sense. Here’s a post of hers I enjoyed this month.

Scary Mommy is a fairly mainstream parenting blog, and whilst I don’t agree with all of the posts on there it is a good for a laugh sometimes, as with this post on pregnancy by trimester. And no, I’m not pregnant again just now, but if I’d had any doubts about the benefits of siblings this article on The Guardian website would have mitigated at least a few. Sticking with The Guardian, I loved agony aunt Annalisa Barbieri’s compassionate, sensible and non-judgemental answer to this reader’s child-sleep dilemma. So often the media denigrates co-sleeping, presenting it as dangerous and/or a sign of a clingy parent, but Annalisa reminds us that it’s natural thing and brings many benefits (and also that it’s none of anyone else’s business, anyway!).

Maybe this is more than enough talk of babies and children for you for now and you’re relishing your childfree life, in which case you might be interested in reading Time magazine’s Having It All Without Having Children article, which I found a free-to-read transcription of here. I’ve seen a lot of criticisms of this article, claiming that it’s too positive on the childfree side of the argument, but I don’t agree. I may be a parent myself, but I don’t think it’s selfish not to have children – it’s much better for people to not have children at all if they don’t think its for them than to have them through societal pressure/a sense of obligation and then resent or regret it.

Fancy something geeky? Check out this link to 40 maps that explain the world. Some are a little US-centric, but since its from an American website (and I’m a total nerd for maps) I think its forgiveable.

You all know that I’m a miser, but if you are too you may enjoy this infographic on saving energy at home.

I was very sad to see one of my favourite blogs, The Tiny Magpie, close down this month. But, as she said goodbye to her readers, Leanne left us with these interesting thoughts on the internet, online sharing and validation. I’m certainly guilty sometimes of thinking something isn’t worth doing (or rather writing/drawing/making) if I’m not going to share it, but why? The experience of doing something isn’t any less valuable for remaining solely your own, and its far easier to enjoy the moment (including the moment of creating) if you’re not concerned with how you’ll retell it later and how others will perceive it.

Now for something beautiful in the form of these incredible drawings created by an artist and her four-year-old. I know I shouldn’t wish Freddie’s life away, but things like this make me so look forward to the days when we can draw (and write) together (if he wants to, of course). He does draw now, but usually only for about 30 seconds before he’s done (or decided that crayons look like a tasty snack), and not always on the surface I’d most like.

Finally, on things book-and-TV-related, I loved Matt Haig (of The Humans)’s post 30 Things To Tell A Book Snob, and this Tumblr post about The Simpsons and why its got worse over the years. I still watch the show but it definitely isn’t what is used to be, and I think this blogger hit the nail on the head with regard to the development of Bart and Lisa’s characters. I always wonder how they’ll get around the “past history” scenes too, as family legend always has it that Marge and Homer met sometime in the 70s, but the show has being going so long now that it’d be far more likely they were born then and met in the 90s.

 

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Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

Posted on August 31, 2013 | 2 Comments

whr bernadette★★★★★ (5 stars)

First things first, we can all agree that there aren’t enough epistolary novels out there, right? And this, of course, is an epistolary novel, utilising not only letters but also emails, post-it notes and a little bit of non-epistolary narrative here and there to hold it all together. I love this form (I’ve even read Samuel Richardson’s Pamela) – something about it feels more readable than traditional narrative (maybe because I’m a bit nosy, and it feels like I’m getting to snoop) and early on in my reading of Where’d You Go, Bernadette I scribbled down on the back of a bit of junk mail “apparently light and easy to read but with multiple depths that give you lots to think about, also with some mystery to keep you reading = ingredients of a great book”. I could leave this review at that, but I won’t.

Bernadette is an architect, but not of the same sort who I once got talking to when watching a row of tower blocks get demolished (who designed multi-storey car parks) but rather one who uses architecture as an artform. She is renowned within its circles for creating buildings made with locally sourced, often reclaimed, materials – for being “green before there was green”. She met her husband Elgin (Elgie) in LA, but moved to Seattle in the early nineties when he got a job at Microsoft. Bernadette and Elgie inhabit a giant, crumbling building (something that wouldn’t look amiss in the opening scenes of an episode of Grand Designs) and have a daughter, Bee, who gets straight As and is set to attend a prestigious boarding school on the East Coast, just like her parents did. Bernadette has slipped further and further away from the world during their time in Seattle, and by the time the novel opens she is spending most of her days in a trailer in her garden, hatin’ on everyone and everything around her, especially the “gnats” (= other mothers) at her daughter’s private school. Shortly before the family are due to take a trip to Antarctica, Bernadette disappears, and Bee tries to piece together why her mother vanished, where she might be and, most importantly, exactly who her mother was.

As I mentioned earlier, Where’d You Go, Bernadette contains many elements that I consider essential to the perfect novel. The mystery element was well-played, with small morsels of clues doled out here and there and a satisfying, well-planned (and if not 100% credible than at least a solid 95%; which is considerably more so than some other books I’ve read lately. Like Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, but that’s a whole other post) conclusion. It did fall down somewhat on the another essential ideal-novel component however: that of being relatable. Of course this is a very personal “thing”, and if you live in Seattle and/or work for a big corporation and/or are extremely wealthy then you would be able to relate a lot more to Where’d You Go, Bernadette than I. That said, I could relate to Bernadette being a bit of a weirdo-outsider type, and to her need to use her energies for something constructive so that they didn’t just get channelled into ranting (I just channel mine into ranting, I know).

Some of Where’d You Go, Bernadette‘s other characters were annoying: some intentionally (the “gnats”), some perhaps less so. I couldn’t work out what Bernadette saw in Elgie – sure he’s intelligent, but also pretty boring and not exactly emotionally strong-minded. He is tolerant of Bernadette’s “oddities” but more out of not being bothered (at least initially) to try to change anything about the situation (and when he does want to change it, all he wants to do is throw money at it until someone else “fixes” things) rather than a genuine, deep-seated love for her. Bee sailed close to being a one-dimensional “good girl”, but this was avoided through revealing details about her early childhood and the awesome amount of attitude she showed Elgie in the latter half of the book.

Before Bernadette disappeared, I felt like I knew her, due to the written matter by/about her that I the reader was privy to. Once she had gone however I realised that I knew precious little – and this switching of readerly perspective was very cleverly pulled off and my favourite thing about the novel. Another element I enjoyed was the Antarctica cruise – I’ll probably never get to go on one of these immensely luxurious and pricey trips myself, but I almost feel like I have after reading Bee’s (well, Maria Semple’s) depiction of it. Isn’t that one of the chief pleasures of reading, being able to experience through the written word that which we wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to? I’m not usually one for landscape descriptions (they remind me too much of suffering through Thomas Hardy novels at school) but here the flawless icescapes of the southern polar regions were rendered, well, flawlessly. Bee manages to get a little into the behind-the-scenes world of the cruise ship too by talking to scientists on board, and I found this glimpse into the almost shadowy world of cruise ships, giant floating hotels with no real laws, fascinating (if you share this interest, you may like to read this 2011 The Guardian article by Jon Ronson about people who disappear from cruise ships).

At times Where’d You Go, Bernadette‘s satire felt too relentless, and there were moments when I was aware that I wasn’t quite “getting” things that were supposed to be funny due to not being familiar with Seattle and/or the inner workings of large software companies (my partner is a software developer, so I probably “got” a little more of the latter than I would have otherwise, but still). For these reasons I can’t elevate Where’d You Go, Bernadette to “instant favourite” status but nevertheless it was both a clever and immensely readable [not to mention epistolary (yay! for that, again)] novel.

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The Vanishing Act Of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell

Posted on August 20, 2013 | 5 Comments

whr esme ★★★ (3 stars)

Remember the read-along Valerie of The Dingbat Report and I did of Kate Atkinson’s Behind The Scenes At The Museum last month? Well, we enjoyed the experience so much we immediately decided to repeat it, by both reading this Maggie O’Farrell novel (you can read Valerie’s review of it here).

I’m quite surprised that this novel turned out to be a three-star-deal, because I expected to love it. It was only late last year that I first read any of Maggie O’Farrell’s work (first After You’d Gone, then, a few weeks later, The Hand That First Held Mine) but both novels touched me deeply, especially the latter, which was my favourite read of 2012 and to which I felt a personal connection. …Esme Lennox‘s plot also sounded like something I’d love: mental health themes? Check. Addresses such themes from a feminist perspective? Check. Set (at least partially) in Scotland? Check. Family secrets and scandals uncovered? Check.

(Here’s a quick synopsis: Iris, a young Edinburgh woman, is traced by a mental health institution that is closing down and relocating its residents. It appears that Iris has a great aunt she never knew of – the eponymous Esme – and that she has a familial right to be involved in decisions pertaining to her aunt. Shocked by the state of hostel the hospital plan to move Esme to, Iris takes her home. Meanwhile the narrative frequently jumps back in time to when Esme and her sister Kitty were young, occupying a world of colonial excess that gave way to stagnant upper class Edinburgh; and to the present-day thoughts and past recollections of Kitty, who now has dementia and is in a nursing home. Family secrets are uncovered as the novel progresses, and the ending – which I didn’t much like – is rather abrupt and open-ended.)

Somehow, however, I just couldn’t connect with Esme Lennox like I did with the other Maggie O’Farrell novels I’ve read. Perhaps it was because I didn’t feel such an affinity to Iris, the main character, as I did to Elina in The Hand That First Held Mine or Alice in After You’d Gone (although, with her determined independence and sharp wit, Iris did remind me strongly of both of these women, especially Alice, and also Lexie who appears in the same book as Elina. I’m definitely noticing similarities between Maggie O’Farrell’s books and characters now that I’ve read a few). The story didn’t feel quite as multi-layered as either of her previous books either – maybe because the narrative was so very chopped up (even more so that After You’d Gone‘s) that it was difficult to get as deep. (All these comparisons are annoying, I know. I’ll stop now.) I also felt that the secrets and mysteries uncovered were hinted at too strongly too early, and thus felt rather obvious, predictable even.

That said, this is a decent book – maybe it just came to me at the wrong time (especially as a lot of my friends say this is their favourite Maggie O’Farrell). Although I was pulled in and out of the different worlds a little too often, their settings were vivid (particularly that of Edinburgh fifty or so years ago, which is a cold shock to Kitty and Esme after having spent their early lives in India). There wasn’t a shallow character to be seen, and Kitty’s transition from idiolosed older sister to villain-of-sorts was extremely well-played. Esme is institutionalized in her teens not only because of her (understandable) reaction to something someone does to her (sorry for being vague, but I don’t want to spoil the plot) but because she dares to question the societal norms of the day – she is a true free spirit – and it is harrowing to learn that women could so easily be dismissed from the world (all that was needed was for a father or husband to get a doctor’s agreement that “their” girl/woman was “mad” and away they went, often for very lengthy periods of time). Even the subplots were often intriguing (Kitty’s husbands sexual preferences, or lack thereof, for example; and the whole Iris/Alex thing), and I often wished they were explored further.

As you can see, in theory there is much to love about Esme Lennox, but somehow it didn’t clamber into my heart. It hasn’t put me off Maggie O’Farrell’s work however and I still intend to read her entire back catalogue (any suggestions for which to read next – the ones mentioned in this post are the only ones I’ve so far read – would be very welcome!).

(If you’re interested in exploring further the themes of this book, you may also want to check out Grace Williams Says It Loud by Emma Henderson.)

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Guest Post: A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin

Posted on August 19, 2013 | Leave a comment

This blog has always lacked reviews of epic sci-fi and fantasy series, because, well, they’re just not the sort of thing I read. They’re pretty much the only sort of thing my partner reads however, so I have recruited him as a guest writer. Hopefully this will be the first of many posts summarizing his enjoyment (or lack thereof, though he’s unlikely to make it through several thousand pages if it’s no good) of a series (in this case: a series so far), and will expand the genres of reviews featured here.

***

a song of ice and fire books
A Song of Ice and Fire is an epic tale of kings, gods and battles. Literally epic. George R. R. Martin has completed five of seven books* that make up his chronicles, already something like 4273 pages and 1.75 million words long. That might be enough to put off 99 per cent of readers right there, so then why does this series have such a cult following?

And why did I read it?

A Song begins in A Game of Thrones with the Stark family – a noble and respected ruling class family, who we’ll keep in touch with one way or another throughout the series* – and a bit of magical fantasy involving zombie-like wights and giant wolves. We learn that the Starks live in an exaggerated version of Mediaeval Europe, in what approximates to Scotland, with dozens of great family houses, opportunistically vying for wealth, renown and power in the wake of political turmoil, all across the continent and eventually further and further afield and involving kings and continents.

The chapters of the books are each presented from the point of view of a character, which gives George R. R. Martin (GRRM) an opportunity to really create depth and involve the reader, whilst navigating all the contradictory chivalry and barbarity of the era.

Oh yeah, you might have spotted that part: there’s magic. GRRM does his best, I think, in playing down the fact that there are witches, dragons, all-seeing flames, zombies, demon spawn, sentient birds, seasons that randomly last years, giant ice walls, (and giants), oversized wolves and bears, mammoths, clairvoyants and sorcery – to name a few – in favour of human drama and human politics. This is a great formula for making the readers stick with it and really believe there could be these weird phenomena out there.

Title Year
A Game of Thrones 1996
A Clash of Kings 1999
A Storm of Swords 2000
A Feast for Crows 2005
A Dance with Dragons 2011
The Winds of Winter –
A Dream of Spring –

A Song has been defined as “epic fantasy” and as “hard fantasy”. GRRM has somehow tried to mature the fantasy genre, some might say to modernise it. His content is thick with details of history, heraldry, geography, names and language, cultures, economies, ecologies and costume; politics, religions, mythology, ethnicity play a part; as do seafaring, horse riding, weaponry, armoury, regality and mummery. Unlike traditional fantasy his narrative is dark, gory, taboo-breaking, full of betrayal and relentless, unmerciful pain . . . and a kind of realism he has created by being utterly unpredictable and – like a capricious god ruling his universe – entirely unprotective and indifferent to his mortals’ fate. The fact that what happens over the next page is completely unknown is what keeps the reader gripped, and it is incredibly refreshing; you accept there probably will not be a happy ending.

Yet there is wit, humour and, maybe not characters you like, but characters you’d like to see make it into the next book.

Apparently GRRM has plotted out the remaining two books but has admitted there may end up more. A Dance with Dragons (book 5) was five years late, with chapters chopped out of A Feast for Crows (book 4), parts rewritten, others chronologically adjusted and characters’ tales untold in order to get it out of the door in fewer than one trillion words.

So, again, why did I read it? I admit that I began after seeing the television adaptation of the first book. Why I continued reading is a little less clear-cut, and not without a little sadistic fascination. Did I mention that GRRM has a propensity to home in on Every. Conceivable. Taboo? That literally tens of thousands of people die terrible, terrible deaths, many of whom he has made sure you know? That you fear to root for any characters because you’ve learnt that they will probably perish in some cruel, random event?

With flames below and flames above, three wildlings had nowhere to go. Some continued upward, and died. Some went downward, and died. Some stayed where they were. They died as well.

Excerpt from A Storm of Swords (I think).

I love it! That’s not fair though, I know, quoting only that from all of GRRM’s work. There’s a lot to it and so much depth. And that’s what appeals in his stories: they’re believable. (Despite the madness.) Not that you want to believe. It all fits within that cruel, but amazing world.

That’s why thousands are flocking to read it. And once you’ve been brutalised by A Song there’s really no going back; you’re tainted and will never have that innocence again to be able to empathise with “tamer tales”.

I should say, on a technical note, GRRM is a very accomplished character writer (which, as I’ve alluded, is essential to the story), a fluid narrator and an inventive linguist. I even noticed his style and ability evolve from about the second book onwards. Some organic change was unavoidable I suppose with such a sheer multitude of words, but some adaptations stood out for me and broke the illusion. Little things, like several of his characters starting to use the term “my nuncle” (a contraction of “my uncle”) in the later books when none of them did before, and italicised monologues/soliloquies likewise becoming suddenly commonplace. (It is possible I’m wrong about these observations but I’m not going to check. I think GRRM might have had the same problem.) His language, too, was on the whole excellent, but my one major gripe was his appropriation and bastardisation of colloquial terms from all over the place – North American, Australian, British etc. – that means practically everybody who ever reads the stories will need to look something up. I wish I’d kept examples, but there would be many.

To rate such a volume of work that stands apart from anything else I’ve read is not only difficult but has little objective value. I mean, as my first review here there is nothing with which to even compare my preferences. All I can suggest that is useful is: if what I’ve described sounds to you like months of torture – to read, not just in its content – then keep on walking, and you can pretend you’ve never heard of A Song of Ice and Fire.

I haven’t given away any plot here, have I? I think that’s for the best. Even if I did you probably still wouldn’t believe me. Until you read it for yourself. Oh wait, even then.

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Feral Youth by Polly Courtney

Posted on August 18, 2013 | 2 Comments

whr feral youth ★★★★★ (5 stars)

A couple of weeks ago author Polly Courtney contacted me to ask whether I would be interested in receiving a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair review. I was excited, and flattered (I’ve been writing this little blog for almost two years now and this was my first freebie!) so of course said yes, not least because the story appealed to me (I’m not sure I’d jump at the chance to review a football-based tale). As I picked up the novel and prepared to read however I was slightly wary – what if I didn’t like it, and had to write a negative review I knew the author would read? What if I loved it and everyone thought I had sold out? Well, I happened to love it, but I can assure you I haven’t sold out – it just happens to be a great book!

Set in London two years ago, Feral Youth looks at Alesha, a fictional young person involved in the riots, and tries to explain what might have motivated her to take part. Much of the novel does not depict the riots themselves, and this I thought was a clever way to represent that although decisions made by people on the day of the riots ultimately drove them to participate, those decisions were undoubtedly influenced by events that preceded them (and not just in the immediate days and weeks and even months before, but years back – an entire culture of deprivation, alienation, frustration, anger and a feeling of not being listened to). I’m not saying that these factors excuse people’s choice to vandalise, steal, hurt others and/or generally, well, riot, but it is important to consider the reasons why our fellow citizens acted this way. Even if you take a right-wing, hard-line approach to crime – which, admittedly, I don’t – surely we can all agree that we don’t want riots to happen again, and thus it would be wise to find out why they happened, for prevention if nothing else?

Back to Alesha. She is fifteen, and has spent her childhood on the move between foster homes and her neglectful, emotionally abusive mother (and her mother’s emotionally and physically abusive partner, who appears to be the last straw in prompting Alesha to leave home). When the novel opens she is living a quiet(ish) life with her good friend JJ (I’ve seen other reviews describing him as her boyfriend, but to me their relationship felt much more like one of brother and sister, having grown up together and being very loyal to each other, but with an absence of romance) and his Nan, who has dementia. Social services decide that Nan is no longer able to live in the community and JJ and Alesha (who aren’t officially residing at Nan’s anyway) find themselves homeless. School drop-outs, they bounce from house to house, using illegal means to gather their day-to-day funds as, being under sixteen, they are unable to claim benefits (and can make a lot more cash through other means even when they do become legal adults).

A young teacher, Helen Merfield, who instructed Alesha on the piano at her penultimate school, is mugged on the estate Alesha lives on and puts out word that she will pay a reward to anyone who returns the ring that was stolen from her. Alesha, spying a money-making opportunity but also genuinely wanting to assist, gets in touch with Miss Merfield and they strike up a relationship. Throughout the novel Alesha is torn between the world of the streets (or “endz” as she refers to them) and “going legit” with the assistance of Miss Merfield, who tries to utilise all the available official channels to support Alesha and to motivate her into getting a job. She is shocked, however, at how limited the support on offer is, and this is perhaps why she is understanding of Alesha’s frequent returns to less legal ways of living and raising funds.

Feral Youth takes the reader deep into the hidden world of inner city gangs, explaining only too well why young people can feel like they have little choice but to affiliate themselves with one (like carrying a knife, it just feels too unsafe not to.) and to use illegal and/or dangerous means to secure their incomes (when benefits are so megare, and jobs so scarce, it’s unsurprising that many would rather sell drugs – or themselves. I’m not saying this excuses it, but until you’ve been in that situation – with that set of past experiences – yourself it’s very easy to sit back and judge without knowing if you’d be able to resist the same temptations). Alesha talks a lot about survival, and as you follow her life its easy to see that she has to live hour-to-hour. When Miss Merfield tries to support her to go legit it becomes evident that all these safe, legal, ways to get money and/or places to live require much more time investment than their underworld counterparts, and being able to stick to a plan for more than a day or so is very difficult for someone in Alesha’s situation. The fact Alesha’s entire life has been defined by constant change (and change that is often outwith her control, e.g. being transferred from school to school, and foster home to foster home) also explains why she might feel more at home with life on the streets than by going to college and applying for jobs, saving for a flat and all that sensible stuff.

As you can guess, I liked Alesha a lot. She had a soft side too, despite the crimes she perpetrates – she doesn’t want to hurt those she loves, or those she sees as unable to stand up for themselves (she holds back from stealing from disabled people, and mums – yeah, yeah, I know, she shouldn’t be stealing at all). And her “voice” is believable – I truly felt like I was living her life alongside her as I read Feral Youth (Polly Courtney includes a glossary at the beginning of the book to “translate” some of Alesha’s slang for the less streetwise reader, although there were still a few words I had to look up online because I am old and uncool). She is a teenager – impulsive, prone to black-and-white, all-or-nothing, thinking; and didn’t always make the decisions I’d have liked her to make – but I still cared about her and had empathy for the difficult choices she faced.

Feral Youth‘s other characters were largely peripheral and often glimpsed only fleetingly, here and there, but Miss Merfield was believable and provided someone for adult, non-gang-member readers to relate to, as well as having largely-unexplored depths and difficulties of her own (which highlighted that life is not as easy for those who live outside “the endz” as Alesha thinks it is). The whole teacher-forms-a-special-bond-with-pupil story has been done before (for example in Kate Long’s The Daughter Game, as well as in numerous movies) but this particular execution of the trope did not feel cliched, perhaps because it took place outside a school setting, or because it did not end with Miss Merfield single-handedly saving Alesha from gang life and poverty.

I only have two slight reservations/questions about Feral Youth. One is that some of the practical/bureaucratic aspects of the plot were not entirely convincing: e.g. fifteen-year-old Alesha is given a room in a hostel by her local authority’s housing department (being under the legal age of adulthood she would surely have to be accommodated in a children’s home or foster placement?) and no-one seems to care too much at all that although she is supposed to be living with her mum she actually hadn’t done for several months (maybe this is how things happen and I’m just too sheltered to realise. But I have friends who work in children/young people’s services, albeit in more rural areas than this, and they keep much better track of “their” young people). The other, bigger issue, was with me throughout my reading and that was the unspoken knowledge that Polly Courtney, accomplished writer though she is*, is not a mixed-race teenage girl living in inner city London. Of course writers don’t have to only “write what they know”, but I do wonder what an actual inner city teenager, a real-life Alesha, would think of Feral Youth? Would they say it was realistic? How would they feel about a person with many more privileges than them writing about their lifestyles, however respectfully it was done? Would they be glad to be given a voice, or angry that, yet again, someone is speaking for them? This is something I still feel ambivalent about, days after finishing the novel.
*Allow me to take this opportunity to mention, perhaps randomly, that I loved the way the passage of time was handled in this novel. Sometimes we followed Alesha closely for days, other times a few weeks would elapse between chapters, but it always felt seamless.

Polly Courtney evidently put time into researching Feral Youth by talking to teenagers and has a lot of respect for them and the dilemmas they face. It certainly raises awareness of gang culture, poverty and a whole host of related issues, and (I hope) will prompt people to think of compassionate solutions to these challenges. I highly recommend Feral Youth to fans of realistic fiction and/or novels featuring teenagers, and anyone who wants to learn more about the real divides in privilege within the UK today.

A copy of this book was sent by the publisher in exchange for a fair review.

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Dead Scared by S.J. Bolton

Posted on August 8, 2013 | 4 Comments

whr dead scared ★★★ (3 stars)

I don’t read a huge amount of crime fiction, but once in a while I come across a plot that appeals to me and/or am in the mood for being swept along by something plot-driven. Dead Scared is the second book “starring” Lacey Flint – a young detective with a complicated past, a strong independent streak and (of course) wisdom beyond her years when it comes to solving crime. I haven’t read Dead Scared‘s predecessor (Now You See Me) but that didn’t hinder my enjoyment of this (although probably means I won’t bother reading the other novel, as I’ve – inevitably and unavoidably – got a pretty good idea what happens in it). Anyway, although I don’t read an enormous amount of crime fiction I wanted to read Dead Scared primarily because of its premise: there has been a spate of student suicides among young women at Cambridge University and police in London believe that they may be linked, and therefore that something is happening to these women to drive them to kill themselves. Lacey is sent to Cambridge to pose undercover as a student, but of course she can’t resist launching her own investigation into what is happening.

This is when I reveal to you that I went to university in Cambridge, a fact I often keep hidden because it is the British equivalent of this [and prompts people to make all kinds of false assumptions about me (in case you were wondering I went to a state school and university was made financially possible by the government/loans/a bursary)]:

whr ivy league

(image credit)

Luckily nothing as dark as what happens in Dead Scared was taking place when I was at Cambridge (at least not to my knowledge!) but naturally I was drawn to the idea of returning to the location of my student experience. Unfortunately, the inside knowledge I have of how the university operates spoilt some aspects of the novel for me as I was internally thinking “that’s not how it works!”. S.J. Bolton gets many of the place’s idiosyncrasies right (the way the colleges and faculties operate and interact with each other, and how colleges are almost like boarding schools, providing food as well as a place to sleep) but at other times she uses a little artistic license for example, when sent undercover as a student Lacey studies Psychology, which isn’t actually offered as a degree there (although as of this year there is a similar course, apparently) and the Student Counselling Service (which features strongly in the action) has links with both staff of the psychology department (who appear to teach some of the same students they see as patients – surely not ethically sound practice!) and the NHS (the main psychologist character, Evi, is even able to prescribe sleeping pills) whilst my understanding was that it operated independently. These are minor gripes that wouldn’t bother most readers I’m sure, but as I was primarily reading this for nostalgia about my student days (days I didn’t actually enjoy very much at the time but which I suppose seem important to me due to the reminiscence bump – although as I’m not yet 30 I guess I’m still on the bump!) they did grate on me somewhat.

So, Dead Scared is a fairly typical crime thriller in that there is a mystery and it is solved, and, slightly less typically, there is a bit of a romantic subplot too. I can’t really say more to you than that about the story without spoiling it for you, so I won’t; but needless to say the plot thickens pleasingly as it goes along and there was at least one twist that made me smile with its cleverness. I did guess the true motives of one character very early on (almost as soon as they were introduced) however which perhaps means this particular aspect was made too obvious (and nor was it hard to guess what exactly was happening to the young women involved, although who was orchestrating it and why was trickier to fathom). There are some fairly gory descriptions of violent acts in the novel, as well as references to sexual abuse (why does almost every crime thriller have to include this? Isn’t murder enough?), so if you find either of these triggering you probably want to give Dead Scared a miss.

I found the characters here to be rather “stock” – if you read even a little crime you’ll be familiar with the flawed-hero(ine) detective trope (workaholic, little to no personal life, has issues etc.) – and although I appreciated that Lacey was a young female and could thus relate to her more than I can, say, Rankin’s Rebus, she didn’t do much else to defy stereotype. Likewise S.J.Bolton’s writing style, whilst highly readable and at times creepily atmospheric, did sometimes have a tiny whiff of cheese about it (as does this very sentence, I know). Dead Scared is told in lots of short chapters which alternate fairly randomly between different characters’ viewpoints, points in time and first/third person and I think it would have been more absorbing were this not the case – I felt it had been written for people with very short attention spans and just as I was getting into a scene -whoosh!- it was over and I was transported somewhere else.

It seems like I’ve moaned a lot here so far and not come up with many reasons why I liked the book – and I did, for the most part. It delivered what I was expecting (entertainment) and was vividly imagined, if not always altogether believable. Towards the end I felt compelled to keep reading and Dead Scared did have that “hard to put down” factor, although not as much as some other crime I’ve reviewed here, such as S.J. Watson’s Before I Go To Sleep (clearly S.J. are the initials to have if you want to be a successful crime writer!)

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