I tagged this as Book vs. Book, but it’s really Book vs. Oeuvre, because Sarah Dessen, to me, is her own genre.
SimonPulse emblazoned the front cover of Deb Caletti’s THE SIX RULES OF MAYBE with an SLJ blurb comparing it to the best of Dessen, and a glance at the back shows that all of Caletti’s books have Dessen-esque covers in overall look even if they lack the emphasis on disembodied body parts.
“Their marketing strategy is to trick you into thinking you’re buying a Sarah Dessen book,” I told Emily (we were at Books of Wonder; I’d never read Caletti). “Works for me.”
And I know why the SLJ blurb said that: it’s that narrative mix of emotional over-articulation, rendered in very deliberate, almost trite, imagery, blended with quick and astringent judgment, so you understand right away that the smart girl who’s narrating is knowing and wry, but not so knowing and wry that she doesn’t think her high school experiences are worth metaphors. And it’s that cadence where the sentences come long and then short, like it’s all flowing out of that girl faster than she can control until she’s pulled up short by her own realizations. I thought nobody did sentence-level pacing like Dessen; Caletti sure comes close. Well. It’s tone and pacing and character fused, because it always adds up to a girl who is looking, looking, looking, and wanting, and there’re reasons why these books, despite their fundamental similarity, never get old for me.
So that’s all to the good, and Caletti maybe isn’t edited as well — multiple passages, especially early, feel overwritten in a way that Dessen rarely does — but at her best she’s quotable as hell in the way of Meg Rosoff or John Green.
But I actually think Caletti does the big picture better than Dessen usually does, and it’s because she lets her protagonist fail harder. Here’s the core piece of my favorite scene:
I wanted to open that smile up wider, to see the Hayden of the afternoon back again. But I suddenly couldn’t think of anything else to say, and the smile was retreating. He was retreating. I could feel the moment of connectedness passing, my chance being lost. I wanted to play and volley and be back in that place we had been together before, that great place. I needed something, something quick — I grasped and caught something silly and lighthearted. Silly and lighthearted would do.
“So, Hayden Renfrew. What was your most embarrassing moment?”
It sounded workable until I said it. As soon as the words slipped out I knew I had done something horribly and terribly wrong. A humiliating misstep. I felt it all in one second of pause. The night, the cigarette smoke lingering in the air, the heaviness of his thoughts — my words were inappropriate and idiotic. Oh God, why had I said that? Why, why, why? And why couldn’t you take back a moment sometimes? One little moment? Is that asking so much? God, I suddenly sounded thirteen. My red shorts and my white tank top felt young and shameful, my feet in my flip-flops did too. I felt so ashamed of my painted toenails in the streetlight.
The rest of that scene and what comes of it is perfect. And you can see everything here: that Dessen probably would’ve written this scene better, with more economy and precision (and certainly less pleading), but also that probably she wouldn’t have writt
I agree that the dated quality of Sunrise Over Fallujah does work in its favor. I can’t think of a story off the top of my head that takes the asymmetry of knowledge even further, but I’m sure one exists – I’m curious to see if someone else can think of one. Sometimes I read older books that deal with war and the characters haven’t been disillusioned (although in a different sense than Birdie and WMDs – more like the author wasn’t disillusioned and still saw that particular war as a “good war” – a different issue).
I wonder if some YA authors don’t include present-day technology because they know it will date so quickly? Even if they’re aware of exactly how teens are using cell phones and the internet today, making those important details in a story will only make the book more dated when the next technology comes out. BUT I do enjoy reading stories where the teens feel very current and do rely on technology. I’m thinking of My Most Excellent Year, where both the teens and the adults use the internet (and those conversations are a big part of the narrative).
Thanks, as always, for making me think!
Really good point about the datedness potential. I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose it’s less glaring to be MORE dated (no one’s using a cell phone) but fit into the generic world of young adult books, than to have the technology a bit off.
That’s probably especially true since so many kids who love to read also read some of what were their parents’, or other adults who buy them books, favorites. So a certain kind of datedness is something you just have a lot of tolerance of as a young reader. (Although I was one of many who was utterly stymied by the “belt” in Are You There God?) But I imagine that details which seem more current than that, but are no longer cool, come across as condescending or out-of-touch.
And I haven’t read My Most Excellent Year — off to google.
I really enjoyed My Most Excellent Year – it’s almost a bit of a fantasy in an odd way.
I think the technology/datedness might depend on the reader – I loved historical fiction and older books with all the references to unknown things, like party lines on phones and old styles of clothing and so on. But maybe a certain amount of time has to pass for that to become vintage and cool instead of just dated. Or maybe it only ever becomes cool to the nerds who are reading those books anyway…
Yeah, that’s a good question about whether it’s those of us who liked historical fiction who also enjoyed reading YA and kids’ books from the ’70s, say. I think it is striking how much kids read across genre, and I wonder if that’s part of it — it’s *all* discovering some odd new world, at least for the kids who really fall in love with reading — whether it’s the era of your mom’s childhood or, you know, a hobbit.