(#85) Book Review: Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin

Forever the good girl, forever the sidekick, Rachel has stood in her best friend Darcy’s shadow since grade school.  That changes the night of Rachel’s 30th birthday, when she confesses her long-held feelings to Darcy’s fiance Dexter and is surprised to find that he reciprocates them.  The two embark on an affair in the days leading up to his wedding to Darcy.  Although they know it’s wrong, Rachel can’t help the way she feels, and she starts to learn that sometimes things aren’t quite so black and white.

Emily Giffin’s Something Borrowed is one of the titles often held up as the standard of quality chick lit.  It was recently made into a movie (which I reviewed).  I read the book before viewing the movie, but I’m so behind in writing book reviews that the movie review was published first.  So it goes.  That being said, the movie was only slightly worse than the novel on which it was based.  This is not going to be a positive review, y’all.

It should be said (as it has been before) that it’s not issues of betrayal or adultery that I take issue with.  I think that both are issues with a great deal of complexity inherent in them, and I enjoy reading about them when they’re dealt with well.  I say this so that it is understood that my dislike of Something Borrowed doesn’t stem from the character’s actions as it does from the fact that it isn’t a likeable book in any way.  It’s overly long, contains clunky transitions between past and present (meant to provide the reader with the lengthy history of Darcy and Rachel), and is full of characters that are stereotypes devoid of any actual personality.

The problem begins with the premise of Darcy and Rachel’s friendship.  The two have been friends since elementary school, but it’s clear from the onset that they no longer have anything in common.  It’s also clear that Darcy is a classic toxic friend, and equally clear is that Giffin goes out of her way to make her unsympathetic so that readers will side with what Rachel and Dex end up doing.  I don’t know that I buy the fact that the two girls are still so close despite having nothing in common, having attended different colleges and living completely separate lives.  The friendship feels flimsy from the beginning, which makes the basic plot feel precarious at best.

Of course, the weak friendship is only the tip of the iceberg.  Readers aren’t supposed to sympathize with the impetuous, selfish Darcy, but Rachel and Dex are pretty awful, too.  Much has been made of the fact that Rachel is a wishy-washy doormat with no spine (or personality, to be honest).  Dex is even worse, ending up as a sort of whiny, emasculated man-child who still manages to be completely bland.  There is no depth here, no dimension to the characters or their own histories.

If this is the standard of what quality chick lit is supposed to be, then it’s no wonder that the genre gets a bad rap.  There are some great books out there that qualify as chick lit, but this isn’t one of them.  I don’t really recommend this one, but it might resonate with readers who just want some mildly provocative romance without any substance underneath.

Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin.  St. Martin’s Press: 2004.  Library copy.

Movie Review: One Day (2011)

Emma (Anne Hathaway) and Dex (Jim Sturgess) meet on the night of graduation from Edinburgh University.  After going home together and having a “near miss,” the two form a friendship that spans 20 years.  Although the two are complete opposites–she’s a middle-class, steady, focused girl and he’s a wealthy, spoiled prat–they have a connection and a love for one another that sustains their relationship.  The film, directed by Lone Scherfig (An Education), follows these two characters as their lives cross over these two decades, checking in on them on the same day each year: July 15th.

One Day is built upon a central gimmick, and while the results are mixed, it certainly is interesting.  By checking in with these characters on the same day each year, viewers miss most of what occurs in their lives.  Nearly all the action in their lives occurs off screen, meaning that the characters have to catch viewers up through some quick exposition as the years pass.  This makes it hard to judge the film as a whole, but it does make it easy to enjoy specific pieces of it.

There are things to enjoy here: both of the leads are strong actors (although the same can’t be said for Hathaway’s weird, disappearing accent), and they have good chemistry.  The film is also quite charming, observant, and touching at times.  Having a supporting cast boasting Patricia Clarkson doesn’t hurt, either.  There’s a certain freshness to the script, written by David Nicholls (who adapted the story from his eponymous novel), and there are moments of genuine witty banter between the characters.  So yes, there are things here worth seeing.

The problem arise when you pause to consider the film as a whole, though.  Like romantic comedies/dramedies before it, it examines the age-old film conceit that it takes the love of a good woman to make the man.  Dex is a pretty terrible human being, but Emma’s steadfast love and support of him eventually turn him around.  It takes several tragedies and some hard moral lessons for this to happen, though.  Like other films before it, the film also sends the message that a long-term platonic friendship between a man and a woman must always lead to romance, a statement I take issue with not only because my best friend is a man but because it’s total bullshit. (I blame When Harry Met Sally for establishing this as the norm.)

Of course, the film plods along well enough until the end, where it is guaranteed to split viewers.  I won’t spoil it, but my guess is that reactions will fall into several camps: you will see it coming and won’t be surprised (like me); you will find it moving and fitting; or you will cringe to see the film’s general wit crushed by maudlin sentimentality.  The ending will likely determine how you feel about the movie in general, which is too bad, because up until it, it’s not a bad film.

One Day is playing in theaters now.

Movie Review: Crazy, Stupid Love (2011)

When Cal Weaver’s (Steve Carell) wife Emily (Julianne Moore) tells him she wants a divorce and that she slept with someone else (Kevin Bacon), he rolls himself out of a moving car.  He moves out and proceeds to spend a slew of nights getting trashed at a local bar.  It is here that he watches and then meets Jacob (Ryan Gosling), an absolutely charming douchebag who goes home with woman after woman, night after night.  Jacob eventually takes pity on Cal and tells him he’s going to teach him how to be more like him.  Cal, thinking that this might win back Emily, agrees.

Thus forms the basic premise of Crazy, Stupid Love, directed by Glen Ficarra and John Requa.  Crazy, Stupid Love has pretty much every cliche present in romantic comedies: big romantic gestures, ridiculous misunderstandings, logic fails, no context behind character motivations,  a makeover montage, a huge public speech, and plot contrivances like you wouldn’t believe.  Despite all this, though, a talented cast helps to hide the fact that Crazy, Stupid Love is pretty terrible movie.  Although it’s been critically well-received, I can’t help but get stuck on the fact that if the cast wasn’t as talented as they are, the movie would have been panned.  There is nothing new here, and it tries much too hard to appeal to a broad audience.

The thing is, the cast is so good that they distract from how terrible the actual story is.  Carell is the best he’s ever been, playing the wounded soul so well that it’s impossible not to feel from him.  His transformation from sad-sack into suave lothario is believable, the confidence oozing out of him as he walks through the bar.  Gosling is, as usual, phenomenal, creating a character who is a complete and total douchebag but is also so charming that it’s impossible not to smile as he hits on women.  Emma Stone, who plays Hannah, the one girl who cuts through Jacob’s bullshit, is charming and lovely as always, and the two have genuine, palpable chemistry.  Of course, this is largely wasted, as Stone is largely wasted, used only as a plot contrivance (several times).  One can’t help but think that this cast, who absolutely kills it in every scene, could have done even more if they had been given more to work with.

The script gets too bogged down in ridiculous sub-plots.  Cal’s son is in love with his babysitter, who is, in turn, in love with Cal.  There are other sub-plots that are meant to serve as surprises, and discussing them here would ruin the “fun” for other viewers.  Suffice to say that these sub-plots are often in danger of overpowering the central love story, and that if they had been toned down, viewers would have been treated to a very different, very powerful little movie.  If only, right?

Crazy, Stupid Love is playing in theaters now.  Recommended (with reservations) to fans of romantic comedies.

 

(#48) Book Review: The Art of Forgetting by Camille Noe Pagan

Marissa Rogers has always played second fiddle to her beautiful and magnetic best friend Julia Ferrar.  When Julia is hit by a cab, she walks away with few surface injuries, but the damage done to her brain impacts her memory and changes her personality.  As Marissa reluctantly realizes that she may have to take charge of her own life as well as Julia’s she also learns what it means to forget, forgive, and ultimately grow up.

Camille Noe Pagan’s debut novel could fall into the trap of being considered run-of-the-mill chick lit.  Some readers will read the synopsis and look at the pretty (but ultimately generic) cover and do just that.  Those that actually sit down with Pagan’s novel, though, are in for a pleasant surprise.  It rises above a lot of its peers and presents an in-depth, compelling look at a complicated female friendship and what it means to finally grow up (even if you’re thirty before you get there).  It isn’t a perfect read by any means, but it’s deeply satisfying and surprising when you least expect it.

Pagan has created a fairly typical everygirl in the form of main character Marissa: she’s smart but not too smart, she struggles with her weight, and she’s good at her job but doesn’t love it.  There’s nothing about Marissa that’s exceptional, but her tendency to bow to Julia’s every whim is both aggravating and understandable.  Most women have had that friend in their lives at some point: the one who seems too beautiful and too wonderful to be real, let alone be their friend.  The problem with Julia, of course, is the problem with many of these types of characters in novels: she’s supposed to be charismatic and charming, but most of what she does seems selfish and manipulative, and that makes it difficult to identify with Marissa’s struggle to stay loyal to Julia even after she begins to act erratically.  More than once while I was reading, I was reminded of the character of Caitlin in Judy Blume’s pretty epic novel Summer Sisters.  Same sort of thing happening there, minus the traumatic brain injury.

There are other complications that help propel the plot forward.  The reintroduction of Marissa’s college-sweetheart and possible love-of-her-life Nathan confuses her and puts a strain on her relationship with the loving (and a little boring?) Dave.  At the urging of her boss, Marissa takes a volunteer gig coaching an after-school program for elementary school girls that incorporates running with anti-bullying lessons.  She finds that she really enjoys the program and also starts to see her own friendship with Julia mirrored in what the girls are learning about each week.  As Marissa inches closer to becoming an actual grownup, Julia seems to regress further into her childhood.  This juxtaposition is nice, and Pagan mostly carries it off.

The novel’s strongest moments occur when Marissa spends time with her boss (who becomes a friend) and when she spends time with the girls she’s coaching.  There’s an authenticity here that’s refreshing, and the story doesn’t feel as strained as it does when Marissa is grappling with Julia’s manipulations or her own almost crippling doubts about her relationship with Dave.  Overall, though Pagan’s debut novel is enjoyable and memorable.

Recommended to fans of fiction featuring complicated female friendships.

The Art of Forgetting hits bookshelves on June 9, 2011.

The Art of Forgetting by Camille Noe Pagan.  Penguin: 2011.  Electronic galley received from publisher for review.

(#43) Book Review: Crush: 26 Real-Life Tales of First Love by Andrea Richesin et al

In this collection of short stories from editor Andrea Richesin, 26 authors revisit their own lives to tell a story about the first time that they fell in love.  Readers looking for a nostalgic trip down memory lane back to their teenage bedrooms and high schools and summers will find a kindred spirit in this book about first love and first heartbreak.  These stories examine what it means to fall in love, have a crush, and be crushed by love.

This anthology of short stories from some very notable authors is funny, sad, and compelling.  What’s great about an anthology like this is that each author has a distinctive voice made even more unique by the fact that they are writing about their own life.  Each story about first love or first crush offers a great deal of insight into the individual author, but each of these stories also has something universal to offer.  Everyone falls in love or can remember the bittersweet feeling of a first crush, and therefore there is something present in each of these stories to connect with.

Although all of the stories in the anthology are good in their own right, there were several that stood out for me in particular.  Daria Snadowsky’s story about falling in love with Sir Anthony Hopkins (yes, the actor) and writing to him was funny and a little heartbreaking.  The concept of a celebrity crush gets explored fully in her story, and it’s something that I can absolutely relate to (although I never wrote him a letter, I was convinced that I was going to marry Taylor Hanson for the better part of junior high).

There is nothing more consuming than that first love, and these authors capture the feelings and emotions that come along with that momentous event in a person’s life.  This anthology is full of unique stories about first love that still remain universal.  It’s a book that can be read in one sitting or can be read slowly, one story at a time, over a period of time.

Other stories of particular note are by Jacquelyn Mitchard, Lauren Oliver, and David Levithan.  Each one is great in its own right, offering insight into what it means to fall in love and why we subject ourselves to it.  Fans of YA might be particularly interested in this anthology because of its focus on young love.  Recommended.

Crush hits bookshelves on May 24, 2011.

Crush: 26 Real-Life Tales of First Love by Andrea Richesin et al.  Harlequin: 2011. Electronic galley accepted for review.

(#41) Book Review: It’s OK If You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein

Jody considers herself a native New Yorker and believes herself to be fairly liberated.  When she meets Lyle, a corn-fed boy from the Midwest, she realizes that not everyone is as open-minded as she is.  The two of them begin a tentative relationship, though, and find themselves falling in love for the first time.

Norma Klein’s quiet, exploratory novel about first love and coming of age in the 1970s is extremely subtle.  It’s quiet and often understated, and while the story’s protagonist is a smart, powerful girl in her own right, she’s not overtly so, and this often means that the reader might not recognize that what’s happening on the page is really important stuff.  Klein was an innovative and important YA novelist for her time, and her sex-positive messages still resonate decades later.

Klein’s characters are vibrant and eccentric without being over-the-top.  Jody, Lyle, and Jody’s mother are the three that stand out the most.  Jody’s shrewd observations about the people around her propel the story forward, and her jaded outlook on love is believable.  There is a tenderness between Jody and Lyle, and while their chemistry never combusted off the page, they still manage to portray a realistic first-love relationship.  The point of Klein’s novel is not to wow readers with a flashy romance or seduction but to portray a sexual relationship between two teenagers as realistically as possible.  Klein does just that.

Fans who grew up reading Judy Blume will find a kindred spirit in Klein’s work.  Although she has a cult following, even after all these years, Klein has never achieved the kind of notoriety that Blume has, which is a shame, because Klein’s books are very, very good.

Highly recommended.

It’s O.K. If You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein: Fawcett/Dial: 1978 (originally published).  Purchased copy.

(#33) Book Review: The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan

A love story told entirely through dictionary entries with unusual definitions, this book follows the relationship between an unnamed narrator and his partner.  Told out of sequence, the dictionary entries capture moments and snippets of conversations between these two people as they navigate the joys and pitfalls of falling in love, as well as dealing with issues of infidelity and alcoholism.  The book aims to answer (or at least explore) the question of how we talk about love.

Levithan’s first foray into adult fiction is a successful one.  He’s taken a common story: two people meet and fall in love and given it a fresh, intriguing spin.  Told out of sequence and entirely through dictionary entries, Levithan’s novel manages to capture perfectly the feelings and emotions that result from falling in and out of love with a person.

The narrator is a solid, functional man who comes from a loving familial background.  His partner–a woman (although the book is remarkably gender-neutral there is one reference to her making a joke about being pregnant near the beginning of the book)–is much more charismatic, but she’s also wild, an alcoholic, and unfaithful.  Her dysfunctional family background makes her weary of love and dubious of its ability to last.  These characters are created through snippets of dialogue and interaction in each of the entries, and because Levithan is such a talented writer, they’re fully realized.

Although I’ve had mixed feelings about Levithan’s work with Rachel Cohn, this book has made me a convert to his writing.  I worship at the altar of Levithan, Readers.  It’s clear that Levithan not only respects words but loves them.  His prose is sparse, lyrical, and gorgeous.  He manages to capture the thoughts and emotions of love and make it a universal experience for the reader.  Even though Levithan makes ample use of negative space, this is a book to be read slowly, and I encourage readers not to rush through it but to pause and think about every entry, letting it sink in.

The broken-up sequencing of the novel works extremely well.  Entries about the elation and excitement of falling in love brush up against entries describing the crushing blow that a confession of indiscretion can bring.  This jumping around, this up-and-down, back-and-forth dance plays out much like they way we actually think about our own relationships, skipping around to the great moments you wish you could live in forever while also parsing through the bad moments that tug at your heartstrings.  It’s very smart, what Levithan has done here, and it’s also very compelling stuff.

Highly, highly recommended, readers.  This is a book that you should be reading, if you haven’t done so already.

The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan, Farrar, Straus and Giroux: 2011.  Library copy.

J’ai L’Ennui: On Not Connecting with YA Romance

Yes, Gentle Readers, it’s true.  I seem to be suffering from a bout of ennui.  This ennui is manifesting itself in the form of how I connect to romance in the YA novels I’m reading, or rather, in the way that I am not connecting.  Lately, I can’t seem to muster up much in the way of feeling for the love stories present in the books that I love so dearly.  Let’s talk about it, okay?

It is important to note that despite my cynical, jaded tendencies, I am a romantic at heart.  I have been a romantic since I was a little girl, and I will probably go to my grave a romantic.  My mom called me boy-crazy from the age of five, but it goes deeper than that.  I love the idea of love.  I get caught up in the rush of feelings and emotions, and it’s like a drug for me.  I like living vicariously through other people’s love stories, because it’s the safest way to derive pleasure from love (that way my heart can’t get broken, right?) and passion.  Lately, however, I haven’t been feeling it.  Romances that are supposed to be passionate bore me.  I find myself irritated when a character moons over a boy or angsts over when he’ll call or what he meant.  This is not the norm for me, Gentle Readers.

I have a general idea of why this might be happening to me.

Issue the first:  I’m feeling a little disillusioned about love within the context of my own life. Without getting too personal, but in the interest of providing some context, I recently had my heart smushed (totally a word, right?) a little (not broken, but definitely stepped on) by a pretty awesome boy.  It doesn’t really help to go into specifics, but I’m in a situation where we both still like each other but can’t make it work for various reasons.  That sucks, right?  While I’m mostly okay, because I wasn’t in love with him, it still smarts a little.

Issue the second: Characters are falling in love too quickly and too haphazardly for me to buy into it. As someone who is not quick to fall in love (but who still loves the romance), I approach the concept of love with a skeptical eye.  When characters in a book or movie fall in love nearly instantaneously, I feel cheated.  Part of the thrill of love is its elusiveness, its ability to develop slowly.  A person can’t fall in love at first sight because to fall in love requires knowing a person on a much deeper level.  You can fall in lust at first sight.  That’s totally cool with me, and I’d honestly like to see more of that happen in YA (and in my own life, ‘kay, Universe?), but please no more love at first sight.

Issue the third: The love interests are often boring, bland, or predictable. Too often, the supposed love interest in a story falls into what I feel are stock character stereotypes: reformed bad boy, sensitive musician, socially-conscious nerdy boy.  Some of these archetypes would have worked on me when I was younger, but now they fall flat at my feet.  Sometimes, when the two characters have an actual chemistry (and this is contingent on the author’s technical skill), this is lessened, but lately I just feel like almost all the boys (and girls) who serve as romantic fodder for our main characters are boring, boring, boring.  Mayhaps I’m getting too old for YA?  I hope not.

I’m sure that this feeling of ennui will pass with time.  I’m sure that it’s my own cynical viewpoint that’s tainting my enjoyment of the books I’m reading.  Reading is my favorite hobby, and I know that I fall in and out of love with it just like I do with anything else I do daily (hello, running?), but it’s hard when I’m in the middle of it.

What do you think, readers?  What are your thoughts on love and romance in YA right now?  Is anyone else struggling with connecting to the characters and the love stories?

Talk back.

(image via weheartit)

 

Can’t get enough YA discussion, especially when love is on the line (ahahaha I am so clever it hurts)?  Check out these posts by other great bloggers:

Steph Su at Steph Su Reads talks about “Tru Luv” teen romance
Adele at Persnickety Snark talks about YA love and romance AND about YA romance cliches
Milli at Doodle Reads talks about problems she has with YA fiction romance

(#21) Book Review: Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession by Julie Powell

Julie Powell’s second memoir (a follow-up to the massively successful Julie & Julia, which also spawned a film) deals with obsessions much in the same way that her first one did.  Instead of cooking her way through a massive tome, though, Powell takes up the practice of butchery.  As an apprentice at Fleischer’s (a butcher shop in upstate NY that is apparently a huge deal in the locavore movement), she learns how to lose herself in the details of breaking down sides of beef and boning a pig.  Her interest in butchery is in part an attempt to distract herself from her other obsession: the end of a love affair with a man who was decidedly not her husband, Eric.  Trying to find meaning in the meat only distracts Powell for so long, though and when that runs out, she might just have to look at the meaning in her own life.

This is not an easy review to write, simply because I have a lot of thoughts about this book and want to do it justice.  Since its release in 2009 (the release was actually pushed back until after the film debuted, a move that was both shrewd and well-advised), Cleaving has garnered a lot of negative press.  This is disappointing, not because I don’t think that some of the critical reviews have valid points (which we’ll get to), but because so much of the scathing vitriol aimed at this book is not about Powell’s writing ability but about her morality.  Which, let’s face it, shouldn’t have anything to do with judging the book’s content, but when you have people decrying Powell’s values and they haven’t even read the book, well, it’s probably to be expected.

My issues with this book (and they are many) have nothing to do with Powell’s morality.  In fact, I commend her on her willingness to lay bare her many flaws and indiscretions.  It’s not an easy thing to do, and Powell has done it very publicly.  Whether or not Powell is a moral person is not the issue here.  The problem with Cleaving is that it’s a really uneven book, and Powell comes across as a dark, deeply damaged person who also happens to be an incredibly unreliable narrator.

Powell splits the book into three parts, focusing on her affair and the slow breakdown of her marriage, her apprenticeship at Fleischer’s (which is, apparently, a really big deal in the New York locavore movement), and her wayward travels to three randomly selected countries (Argentina, Ukraine, and Tanzania) to learn about their use of meat.  The three parts of the book are disjointed on their own and don’t seem to gel when put together, either.  The stories Powell relates don’t feel like a collection of essays, but they aren’t a single cohesive piece, either.

This indecisiveness about what her memoir is actually about makes more sense when one looks at Powell’s overall tone and content.  It isn’t clear what Powell wants from the reader as she revels in details about her affair with D.  Does she even want sympathy from her readers as she angsts about how exciting the sex is with D and how much pain she’s causing her husband?  Does she desire sympathy or empathy but doesn’t want to ask for it?  The fact that she can’t even get a handle on what she’s getting out of the affair or her marriage isn’t surprising when one realizes that Powell can’t even narrow down what kind of emotional response, exactly, her work is supposed to evoke from the reader.

Everything about the memoir feels flimsily constructed.  The metaphor that Powell uses to tie butchery and love together–using overwrought phrases about sinew and ligaments and bone–never quite work, and often feel quite forced.  Of course, there’s the carnality of sex & meat connection, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lengthy descriptions of rough-ish sex with D.  Too often, Powell wanders into purple prose territory, and it’s then that the reading experience becomes a little bit unpleasant.

Make no mistake, this was (for me, at least) an unpleasant reading experience.  Not for the squeamish (this applies to those who shy away from descriptive passages about sex as well as descriptive passages about tearing flesh away from bone and being covered in animal blood), it wasn’t Powell’s actions in and out of the bedroom that made this uncomfortable for me.  As much as I struggled with the overall content of the memoir, it was Powell’s personality that was the hardest aspect to take in.  Often callous and overly-pleased with herself, Powell’s smugness about her affair and ability to get away with it while also staying married was like watching a train wreck that you want to look away from but can’t.  This is not a book about meat so much as it is a testament to how incredible her affair was.

Honestly, that would be acceptable if it was what Powell had set out to do, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  Throughout the book, one can’t help but feel that Powell is aware that she should be feeling guilt (or that she’s expected to) about her treatment of Eric (and D, for that matter, as she stalks him for the better part of the middle of the book), but that what she really feels is something closer to a complete lack of such guilt.  There is no insight given about her indiscretions, nor is there any sort of perspective about how her actions impact others.  This is a story that would be best told with some distance, and the overall feel of the memoir is that it was written very quickly, while it was happening.  Powell’s lack of guilt and almost bragging about her exploits is irritating enough, but it gets worse when the reader realizes that the story isn’t even very interesting—in fact, it’s pretty boring.

It’s not all bad, though.  Powell can be an engaging writer, and she often is, with whip-smart observations about the world and pop culture in particular.  It’s clear that she has a sincere interest in butchery and has a true work ethic when it comes to becoming an apprentice.  She takes an easy tone when she writes, and it almost feels like a girlfriend telling you details about her life over drinks.  Almost.

The last thing I want to mention is the title.  Cleaving has several meanings, and it’s clear that Powell meant to play on that.  In addition to the traditional understanding of the word, which many of us associate with cutting or severing, cleaving can also mean penetrating.  This is fitting, when one considers how much time Powell devotes to talking about the more salacious aspects of her relationship with D. However, when the title is the most interesting and clever thing about your book, one has to wonder.

Fans of Powell’s first book are likely to be left confused or angry by this one.  Not for the faint of heart, Cleaving doesn’t live up to its potential.  I’m interested to see what Powell does next, but this one didn’t work for me.

Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession by Julie Powell.  Little, Brown & Company, 2009. Library copy.

Top Ten Picks: Literary Crushes

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted one of Random Ramblings Top Ten Picks, and it feels like it’s probably about time for that.  I’m skipping over some of the categories and posting my top 10 literary crushes.  You can call it a post in honor of Valentine’s Day (but I really wish you wouldn’t), or you can call it a fun diversion from the work I should be doing.  At any rate, here are my top 10 literary crushes:

1. Peeta Mellark from The Hunger Games Trilogy: I know that many people got caught up in the Peeta vs. Gale windstorm, but I was never one of them.  For me, it was always Peeta, the baker’s son.  But I’ve mentioned it before, and it bears repeating: it was never about which boy Katniss would ultimately choose.  The story is so much more than the love triangle, and that’s what makes the books so amazing.  However, I’ve had a crush on Peeta since the first book, when Katniss remembers how he once gave her some bread for her family.

2. Colonel Brandon from Sense & Sensibility: In the interest of full disclosure, this one is partially influenced by Alan Rickman’s performance in the movie (one of my favorite movies everrrr).  Not only is Rickman something akin to walking sex in the film, but his devotion to Marianne Dashwood is compelling and sweet.  He’s not as flashy as Wickham, nor is he as suave as Willhoughby.  He isn’t as sought-after as Darcy, but for me, he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.

3. Wes from The Truth About Forever: Wes’s quiet, artistic demeanor and simple approach to Macy Queen won me over on my first read through Dessen’s wonderful The Truth About Forever.  Something about him evokes the lanky, laid-back boy with a checkered past that I found so attractive in high school, and for that reason, he’s absolutely crush-worthy.

4. Marcus Flutie from the Jessica Darling series: Marcus Flutie is the one character from any book I’ve ever read that I most wish was real.  Did that sentence make sense?  I have my doubts.  However, it’s meaning is still true.  Marcus is my fictional boyfriend.  He’s funny, smart, and musically-inclined, but he’s also really screwed up, and he makes mistakes.  As the series progressed, he lost some of the luster that made him so attractive to me (just like any person would the longer you’re in a relationship with them), but there’s still a pull there when I read Jessica’s stories, and for that reason, he makes this list.

5. Jesse Tuck from Tuck Everlasting: This is probably the only other character on the list that is partially influenced by the movie version of the book.  Jonathan Jackson as Jesse Tuck?  I mean, come on, how could it not?  When I was little, I was obsessed with the idea of falling in love with a boy who never aged, and I found the entire thing incredibly romantic.  Not too long ago, I re-watched the movie and found the entire thing unbelievably depressing, so I guess that’s evidence of how your outlook changes as you get older.  Still, though, he makes the list.

6. Spencer Martin from Suite Scarlett: Scarlett’s older brother Spencer is much more attractive than any of the boy crushes that populate her world.  I know there are other readers and bloggers out there who share my opinion of this, and I can’t help but wonder if that was Maureen Johnson’s intention, at least a little bit.  Spencer’s propensity for hamming it up and tendency to use physical comedy whenever possible makes him funny, but his overall personality makes him completely crush-worthy.

7. Fred & George Weasley from Harry Potter Series: I include the both of them because their ability to play off of one another is partly what makes them so attractive.  Their desire to make people laugh, their commitment to mayhem and mischief, and their good hearts are all reasons to love these boys, but the fact that they’re super-awesome in a sea of other awesome characters is what makes them stand out.

8. Etienne St. Claire from Anna & the French Kiss: Although Etienne is a relatively new literary crush for me, it doesn’t make him any less special.  His short stature and large personality make him remarkable, but his devotion to Anna, despite the mistakes that both of them make, is pretty cute.  He’s smart, funny, and has a great accent.  What’s not to love?

9. Gus from Summer Sisters: Gus is someone who grows on you as you read Summer Sisters.  Like all of the characters in the story, we follow his evolution from annoying teenager to actual man, and while he’s not a major player in the story, he was the one person that Vix was with that I actually connected to.  Bru never did it for me, guys.  For me, it was always Gus, the loud, big, pushy boy who was an outsider to the Sommers family as much as Vix was, and when they finally get together, I cheer a little inside.

10. Ramsey Acton from The Post-Birthday World: This is one that sort of sneaked up on me.  Ramsey Acton isn’t a perfect gentleman or even a really nice guy.  But something about him in Lionel Shriver’s excellent (but massive) The Post-Birthday World is absolutely attractive and completely compelling (oooh!  alliteration!).  His lanky stature, his leisurely approach to life, his adorable Cockney accent–all of it is sexy and attractive, and I can completely understand why Irina finds herself so torn when it comes to him.  If you haven’t read this book, you should check it out.

I’m sure I missed some boys, but there you have it.  Who would make your top 10?