Set up is a small midwestern town in 1986, half Korean Lloyd Dobbler clone (if you didn't just get that reference go watch Say Anything RIGHT NOW and don't even think about coming back until you have) and chubby, quiet, red haired Eleanor who hides a miserable home life fall in love on the bus. The story is told through the perspective of both teens, flipping back and forth between the two through each moment. The raw emotions, the insecurity, self doubt, and infatuation of first love is absolutely there, but it's doesn't do enough for me as a reader.
There is a passage that struck me as I was reading, where both Eleanor and Park are sitting in honors English where they are reading Romeo and Juliet (why are they always reading Romeo and Juliet in teen novels? It's not poetic, it's pedantic. Even if it standard 10th/11th grade reading. So are a lot of things.) Mr. Stessman, the teacher, attempts to draw Eleanor out by engaging with her on why Romeo and Juliet endures as a beloved classic. Unsuccessful in soliciting the answer he wants from a cynical Eleanor he turns to Park who says, " "Because people want to remember what its like to be young? And in love?' "
Reading that shortly have paging through my massive stack of journals from college it struck me that maybe this is EXACTLY why I don't love most the YA fiction I'm reading right now. It's praised for its portrayal of young love, and the emotions therein. I do not need any reminder of blundered romances, the feeling that you've entirely ruined a relationship with one text, the feeling of making a mix tape for someone and hoping they like it; and also the total fear that they will hate all of it. I don't need a reminder of the pints of ice cream I ate, sobbing in a dorm room or the unavoidable "stupid boy grin" I get when I receive a text from a crush. (Think for 5 seconds and you'll know that look. Poker face, not a thing I do well.) Or rather, I want to read something that evokes the same feelings pulling out my journals do.
That brings me around to a huge BUT. This should make it that much easier to engage those feelings, it makes that much more disappointing that it falls so flat. There are compelling and emotional novels out there, and I have read them, SO WHY AREN'T THEY GETTING ALL THE ATTENTION? And thus we arrive at the rub of my constant grumping. All these books come so highly recommended but I am so sick of whiny white kids. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian is the only one of my recent favorite YA novels getting the accolades it deserves. Every single book list I've perused has an endless number of trilogies about post apocalyptic death games, or abusive and unhealthy love with supernatural beings. (I promise I will got off this soapbox sooner or later, bear with me) I promise you all, white kids in unfortunate circumstances are not the only teens out there, and I'm done reading about them.
Which brings me back around to my first point - I feel guilty and stupid about reading this book and how I feel about it. Clearly my opinion on the book is my opinion - and I get to make that decision, but am I missing something bigger - dismissing something because I am bored and frustrated with this kind of narrative. At the same time, I trust my gut to know what kind of writing I like, and really sparks a fire for me. This isn't doing that for me, and I trust that. What I don't trust is that I am coming down overly harsh because "uughh more of the same" blinders. Thoughts? Feelings? Anyone? Bueller....Bueller?
Boots says: I love hardbacks with flimsy paper covers. Tastes like sad, desperate teenage love. I thoroughly enjoyed rubbing my face against the stiff corners of this book.
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