Honestly, the part I love most about my new book is the second-person narrator, the deuteragonist, because he describes well the scenarios and issues at hand (along with some of his unimportant daily routines like pouring himself a glass of Kool Aid), such as the things he hears from his family and others about what exactly is happening at hand; he describes accurately his emotions inside as well as the actions he takes when it comes to interacting with others as well as his friends. I particularly love the friendship-based tension between the protagonist and the deuteragonist as the former, a normally lucid, pragmatic guy, gets sucked into his new hobby as if he is possessed, with the deuteragonist having to gamble between the good of his friend and their friendship as a whole. Though I have never liked horror books, the element I like most about this book are the strange occurences, self-reflections, and nightmares of the deuteragonist that serve as foreshadowing for the story’s progression, foreshadowing that crosses the very narrow line between actual anxiety and cheesiness.

This book, initially being realistic-fiction depicting two teenagers, is rather similar to most of the books I have read (young adult fiction), but it is more different in the way that it weaves copious horror-based foreshadowing and a completely ridiculous plot about a possessed car with the completely relatable scenario of being a bored teenager finding a hobby, as if that murderous car is a stand-in for the central theme the story tries to tell the reader; I have never read something as unique as a horror book, but I’ve surprisingly never read a genre mashup either, with the two seemingly-unrelated genres setting the stage for one another in perfect harmony. One glaring thing in this story that differentiates it from the rest of the books I’ve read is the aforementioned intra and interpersonal connections between the characters; books that I’ve read before with this important element tend to be about a bunch of drama queens arguing about a trivial incident and not a relatable pair of characters who get wrapped up in a nightmare turned real, with each move dictating what will happen next.

 Through my part of the book, a good 300 pages in a 500-page wonderland of ‘70s teenage nostalgia and borderline-terrifying yet cheesy nightmare sequences that the main characters face, are the loosening, if not permanently damaged relationships between Arnie and everyone he knows, who all try to help him; in his time of need, he casts everyone, his best friend, his loving (yet equally as obsessive) parents, and even his own girlfriend as he is sucked into this void of no return; he kind of reminds me of a combination of an overprotective boyfriend and some deranged drug-addict, for he would sacrifice (and already has sacrificed) everything, his relationships, his hobbies, his own self, figuratively, to his first love, for it is the light of his life.

 As he goes deeper into caring for his first love, he ventures further out into a new world of trouble that his car seduces him into, as he is compelled into running illegal errands to fund his money pit and gets blamed for what the car does after it single-handedly kills Arnie’s bullies, who decide to trash it only to get killed by it later. I believe that the nightmares that Arnie (and some of his friends) receive about the car awakening and killing all those who have wronged it (and Arnie; those nightmares end up manifesting into the real world) is in reality a hyperbolic metaphor for the actions the obsessive, vengeful boyfriend that he has become (to the car), would likely do, with the real, obsession-addled Arnie being a representation of the saner character he was before he had met the car; he goes from being a respectful, nerdy, straight-A student to a slave of his heart.

Stranded currently, in a whole world of hurt, without the help of those who love him the most, I feel as if Arnie is an innocent little boy who was claimed by little more than a simple obsession which put him on the wrong side of the tracks by that siren that lured him and stole his heart, for he seems to become a different person entirely due to the car alone, a round-character possessed by the misguided love of some tailfins and whitewalls. 

Though much regarding the symbolism, which sequentially connects to the main plot, has been discussed to the point of me sounding like a broken record, not much has been said on how her personification affects the theme of the story and whether or not she is some femme-fatale or just a car possessed by the ghost of a vengeful man. Though the car, both by Arnie’s friends (as well as his tormentors, who get killed by it), is heavily implied to be feminine, with its own demonic personality, King uses some vividly grotesque descriptions and morbid toning to imply that it is some man’s ghost, which seems somewhat contradictory to the reader’s initial impression that it was a feminine character. I believe there is a point the author is trying to make with this dual-symbolism, however.

In order to establish the notion that the main antagonist/a sentient car is female, Arnie, as well as his best friend Dennis, the latter of which grows concerned over the former regarding his newfound obsession with Christine, both use feminine pronouns such as “her” or “she” to describe her; it seems as if all characters, with the sole exception of Leigh, Arnie’s (not inanimate) girlfriend, describe the car as if it were a person, adding to its/her personality and legitimacy as a character. Even the school bullies, when they are being chased after by that awfully vengeful car (on its own, I know, before they get murdered by it), use some colorful language (which cannot be mentioned, but concern the “B-word”) to further cement the notion that the car itself is more of an ill-tempered and psychotic girlfriend than a car. Her personification also serves as to make love a more apparent stand-in for his borderline-ill obsession with his car. For instance, when he encounters mechanical trouble quite early in the story, Arnie’s best friend makes note of the fact that instead of swearing at it for all the time it has cost him, he says quite encouragingly “Come on doll, what do you say?”, further accentuating his affection/obsession. His friend also describes his drastic behavioral changes, such as the fact that becomes more willing to talk back to his parents, as that of “…a man who met a showgirl”. Really, these cues were all included to highlight how far one would go over obsession and how similar it is to the blinding effect of love, how it is able to prevent one from seeing how things truly are.

Meanwhile, the separate, ghostly character who used to possess the car back in the days when he was alive, is often seen when the car goes on its various sprees of violent retribution. Often, the car fills with “…a horrible, rotten smell” and the car’s former owner, the deceased Roland D. LeBay (or his ghost) rises “like a skeletal ghost-ship from Hades”, with graphic descriptions of the decayed and rotting state of his corpse to unnerve the reader. Arnie actually does take on a vengeful personality somewhat similar to that of man and oftentimes becomes as equally bitter and vituperative (and obsessive, like how he was originally with the car). Personally, I believe LeBay’s ghost serves as a reminder how history can repeat itself to no end, as how a vicious cycle of the bitter fruits of obsession can repeat no matter how many times it happens.

By implementing both instances of symbolism, King is fully and clearly able to portray the main antagonist of the story, Christine, as a monster that stands for something else; he makes no secret of the theme no matter how preposterous the story sounds, for it is a very excellent book that sounds absolutely appalling and ridiculous when summarized. It takes a bit of ability to make a monster/antagonist that represents the powers and values of a real-world concept that affects all of us, that aforementioned theme of how one should never go too far when pursuing obsession. King makes it pretty clear that obsession is a one way ticket into a black hole of no return, albeit with a strange story of an inanimate-object monster.

I particularly loved this book as it skillfully weaved almost three separate subgenres together without a trace of bumpiness; though this may or may not be the author at his most unorthodox, this book surely shows he has lots of well-applied talent. A stickler for unnecessary, yet background-forming details, wasting literally hundreds of pages of vivid descriptions of teenage life, varsity football games, and how one shouldn’t drive clutch with a broken leg from a football game, King carefully envelopes a suspenseful, action-packed horror story and a cautionary tale within its well-meant, subtle details that serve to seamlessly immerse the reader (at least a teenager) directly into the story itself, despite the story being told by the deuteragonist himself.

King’s writing in this book sees no shortage of bookmark-worthy metaphors and similes that serve to be comedic, relatable, or intensify the horror in certain moments; though metaphor mastery is a prerequisite for all serious writers, this level of metaphor mastery would either be found in a book about nature or a pure horror story, not an awesome multigenre horror crossover that mashes the best of all worlds together. If I haven’t been raving on about this like that nerdy protagonist, Arnie, who was lured to death by obsession itself, I’ve ironically been pretty obsessed with how King uses so many literary devices just to establish Christine not as a monster herself, but a tangible stand-in for how too much obsession/love could blind one from the truth. One does not have to look deep to find that this is a cautionary aesop’s fable for the modern (erm, 1980s) teenager, thoughtfully snuck into a rich, literary turducken of supernatural horror, violence, and teenage hormones.

Every rose, however, has its thorn (that was awfully trite, but hey). Christine is no exception to this. I’m not all too nitpicky, but I have seen a few downsides to the book within the text itself. The blending of genres and gratuitous levels of both mundane and important details often make the action too sparsely placed, though it was not really intended to be an action title until the very end, which culminates in the monster’s comeuppance. In addition, despite the book’s masterful writing, the cheap attempts to scare the reader, such as the vivid nightmares of the characters even after the monster’s (supposed) death at the end of the book do poorly and read like an internet creepypasta; it is entirely plausible that these kind of horror tropes were conceived by King himself many decades back and actually did add to the suspense of a book, but they seem to fare poorly today. 

So, with all these boons and cons weighted carefully, this is a book that I would very well recommend to a friend, without them telling the story beforehand. This book does take a degree of acquired taste however; I came here particularly because I was a rather crazed gearhead who came here from the cult following of the legendary movie adaptation. I would most certainly recommend it to those who have a taste for the somewhat distinct (Ok, I sound like a bad wine snob) ‘70s and ‘80s-era book flavor, with its tiny print and richly done text reminiscent of many books of its time (Well, I only read Alex Haley’s Roots before, and the two books seem similar, yet disassociated with the modern way of writing novels); I’m not saying that books of any era are superior to one another, but they are most certainly different.

Though his sense of humor initially portrays him to be a disillusioned defeatist who admits that he’s weak, scrawny, always bullied, and can’t really depend on anyone, his descriptions of others (like his doctor, who gave him a small number of painkiller during his dental surgery) and his teachers, who are “… liberal, white, vegetarian do-gooders and conservative, white missionary saviours” (he also says he’ll get bullied and possibly only make the C-squad on his football team as a “benchwarmer”), the best thing about his attitude is that his rather snarky and sarcastic descriptions, sometimes hyperbolic, give lots of inspiration to the reader into his environment, an impoverished, culturally-unbalanced slum full of people who won’t give up their respective traditions to learn the ways of others (as in whites understanding the locals, or them understanding whites). The real best thing about his disillusioned, negative attitude is that it propels him to do where nobody from his reservation had ever thought of doing: seeing a future better than his current one in an old, poor reservation.

Despite him saying that “[he doesn’t] know if hope is white, but [he does] know that hope for [him] is like some mythical creature (51)”, he is persistent in getting a future despite his nihilistic outlook, or perhaps even motivated by it, even going to a richer, unfamiliar all-white school in search of change. In spite of all of the many fears his self-deprecation reveals about himself, he decides to pursue a better future at all odds, which is rather unusual given his scared, un-optimistic demeanor. I seriously dig the duality the character possesses in personality, for he is almost made an epitome of how ‘great things’ often begin: with a strong dissatisfaction of status quo and a fistful of undying hope.

By taking a gamble for a better future, I would say with ease that Junior is the most optimistic, determined character in retrospect that I have ever seen, no matter his coarse coldness when it comes to telling himself bad things or even when describing how bad everything is; I believe that Junior is a very intelligent, resilient character who hasn’t discovered what person he truly is in the inside due to all the pressures and forces against him on the outside.

The protagonist of this book, Wade Watts, seems to be a rather uninterested, tech-obsessed, disillusioned kid, who spots an escape from the pain and suffering of the real world in the digital world of computers, kind of like an exaggeration of what we are like now. Seemingly similar to the protagonist from my previous book, ‘The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian’, he devotes his will, his power, and all that he has into pursuing that one, farfetched dream for a better future above the abyss of poverty, in this specific case, seizing control of his beloved cyber-universe that he loves to escape into. But most painfully, he seems so similar to us in very subtle ways; we love to set aside some of our other dreams and aspirations in pursuit of others (in this case, he abandons school in search of the keys that will grant him control over the virtual world), we use increasingly use technology to form relationships with others (hey, who hasn’t hung out on an online chatroom with their friends?), and use it to dilute and cower away from the pain of reality (he uses it to escape from an impoverished reality, we use headphones to avoid social contact). 

I think this virtual utopia is a stand-in for an increasingly plastic, idyllic, fake world we have already, in real life, created for ourselves that robs us of our individuality; although the online space is a way to escape a world where no socialization exists anyhow, as people do with online personas now, people act really fake, can hide their true emotions from others (as with what we can do behind the keyboard), people can really avoid being their undesirable selves. Wade states that he changed the way his character looked, from his somewhat pudgy, acne-riddled real life appearance to a slightly similar, muscular, non-acne-afflicted self online. Still, I believe that this isn’t an anti-technology tirade by the likes of Fahrenheit 451 as he states that “[they] exist as nothing but raw personality in here” (171), as people are allowed to hang out, forge somewhat close relationships with one another (party and banter), and even discover things they never experienced in real life first-hand (like love); it’s not exactly a cautionary tale about technology nor is it a soapy love letter to technology’s evolution, but a brutally-honest look at the positive and negative effects technology can bear on our society and experiences. The online world allows us to truly be who we are and ironically, entices us to be who we aren’t, for it “… allows us to control how we look and sound to others… that’s why everyone’s so addicted to it” (171). 

Strangely, I happen to think he does not enjoy being his mundane old self. Even though he loves every shred of his online world, he doesn’t seem to talk about his self very much to his best friends. Instead, his obsessed with collecting obscure factoids (even making obsessive-compulsive pop-culture-related remarks in the beginning pages) about celebrities and essentially worships (and revolves his own life around) his very idol, the legendary man who created the virtual world he so loves. Well, even though his life is by no means remarkable, he would rather carefully learn all of Matthew Broderick’s lines in Wargames than examine his own life and his existence for even a mere second; it is due to his lack of self-identity/self-pride that prevents him from ever questioning the importance of the virtual world itself. He looks at the online world as a way to become entirely someone else (a renowned, ultra-smart guru) with the extensive knowledge of strange pop-culture instead of being someone, his own self, in real life.

As such, he shows an almost inseparable attachment to escaping the real world with technology. “There, inside the game’s two-dimensional universe, life was simple”; life isn’t really meant to be enjoyed, but to be avoided, so it seems. Much like everyone else in his universe (or us in real life, today), he obsesses over connection to the online world and misses extended contact from it as if he were reeling from drug withdrawal. In one such occurrence, when he hasn’t been plugged into the OASIS (the virtual world) for a day, he suffers paranoid delusions, telling himself that “… everything would be alright. [He] would be back in familiar surroundings. [He] would be safe” as soon as he got plugged back in again. Now, I seem to have figured that the book’s nostalgia regarding the ‘80s originates due to the ‘80s being the time period when everyday virtual technology (which was quickly adopted by nerds) started emerging and was a vast world to be explored, while not killing off social interaction and fun activities that would occur in real life; the jaded generation of children in the book’s universe essentially obsess and pore over the decade as it not only was the birthdate of home computers, but because they could once enjoy talking to their friends, play outside, and be their own, respective personalities without hiding behind a screen. The ‘80s isn’t just a cameo or a hint of the author’s love of the era, but rather the ideal era where there was balance and harmony within the real world itself, rather than a literal, almost-barren wasteland for a real world and a virtual paradise to replace it’s grittiness.

Still, I believe that there is a second, arguably more obvious, yet equally as correct explanation for the book’s world being described so negatively. Cline, using many sensory details to establish just how much of a wreck the world is, where there are “… sodium-vapor-drenched cloud layer[s] up above” and homeless people “…interact[ing] with the far more pleasant reality of the OASIS (the virtual universe)” instead of trying to face reality, tries to use this quasi-dystopian, yet painfully possible world to serve as one of the story’s main cautionary tales of not avoiding the harsh reality of things. Cline does not take a saccharine, fantasy-like vision of technology (parts of the book are geeky love-letters to technology however) nor does he adopt a militant luddite’s tone towards technology, but he uses his book to advocate enjoying the benefits of technology while not abusing them to the point of self-destruction. By establishing a world that was presumably ruined by a society of people who didn’t bother to face and stop real-world problems that occurred, preferring to bury their heads under the sand of technology, Cline supports his theme by using this scenario as a Brothers-Grimm-esque testament as to why exactly we shouldn’t abandon the real world’s problems with technology (this is exactly what will happen if we don’t change our technological habits).

Whether one or the other or both are true, both reasons for the setting of the story are demonstrations of why technology can have ill effects on us, from the former explaining society’s disillusioned, jaded attitude towards reality and the latter explaining what exactly will happen due to the attitude/addiction we will pick up from the world of the former’s explanation. Very rarely does the setting of the story corroborate the theme; a lush, flower-laden rural landscape might accompany a rather somber story about grief (but have virtually nothing to do with it) or a very entertaining, uplifting story of self-discovery might take place inside of a maximum-security prison (and might have a very implicit connection). I can only congratulate Cline for his masterful, yet subtle integration of the setting into the theme as to establish the backbone for an already robust yet well-reinforced theme; the setting really connects to the theme and feels like it is grafted into it.

Perhaps, just like he is misunderstood and has his grief exacerbated by those who constantly ask him about it, mistakenly thinking that he is strongly injured by his mother’s death, Arlo isn’t exactly the person you see on the outside. On the outside, he’s a video-game addicted, reckless thrill-seeker who’d even buy a flight-suit for his crazy biking endeavors. In the inside, he is somewhat broken, yet stronger than the bones containing his organs in the event of an accident; he is surprisingly insightful and knows that although the past is like the gravity that pulls him down to the ground, only his determination and self-will will lift him out of his past personal demons and launch his bike into the air. Likewise, my aforementioned assumptions of him, as well as his backstory, truly conceals the extraordinary person he is inside; other than that weird ‘US Military Drone Ace Pilot’ pipe dream that he encounters through the story, he’s an extraordinary character that’s almost ominously similar to you and me – if only we can learn that will is the only solvent freeing one from their trepidations and grief, then we can overpower everything we encounter. It doesn’t take the stereotypical archetype of a 70-year old poet who pores over books from the 17^th century to change someone’s attitude about will and effort enabling one to overcome virtually everything – all it takes is a wiped-out teenager who catapults his bike with the power of their dreams, with that optimism to look towards an exit from their past (and not land on the ground with a broken spine). Perhaps the phrase "and other ways to fly" in the book's title means something more than doing stunts on a bike; it means to thrive and ascend mentally through changing one's way of thinking.

Of course, this character is not free of any flaws, despite the author’s seemingly strong message that we could be more tolerant of those who share different beliefs. Pygmy has all the markings of an indoctrinated, American-hating Communist. He compares his host-family to animals, describing his brother as a “pig-dog”, his host father as a “cow” (likely owing to his obesity), and his host mother as a “chicken”, showcasing his brainwashed, pre-cemented views of even the American people who treat him as family. If his misgivings against this country weren’t highlighted enough, he jokes that “American cars take 19 minutes to fill at the pump” and detests how “[the] United States consist of merely 4.6 percent [of] the world population yet consume over 75 percent [of] global energy resources” (85). His brainwashed views are further showcased when during a military demonstration in his home, communist country, where his also-brainwashed comrade is recognized by a “deranged female” and a “lunatic male” (94-95), who are noted by him to both say “Darling, my [name of comrade]” and “You’re alive!”, who are subsequently killed by their handler; this debacle highlights that although he could record what his comrade’s supposed parents were saying to him, he could not string together what they were saying and interpret them as a couple who found their long-lost son to be an assassin. Owing to his brainwashing, he instead identifies them as a pair of lunatics instead of his friend’s loving parents just because they seem to be going against the program. He is a testament to what a totalitarian state can do to a person’s mind. Still, he continues to bond with his newfound American compatriots and slowly (albeit unwillingly) assimilates into their way of life.

Still, he offers surprisingly blunt (and for some reason, compelling) arguments against American culture. Owing to his point of view, which is considerably different (and hatred-tinged), he offers detailed analysis of some core faults in our culture. He first targets our education system (I don’t agree with this, but it is convincing) by stating that “American structure education serve primary function introduce partners for reproduction (sic)” with their singing and focus on fun, and lack of focus on education, describing the American system as a “…conspiracy oppress American youths, create them future slave workforce, singing million idiot song during labor of frying meat burgers (sic)” (47). This is apparently a jab at the very real problem of many American schoolchildren often ending up at low-paying jobs and dim futures (flipping burgers, that is), and how America focuses more on sports and music than skills that may benefit them in the future. He offers some inspirational commentary on consumerism, describing all the items for sale at the mall as being printed “… love me. Look at me. Million speaking objects, begging. Crown American consumer with power of King.”, with a “dying slave woman” working around the place, the typical victim of consumerist culture where only vice matters (10); he indirectly tells the reader that Americans will always be consumed by their own consumerist greed. He describes quite well the state of the media, which is run by “predator parasites”, who insidiously “compelling persons purchase automobile and consume soda” (117), offering commentary on the true purpose of the news media. He also criticizes the rather larger-than-life debaucheries his American siblings partake in, such as that weed-fueled orgy at the model UN (yes, I understand, page 85), things that are also terribly exaggerated shortcomings of American culture, things that would be claimed by communists in mostly-fake anti-American propaganda videos which highlight the “amorality” of Americans.

Likewise, various activities (119) on the side of the Americans in the community essentially appreciate him and love him for what he did (saving his friends), and “diss” the country he came from, saying he was “… tossed out as human refuse by this retched country, but became a good person”, emphasizing the arrogance and superiority that Americans show to people from communist countries by showing their “sympathy”. This part specifically shows how people self-aggrandize by treating others as victims of another and self-gratify their need to help people who are ‘weaker’ than themselves, even if they don’t need help.

In the end, I believe Palahniuk exposes wrongdoings on both ends of the political spectrum, the totalitarian communists and the greedy capitalists and exaggerates them as to force them both to confront the fact that neither is superior; he forces both people who believe in capitalism and communism to face the wrongdoings and lies of their own respective viewpoints (capitalist demonization of communists, communist demonization of capitalists). He makes it known that there are mutual flaws in both systems, but this isn’t really about political systems. Palahniuk is making a compelling argument as to why we should discard our conflicts regarding our political views and why we should not exclude one another or hold opposing views on one another, for they will only lead to the undoing of progress and the unwarranted hatred of one another.

Though I have decided to abruptly change book genres as of late for reasons unknown, my latest book, ‘City of Bones’ by Cassandra Clare, was indisputably worth the looks I have gotten for the cover. Although I was seemingly the opposite of the book’s target audience, I must say that I enjoy every chapter of it. In particular, I enjoy how the author utilizes some naturally flowing humor that truly shows who the characters, a bunch of heroic, mystic demon-hunters, really are: teenagers. From the snarky, friendly jabs by some of the characters towards their friends, seeing the protagonist ask her friend as to ask another girl out, so “she can turn [him] down and the rest of [them] can go on with our lives while [he] fester[s] in miserable humiliation” (139), immature (and off-kilter) comments such as the protagonist claiming that a group “sounds creepy-like a fascist organization or something” (145) or perhaps the deuteragonist of Jace jokingly claiming that that a certain Latin language sign on a statue actually “means ‘Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234.” (179), devious thoughts like the protagonist “wondering what would happen if she dumped the contents of the pot on Isabelle’s head”, because she might steal the guy she’s interested in (137), and even references that delicately play the five-finger-filet between being hilarious and breaking the fourth wall (“it [vampire hunting] is like Dungeons and Dragons, but for real” (117)), the author beautifully portrays these shadowy, albeit civic-minded and stoic heroes as edgy and jive-happy teenagers in their interiors; the author does away with and simply discards that old trope of all heroes being invincible, noble knights and features heroes not too different from high schoolers like me and my friends, with their only strength being their strongly-forged friendship (which is kind of muddied by their roasts of one another). 

These unorthodox characters, coupled with vivid descriptions of the new world of demon-hunting the protagonist has found themselves in, such as the resident warlocks “in their thick cloaks the color of arterial blood” (125), with one being “…burly, thickset as a wrestler, with close-cropped reddish hair” (124), “…a spire of carved bone-[where] torches burned in long onyx holders along the sides of the square, and the air smelled of ashes and smoke” (182), with a carriage trip that went “unnoticed by the snarl of taxis, buses, and SUVs that choked the avenue” (one character tells the others to “enjoy that new-carriage smell”) (172) makes for an otherworldly adventure that exists far from, yet goes unnoticed by the real world’s eyes (from demon-hunters who look like teenagers to the mysterious forces keeping the world safe from behind the scenes); it’s fantastical yet seemingly believable, using its unorthodox characters and how many things are different than their humble appearances (the highly-advanced citadel of their operations is a very run-down church/school on the outside) as a lampshade for the very different world of sorcery and witchcraft.

By using these unassuming characters, knights in sheep’s clothing (and ironically, teenagers in knights’ clothing), the mysterious, yet seemingly idyllic past that the protagonist thought she had (which probably involved her mother being a magic-possessing person on either the right or bad side), and an immature (he has a moral-compass that categorizes everything into right or wrong, white or black) anti-villain who is “charming and deceptive” in both looks and personality, the author uses this fantasy world as a microcosm for how not everything in the real world can be judged by how it appears or the impressions they give, for there are intricate complexities that set things apart from one another. Not all things should be judged by their exteriors, and strangely, this was a book I was reluctant to pick due to the shirtless, tattooed man on the cover, with all the plot underpinnings of a generic fantasy book that was geared towards teenage girls from a decade before.

From the “heirloom-breaking, clumsy little harami (illegitimate child)” (4) that is Mariam, a little girl who has learned too early the fact that “like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman” (7), whose heart once “… pounded with excitement”(31), who later became married off to an abusive husband forcibly by her charming, deceiving father as a “… chance to erase, once and for all, the last trace of [his] scandalous mistake” (namely her birth, being illegitimate) to the story’s second point of view, a more-fortunate girl named Laila who formerly knew that “marriage can wait, education cannot” (114) in a time where women were equals to men, with friendships (and boyfriend things) uncomplicated “by the personal spites and grudges that infected the air at her own home”, until she met their family and was taken in as a second wife (131), Hosseini makes it particularly clear the difference in background in the two characters who share the same dark and bitter world; one who saw a better life with their father, only to be pitted into a life of misery and servitude who crosses paths with one who saw a future in a time of progress, all tumbling down to the power of the past, whether it be the oppression their society imposes on them in the form of their men’s behavior, fundamentalist terrorists undoing social progress, or the mistakes of past generations.

Hosseini introduces the “hardships” in his tale; he paints quite beautifully (yes, this is ironic, but seemingly true in my opinion) the gruesome barbarity of the world they reside in with a tone that encompasses all of its bitterness while not sounding like a nerd describing the Orwellian little details of a sci-fi show’s ‘crapsack world’ (this is an actual trope) with its authoritarian dictatorship; Hosseini captures the true essence of a world where a man can call a female baby “a warlord” (237) for being ‘too much’ of an annoyance (not really), “fires rage, and black palls of smoke mushroom over snow-clad buildings” (230), new wars rise from the peace-slain ashes of old ones, and all one can remember is the horror of seeing “doctors huddled around the bed, calling for all this and that, alarms bleeping” (?) around their loved one as tubes stick out of their body, now missing both legs, your family literally “blown to pieces” (179) and the disgusting social norm of being able to force one’s wife to swallow pebbles and “spit out pebbles, blood, and the fragments of two broken molars” (104) all because of some not-exactly up-to-par (I highly doubt it’s bad) food.

By establishing a chorus in the background, singing of such a bitter world that has no mercy for those who differ or those who are denigrated, Hosseini excellently, albeit smoothly juxtaposes the horrors of the world with what can only be described as valiant courage paired with a friendship forged by fire, with a baby emerging as “… the first true connection in [their] li[ves] of false, failed connections” (252) and “twin poisonous flowers (of pessimism and bitter experiences)… uprooted them and ditched before they took hold” (256) from the mutual friendship of the two protagonists and the latter one’s baby; Hosseini has weaved a true, bittersweet tale wherein the flowers within the cracks of senseless violence and cultural sexism have found new lives in each other, flourishing in these times of hardship. This story is not only a testament to the aforementioned truth, but it is also a testament to how the most bittersweet of stories are indeed the sweetest of all; saccharine tales of smiling clowns and dandelions everywhere are nothing without a tinge of bitter things and a slight, sweet aftertaste that slowly overpowers it. Now, I can only predict that the world for them will get worse, but their lives will only get better as they learn to find the good in everything no matter how insignificant and within one another as a man in prison learns to see a rat as a beloved pet, a breathing, living animal being the most cherished thing to exist within their closed, rough world.

‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak, if what I have read with my two eyes was not a lie, is a book not chiefly characterized by the things that frighten us and lead us directly out of suffering by the hands of inhuman monsters, but rather the very forces, the very things, that bind us together even under the watchful eyes of oppression and the things we can do, insignificant things, we can do to combat its institution. Told from the very eyes of death itself, a surprisingly very loving, respectful, and very reflective guide for those who have lost their lives, whether it was the innocents sent out to war or those executed by the hands of the evil that a regime, merely an organized group of humans and not much else, and a foolish ideology can impose on others, all that should be known is revealed; there could not be a better narrator than the one who knows, or perhaps will know and meet everyone personally. 

The freedom and innocence of childhood, whether it’s the neighborhood kids and the protagonist herself enjoying a ragtag game of soccer with a probably-stolen ball and goals set with trashcans (their chief worry being the sight of the ball getting crushed by a stray car in the street), playing in the snow, getting into various different stages of trouble, forming friendships, or perhaps getting into schoolyard fights, is set against the unusual, alien backdrop of a genocidal, oppressive society that is Nazi Germany, which does not warrant additional explanation as to why it is such, in this book; everyone unquestioningly salutes Hitler as a greeting, innocent people get sent off to war only to die, death ends up shepherding the tormented souls of those slain by what is just an ideology, everyone is taught that their race is superior, unless you belong to the undesirables, of course, yet the kids should just remain kids. No. Even the protagonist dreams of “… listening contentedly to the torrent of words spilling from [Hitler’s] mouth” and the “… perfect square of his mustache” (20), the protagonist’s best friend is an upstanding member of the Hitler Youth, and her adoptive father, the friendliest man she had ever known, is willing (but in actuality unwilling) to become a member of the Party; from this, the author clearly juxtaposes the universal innocence and bliss of childhood with the atrocities happening just next door to them (which they are aware of) and by doing so, he not only establishes such oppression as a cancerous force that is capable of corrupting the very foundation and empathy of a society, even its children, but he also demonstrates that such innocence, open-mindedness, and the power of friendship can easily exist under the sterile dirt of such hate, prepared to usurp it at any given time 

Friendship, likely one of the strongest poisons such mindless hatred can succumb to, exists everywhere. From the kind embraces of the Hubermann family, consisting of a Jew-tolerant (yet wannabe Nazi Party member) house-painter who plays the accordion and teaches the protagonist how to read and a foul-mouthed, yet soft-interiored adoptive mother, who not only adopt the protagonist but even help hide a Jewish man, all the way to the kid that befriends her in spite of the fact she does not fit it, the bonds of friendship grow as wide as the roots of a great tree and as tight as nooses for such human hatred. Every subtle little exchange between the characters, whether it be building a snowman for the persecuted man hiding in their basement, sharing stories with one another, and giving everything for the well-being of another person, simply warms one’s heart to discover. From the quick, smart trick the protagonist plays on the Nazi officer to save her parents time to hide the Jewish man from the basement (namely, distracting him by intentionally getting injured in a soccer game), the undying support the protagonist’s friend shows her, the gifts and care that she tries to give to the man in the basement in his times of sickness, the respect the protagonist’s friend pays to the athlete Jesse Owens for his defiance and bravery, and even the loaf of bread that her father gives to a condemned, Dachau-bound Jew in the streets despite the sheer hate he knows he will receive (and receives), friendship and love are truly strong forces that exist everywhere, no matter any and all attempts to crush it; the forces that stick people together can overpower the forces of blind hate and dictatorial control. 

But along with love, comes with a broader category of insubordination: rebellion. To the drinking of alcohol by the protagonist, the anti-establishment stealing of food, and he act of stealing interesting books, undeterred by the regime’s opinions of Jewish authors as well as being unwilling to stimulate the economy, the lifeblood of a regime so intent on blaming and killing a group of people, the protagonist makes it clear to break rules and not submit to everything the government says; she merely wishes to savor life while not harming others. As well, throughout the book, Max, the well-respected Jewish man hiding in the family basement, is referred to by the narrator as “the Jewish rat…” (215) neither the narrator nor the family thinks this way about him, but rather, he is describing what the regime would rather them see him as and contrasting it with their help and affection towards him, clearly defining a pattern of noncompliance by the main characters. By having the characters be rebellious, the author makes a statement that people cannot be stopped from doing what they think is right and what they think is best for them, no matter how pervasive, common, and heavy-handed your control of them is (although the stealing part is morally questionable) 

By describing how a few of the characters would enjoy playing with dominoes as to “…watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse – they would all smile at the beauty of destruction” (408), the author also seems to make it clear that in human nature, people enjoy witnessing painstakingly-made things (generally things they don’t like) get destroyed; he uses it as a microcosm for how they wish to see the Nazi regime collapse as well as foreshadowing what might happen to it; with all the inner will, interpersonal love, and the rebellion of human nature, it is too hard to ignore what will inevitably happen to Nazi Germany within the book; it will likely get taken over from inside out the same way it took over the people from the outside in. The author makes it clear that with all three of these catalysts, a regime founded on hate is merely a castle built on sand, being pushed asunder by the very people who oppose it. 

Plot summary here, but when the protagonist arrives to this basketball camp, he doesn’t particularly enjoy it; there’s a stern coach, a pair of bullies who don’t play by the rules in a sport that’s ironically littered with them, and there’s barely enough time for anything, but he forges friendships with another pupil who does not wish to be there who happens to be having a bad day; he mentors him, discourages the duo of bullies from talking to him, and essentially makes him change his tune about the camp as a whole, much to the amazement of his friends, who reply that he “… stick[s], even if it’s to someone you barely know”-“no, beyond word” (64), admiring his traits of staunch loyalty. Spoiler alert: he returns the favor when something important happens in the protagonist’s relationship. Though he does not have the skill to shine on the court, with a terrible win record, I predict he will likely succeed in his career for sports stardom; sports isn’t exactly a game of brutish, immature athletes, nor is it about personality cults, but in its core, it’s about cohesion, trust, and sheer loyalty, off-court traits that mean almost everything on the court; friendship forges it.

Despite his coach telling him that his coach who “put his worst fears into words”, he continues with his almost godlike amount of persistence, pushing himself to his physical extremes and quite callously telling his coach (inside his head, that is) to “… to figure out if this was the old [him] or the new one” (107). Despite suffering physical injuries, he is reluctant to go back home even though he’s down on his knees (almost literally) and pushes through everything against him in his way to the top. Not only is he friendly and loyal, but he is stronger mentally than everyone else combined is physically strong. He gives everything his all off court and on court, even going back to heal a relationship that he himself destroyed; he takes charge and responsibility for everything he does whilst brushing off everything in the world that is against him. His dedication and persistence are likely the only things one will ever need to achieve their dreams, but few are gifted with such abilities as he is.

From these traits, traits you will find in many star athletes who are good-role models (there’s plenty who aren’t), it is obvious that only those who have the appropriate character, willpower, friendship, and loyalty have the chance to play their sport to the fullest and the best (sports involves lots of grit, persistence, and team chemistry to play right). This book shows fully and clearly that sports isn’t a game that can simply be won with physical might and also shows appropriately that it is not a movie-based fairytale; as in real life, sports depends on the relationships and inspiration done behind the scenes, which translate onto what happens on the court/field/stadium. This book is most definitely not an eloquently-written Victorian-era play that is virtually impossible to comprehend nor is it a picture book with happy-go-lucky themes and bright colors, but it is an appropriate, action-packed tale of personal traits, teamwork, and friendship that are truly universal and especially important for students with high aspirations, who can’t be bothered to pick out the weird and overly-subtle undertones of a story; it is exactly what we need: a solid, inspirational story of high relevance to everyone who wishes to achieve something great in their lifetime.

So, beyond the immersive, fantasy land of the Middle East with references to other exotic places (India and Greece come to mind quick) that I couldn’t help wanting to be in (although I would miss my modern day amenities), a tale laden with danger and misunderstandings, illustrious descriptions of fine scimitars and crossbows and those who wield them, and somewhat lovely (further adding to my love with the book) but annoyingly hunger-inducing descriptions of “basmati rice and rose water” that illustrate the world the protagonist lives in (OK, time to return to my point) is the potent, albeit sunny-yet-saddening storyline of the sheer power of love above all-consuming grief. As I read through this adventure, I could not help but notice the gravity that both forces have on all the characters in this story not-so-subtly regarding such matters, with the protagonist, initially blind with revenge and bloodlust for the Caliph over someone dear to her who he executed, who is later consumed with pure love in her quest to infiltrate the Caliph’s heart and succeed in her mission, with the Caliph, Khalid, also seemingly getting over his grief of a bitter childhood, his old wife who killed herself after he failed to acknowledge her sorrows, and the women he had killed to save himself and his entire city from the curse placed by her embittered, grief-and-rage-filled lunatic father (which mandates he must have 100 brides killed), all from the love and the ability to start over again granted to him by their mutual, newfound love for one another; this is one beautiful story on how the seeds of grief and hatred alone can meet and vanquish themselves, creating love in the process, all while the protagonist’s engrieved father and equally-vexed father of one girl killed by him fall victim to and become consumed by grief, serving as tragic examples of what the power of hate borne from grief alone can do to a character. If this has told me anything, it is that although grief can be powerful, all-gripping, and negative, there will always be love and acceptance to write a new story over it.

Furthermore, this lovely book serves as one powerful message that things may not always be the things they seem to be; although this is a rather vague and common theme that many works such as books and movies utilize, this book does it in ways that can only be eclipsed by only the most venerable of literary classics. The story does mention an Arabian Nights-styled, yet surprisingly fictitious story where a thief meets a king he robbed, and both end up respecting one another through the sacrifices they made for another, a symbolic microcosm for how the two characters understand one another for who they truly are. Though the Caliph himself, a man who seemingly has women executed for his own pleasure, a “monster” by all who know him, is emotionally cold and seemingly bears no weakness, in reality, he has them executed more against his own will than theirs, pouring his heart out into elegant letters addressed to their families (but never sent), the most beautiful words grief could ever evoke from a person’s heart. The Caliph acts coldly to the protagonist, occasionally showing his disregard of her, yet tries to keep the protagonist secure from harm solely because he cares about her, but acts coldly and keeps secrets as an emotional shield for all the grief he experienced out of love for his old wife and his mother, finally unraveled by the protagonist’s love for him. 

With such a well-written love-plot (well, it’s not really a love story), powerful messages, as well as a healthy (but not excessive) dose of action, this has certainly been a new, but also more meaningful reading experience for me. With numerous elements, all perfectly balanced like all things should be, in such a beautiful (yet not utopian) world and strong-willed characters like the protagonist (who yet, is not a Mary Sue ripped from a fanfic, but rather a keen, emotional, and intelligent character who can say snarky things (page 159, anyone?), with a strong moral compass), this book is certainly worth more than the label of a “romance novel”, which I am averse to thanks to my sense of toxic masculinity (no, I’ve read and enjoyed many “emasculating” books). Though it certainly isn’t a pure action book nor is it a romance-oriented book found in the libraries of elderly singles (I am overjoyed that the vivid descriptions of the food and weapons weren’t accompanied with gratuitous descriptions of Khalid’s abs or whatever), it is a book that emphasizes the beauty and power of love rather than the romance aspect itself; labels can sure deceive. Oh, and that lesson of love doesn’t come in a singsongy way they taught it to you in Kindergarten, but in an unforgettable way by this saturated punch of excellent young adult fiction.

Although the protagonist of this story, an albino boy who is prone to the misgivings of others and hunted by an amoral animal who will do anything to make money off of him (I mean, he seeks to kill him and yes, sell his body parts for “medicine”) is constantly taunted and is made ashamed of his own identity, from the kids who mock him, calling him a “ghost” due to his color, he sees himself as “a lion, yellow all over” in spite of the world that rigs the odds of survival and normalcy against him. He seems to be a true, fierce survivor yet a kind soul, even going out of his own way to aid a sick man who he lives with; he also faces extreme danger at the hands of a persistent poacher and is fraught with fear as a result, but always tries his best to unshackle himself from fear’s grip to help not only others, but himself. It is not difficult to see that he is a vulnerable boy on the outside, juxtaposed with the vice-strong will he has inside; he possesses true heart only a lion could possess, with a will to live and survive and see the good in life while recognizing, yet not reacting to the ill elements he encounters in the slightest. Although many characters and people in real life who have seen the world against them up and close, such as the two female leads of ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ by Khaled Hosseini or perhaps the countless strong-minded individuals who have had their stories told through documentaries and interviews, Habo, the protagonist, surely seems to be a character with an impossibly invincible interior in the wake of such things.

Though it would be a blatant lie to say that the concept of self-identity is deeper than the Mariana Trench, the concept of the Habo’s sense of self is not well explored (likely due to his resilience; only he knows his fears), but it can surely be seen through his actions; he decides to overcome his fear of being in public and get justice for himself (by incriminating the man who tried to murder him, plot summary) just to be reunited with his family and comfort them. Though the world is most certainly against him, as stated repetitively a million times before, you can sure bet he’s more than lucky (it’s said that albinos are indeed lucky) to deal with it and brush it aside. I will say that my will is as weak as a house of cards when his strong, inspirational will is in the picture; I think the only real person I have read about who is even nearly as determined in the wake of hardships as him is about is Salva Dut a real person from a nonfiction novel, who was a Sudanese refugee and later became a man who created thousands of water wells in his country. Although characters of different mentalities and identities are everywhere, the journey of an albino boy ostracized for his existence, really, is a rare and refreshing reminder of how fortunate some can make themselves in the unluckiest of conditions.