Bully

Author: Penelope Douglas
Series: Fall Away, #1
Publisher: Intermix
Release Date: February 18, 2014

My name is Tate. He doesn't call me that, though. He would never refer to me so informally, if he referred to me at all.

We're neighbors, and once, we were best friends. But then, one summer, he turned on me and has made it his mission to screw up my life at every opportunity. I've been humiliated, shut out, and gossiped about all through high school. His pranks and rumors got more sadistic as time wore on, and I made myself sick trying to hide from him. I worried about what was around every corner and behind every door.

So I left.

I spent a year studying abroad and bathed in the freedom of life without Jared. Now I'm back to finish up high school and get the hell out of here forever. I'm hoping that after a year of breathing room, he's moved on and forgotten all about me.

But even if he hasn't changed, I have. I'm not interested in avoiding him or turning the other cheek anymore. We're going to go head to head, because neither of us wants to back down.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows I don't like contemporary romance. Before I read this book, which was years ago, I had only liked one self-published novel, and although I'm open to reading new adult, I had never actually read one. I know fully well about the bad rep on the last two, and a part of me kind of agrees with it. Taking in the fact that I mostly believe that contemporary romance plus new adult plus self-published equals garbage—which, now that I think about it, practically exempts me from reading ninety-nine percent of new adult novels—because I'd never heard of a good example or even a decent summary of this combination before, never had I actually expected to read this... and love it.

No, that was not a typo. I loved it.

Because of this book, Bully, I'm going to give that combination a chance now, and you have to read this, too. I don't care if you're a sci-fi fan, a purely YA lover, or a person who doesn't read books at all. You must read this, and here's why.

"I'll have you in tears in no time."

Understand this: Jared was a complete and utter asshole, along with his dipshit friend Madoc over there. The minute they opened their mouths, I wanted to bury them alive, straight after putting them through years and years of slow, intense, and painful torture. Bullies are awful, awful people, and in real life, don't try to put up with their crap or expect them to miraculously change.

Penelope Douglas makes no attempts to hide Jared's douchebaggery, and to make hundreds of readers sympathize with a jackass like him and even Madoc is an impressive feat. I would not have forgiven Jared for the things he did to Tate, ex-best friend since childhood or not.

But I can understand why though. I felt sorry for what had happened to him and made him the way he was. I know people who have been through similar things and have seen how much bitter they've become after. I couldn't untangle the mess of emotions I felt for him in the end and although I still couldn't forgive him for his action, I thought he deserved a second chance. I liked that he didn't make the unbelievable but common complete change into sappy Mr. Nice Guy in the end and still retained parts of his personality.

"You've already made me cry countless times." I raised my middle finger to [Jared] slowly, and asked, "Do you know what this is?" I took my middle finger and patted the corner of my eye with it. "It's me, wiping away the last tear you'll ever get."

I can't believe that I'm actually supporting this relationship between Tate and Jared, but I am. The author managed their power balance just splendidly. If you ever need another relationship like theirs to read about, and I can only think of one at the moment, check out an adult historical romance novel called Lord of Scoundrels, by Loretta Chase.

Even though I've never been in a situation like Tate, I found some aspects of her so relatable and most so likeable. She's strong, brave, funny, quick-witted, and smart. The damage that was done to her, heck, if I were in her shoes, I would have broke under the pressure. You would literally would have to drag my cold, dead body back to that town. There's so much I admire about Tate, and I'm proud of the way she fought back.

The only problem I had with her was her attraction to Jared when he still acted like a douche. I get that it was physical, and left over from her old friendship-crush thing, and that she was fighting it, but it still felt wrong in a way. Some of Tate's comments about a certain girl named Piper also ventured a little too much into s%#t-shaming for me. If this was young adult and not new, I would have taken down a whole point from my rating.

The side characters are equally great and very well-written. Just overall, amazing characterization and development on Penelope Douglas's part. Besides that this is self-published, as I mentioned earlier, I was even more surprised to have discovered that Bully was really the author's debut novel. I've heard about it before but after I finally read this, I really couldn't quite believe it.

Now a good book is not without its flaws. I think what pushed me away a bit was the writing style. Seriously, read this and try not to groan or roll your eyes: "The stabbing sensation in my throat surrendered to the tears wanting their release", or "I tried to blink away the disturbance to my equilibrium", or mood-breakers like, ""His lips devoured me, hard and fast, like I was being eaten alive." Halfway through though, I don't know what happened but I think the author had gotten the hang of writing a normal teenager's voice, and the try-too-hard language toned down while the humor went up.

I repeat, read Bully. You are missing so much, and I am sure you will not regret it.

Orphan Train

Author: Christina Baker Kline
Series: None
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Release Date: April 2, 2013

Orphan Train is a gripping story of friendship and second chances from Christina Baker Kline, author of Bird in Hand and The Way Life Should Be.

Penobscot Indian Molly Ayer is close to "aging out" out of the foster care system. A community service position helping an elderly woman clean out her home is the only thing keeping Molly out of juvie and worse...

As she helps Vivian sort through her possessions and memories, Molly learns that she and Vivian aren't as different as they seem to be. A young Irish immigrant orphaned in New York City, Vivian was put on a train to the Midwest with hundreds of other children whose destinies would be determined by luck and chance.

Molly discovers that she has the power to help Vivian find answers to mysteries that have haunted her for her entire life–answers that will ultimately free them both.

Rich in detail and epic in scope, Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline is a powerful novel of upheaval and resilience, of unexpected friendship, and of the secrets we carry that keep us from finding out who we are.

Interesting.

Contemporary has never been my cup of tea but if there was a single word that could sum up my experience reading Orphan Train, it would be... interesting.

The style of writing is superb. Usually, I don't like it when tenses and, heaven forbid, pronouns, are changed between perspectives, but it fits right at home here, making an easy distinction between past and present for the reader. The descriptions just suck you right in, and flow effortlessly from page to page. It distracted from the major problem Orphan Train had, which was the story.

I know it's hard to be original, but the characterization and plotting was just too predictable. There was little the author could add to the misunderstood orphan character. The story relied heavily on tropes, and the formula was all too easy to spot. By the end of the first half, I had to put it down or risk tearing open my lips from yawning so much.

The rage Molly feels is so overwhelming she sees spots before her eyes. For more than four hundred years Indians were deceived, corralled, forced onto small pieces of land and discriminated against, called dirty Indians, injuns, red-skins, savages. They couldn't get jobs or buy homes. Would it compromise her probationary status to strangle this imbecile? 

I'll give points for diversity, especially for showing and taking a stand against discrimination, but I'm not sure about feminism. While both Molly and Vivian are headstrong, they have few positive relationships with the women around them, especially in the first half of the novel. The latter are generally domineering, which is shown in a negative light. The men are portrayed as much nicer, their only faults being scatterbrained and easy to push over.

Three of the kids are in the room with me, huddled like sheep.

Molly and especially Vivian compare people to herds of animals often, such as cows, dogs, and even mice. Honestly, I felt really uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Vivian puts her foot on the first step and stumbles slightly...

"I'm all right!" Vivian says, grasping the rail.

Molly slips an arm around her waist. "Of course you are." she whispers. Her voice is steady, though her heart is so full it aches. "And I'm right here behind you."

Overall, the Orphan Train felt too preachy for me to fully enjoy. There was always one mindless tragedy after another. It ends sort of happily, despite having the characters lose so much throughout the whole thing that they always sound hollow in their narrative. While touching, the conclusion was anti-climactic, and the events leading up to it seemed glossed over, as if the author didn't know how to finish it off. I know it's Vivian's story, but Molly was left high and dry.

Does she break out of her shell? Does Terry, the mother of her boyfriend, ever approve of her? Does she just age out of the foster system, without a family? Does Vivian eventually adopt her?

At least give us some hints to tie up those loose ends!

The Woman Who Had Two Navels

Author: Nick Joaquin
Series: None
Publisher: Bookmark
Release Date: 1991

This novel by Joaquin is a literary assessment of the influence of the past to the time encompassing events in the Philippines after World War II, an examination of an assortment of legacy and heritage and the questions of how can an individual exercise free will and how to deal with the "shock" after experiencing "epiphanic recognition".

After glossing through hundreds of glowing four-to-five star ratings and insightful theme analyses of The Woman With Two Navels, you may be led to believe that I too will conduct this review in an appropriate, almost distant manner, praising Joaquin for such a glorious masterpiece.

You have been sorely mistaken.

There will be no detached observations. There will be no compulsory censoring. I will rant. I will spoil. It will be messy. If you take exception to this, then find another reviewer, because I cannot politely contain the fury of my emotions or thoughts this book has provoked. Classic or not, nothing can change my opinion that The Woman Who Had Two Navels, while not a waste of my time, was one of the worst novellas I ever had to sit through.

The two-naveled woman in question is Connie Escobar, a spoiled, selfish, and delusional Filipina who travels to Hong Kong in search of a treatment for her condition from a horse doctor. Yes, a horse doctor. For a condition which may not actually exist since she refuses to show her deformity to anyone who asks. Note that there is a moment when Connie relents much later in the book, but the author thought it would be more meaningful or some shit to fade-to-black at the last possible moment, since it shouldn't fucking matter whether she actually has two navels or not, and the title is supposed to double as a fucking metaphor. Let the dumb bich be whimsical, I guess.

Now I digress. Her visit sparks a chain reaction, one that effects everyone from her family to a group of childhood friends that she's never met. Each of their lives will never be the same, and they'll be forced to face the actions of the past, present, and future, regardless of whether these actions were, are, or will be theirs to make.

If you beget a monster of a child it could prove you were rather monstrous yourself.

But the story truly begins with Concha Vidal, Connie's flighty mother who's experienced much heartbreak and disillusion throughout each era she experiences. In one of them, she encounters Macho, a younger man who shares her thrill-seeking ways and unexpectedly becomes someone she grows to love. Unfortunately, she's married and he's, well, young. Although her latest husband is one of necessity and they've come to an understanding, Macho and Concha's relationship is frowned upon by society and is the subject of much ridicule among their peers. Concha, not wanting to destroy the boy's life, leaves the country, thus ending their dalliances and breaking his heart. When she returns, she asks him to marry her daughter Connie, in order to obtain the happiness of the two people she cares about most in the world.

"If your hands were not clean, your good actions had grimmer and more relentless consequences than your sins.''

Unbeknownst to anyone, Connie has been corrupted by her mother's past and this very decision, which leads the little girl on the path to insanity, for lack of a better word. In one method of coping with this, she makes friends with the hideous, inanimate idol Biliken. Biliken becomes her anchor, a way of shielding her from the harsh realities lurking beyond her safe little bubble.

After Connie grows up and experiences a few blissful months of marriage with Macho, she finds a stack of letters in the back of his closet. Although they're old, written before she was even born, they contain every excruciating detail of her husband and her mother's past relationship, something they'd kept secret for a very good reason. Upset by this shocking revelation, she runs away to Hong Kong while struggling to gain the courage to face her problems head-on.

The unfortunate victims of the Vidal family's shenanigans are a tight-knit circle of friends who grew up away from their heritage and the country it came from. There's Rita, the likeable, sympathetic leader of the group who pulls all the stops to keep them together; Paco, a poor musician who blames Connie for his unhealthy obsession with her when really, he's just a cheating, victim-blaming scumbag and unforgivable aspiring rapist; Mary, the unfortunate wife to said-scumbag who doesn't grab her kids and leave Paco's ass the moment he tells her of his escapades in the Philippines; and Pepe, a... blank sheet that really only serves to ask Connie questions and inadvertently draw her closer to mess up their lives even further. Following behind is his father Doctor Monson, a demented old man who seeks to go back to the good ol' days by becoming addicted to drugs, and his brother Father Tony, a priest who begins to question if he's cut out for his line of work.

Together, they will unrealistically think and speak in strange riddles and analogies, rife with hidden meanings, as they will, without reason, help this one suicidal stranger—a manic pixie girl who will effectively ruin the lives of each and every one of them to obtain her happy ending without so much as a proper apology. Forget if it might be temporary, necessary, or done unintentionally. That's fucked up.

"But don't you understand, Father? I want to be good. I'm trying to stay good. Does one go mad for trying to do that? Is it that hard?"

"It's very hard indeed. But you, Connie, have taken the easiest way out. You are not trying, you have given up... When you convinced yourself you had two navels, you retreated, not from evil, but only from the struggle against evil. People can't be good unless they know they're free to be bad if they wanted to."

If this whole thing wasn't a mess already, Connie's narratives get confusing as hell towards the end. The hallucinations she experiences are supposed to show her increasingly unstable mental state and how she slowly overcomes her issues, but most of the time I had no clue what was going on or what was really happening. Only until after I had gone through these scenes over and over again for weeks did I finally get that her dreams were, in fact, dreams.

On a matter of personal taste, I have a few more complaints. The last fifty pages were utter crap. Everyone had a chance to be redeemed in my eyes, but any sliver of hope—and I mean for every single character—was kicked to the curb after I crossed that final lap. I found myself cheering when Concha was killed (tbh there was a chapter or two where I thought she was great but damn, girl) yet did Macho have to die too? They were apart of the past and so needed to be left behind, but I wanted Macho and Connie to ride off into the sunset, especially after Macho confesses that he had grown to love his little wife and forgotten all about her mother, which he'd only realized until that moment. And what the fuck was up with Connie and Doctor Monson having some dipshit, meaningful conversation in his final moments? It's past meets future, I know that too! Yet I felt like the honor of his last words shouldn't have been randomly bestowed on our pathetic excuse for a protagonist.

But despite its glaring faults, I couldn't put it down. Like a bystander drawn to the sight of a trainwreck, I couldn't tear my eyes until I reached the last page. I felt a burning hatred for every single character and every one of their stupid actions but still, I couldn't, which leaves me to my next point.

I could label this as a godawful book and leave it at that. But oh no. My feelings, much like this book, are much more complex. (See! I can do this too, Father Tony. You self-righteous piece of shit.) As a work of commentary regarding the Philippine identity and society, it does a brilliant job. Even if I may disagree with the idea that being detached from your culture makes you a broken person, especially from someone who has not experienced this first-hand, it definitely has its effects and generational trauma is certainly a thing. I admit, I will give credit where credit is due. As an enjoyable work of fiction... no. Just no. Joaquin focuses too much on getting a point across than writing a story. Which would fine, since he probably meant for it to be that way, but I wish he could have managed to have balanced both of these elements, so that the reader could be satisfied in the message and the ultimate fate of the cast.

Perhaps their lives needed to be changed. Perhaps Connie needed to go to a veterinarian instead of the psychiatrist she so obviously needs. Perhaps Connie needed to take that idiotic confrontation with Doctor Monson on his deathbed. Perhaps Connie needed to take that *coughs* unconventional step of courage. Perhaps Mary needed for her husband to be stolen away and left with a gaggle of kids to "find herself" *gags* Perhaps Paco shouldn't have gotten his comeuppance. Perhaps Macho needed to shoot Concha and himself in the fucking head instead of Connie starting over with him and living happily ever after. But this does not make me hate these choices any less, and this doesn't make any of these characters less of a dumbass for doing what needed to be done. I end this review with one big fat middle finger to all of them.

P.S. In high school, I wrote an alternate ending where Connie and Paco panic as they are held up at the border by the police and are subsequently arrested. I wish I kept it.