Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Eleanor & Park vs. Why We Broke Up: Traveling Across the New and Improved Chick-Lit Spectrum
Eleanor and Park cannot stand each other when they first
meet. The lack of an immediate "spark" is what immediately set
this book apart from others in its genre. It is highly uncommon to come across a book in the "teen fiction" or "romance" sections where the characters take longer than a few
chapters to fall completely and totally in love. With Eleanor and Park, author
Rainbow Rowell forces readers to deal with a real love story – one that doesn’t
start right away.
Another interesting element about this book is its
characters. Neither of them, in all honesty, are likeable at first. Rowell
makes sure to give readers constant reminders of Eleanor’s unruly, red hair and
her weight (which, apparently, is above average and, therefore, makes her
unattractive). She “never looked nice” (Rowell, 165). She was an easy target
for bullies. And Park? He was one of the (very) few Asian students in his
school. He liked to wear eyeliner sometimes. He didn’t have many friends. So,
it’s hard to picture these two together, given how different they appear at
first – and it’s even more difficult to imagine them falling in love. At first,
it’s hard to like the images that come to mind. Most readers want to picture two
aesthetically pleasing and socially acceptable people to fall in love so they
can get the best possible picture in their heads. Eleanor and Park are not
poster teens for a quirky romance. Yet, somehow, they pull of one of the
greatest love stories of its time. Or, rather, Rowell does. Her voice as an
author could be, at times, compared to that of widely popular author John
Green:
“I just can’t believe that life would give us to each
other,’ he said, ‘and then take it back.’
‘I can,’ she said. ‘Life’s a bastard”(Rowell).
Perhaps it is the witty back-and-forth banter that makes the
story so enticing. Or maybe it’s the way readers learn to love a more realistic
love story with each turn of a page. The bottom line is that there is simply
something about this book that is highly unconventional in the most wonderful
way possible.
Min and Ed are opposites, like Park and Eleanor. But Ed is
your typical attractive jock, and Min is your typical average-looking, quirky,
borderline outcast. They fit more of the “typical” character prototypes for
chick-lit books. What makes Why We Broke
Up so different from other novels of its kind, however, also becomes
apparent right at the beginning.
Min and Ed have broken up before the book even starts (hence
the title). The entire book is a series of pictures of items that Min is
returning to Ed in a box, each with a story (be it one page or fifteen)
explaining why it contributed to the eventual downfall of the relationship.
Never does one see a love that has already met its demise. Sometimes novels
backtrack through the relationship, but never has it already ended by the first
page.
But why would I want
to read about their “love story” if it is so obviously going to end?
The answer lies in the way the story is written. Handler
(who, by the way, wrote the Series of
Unfortunate Events…who knew?!) took a stylistic approach seen only in a few
novels; one of these is Extremely Loud
and Incredibly Close, in which some chapters Safran Foer chooses to write
in run-on sentences, so as to show Oskar’s grandfather’s racing mind. For those
who haven’t read sentences with multiple purposeful comma splices, the
experience can be a little strange at first. But it quickly becomes somewhat
poetic:
“You flew your way through all those stone silent statues,
and if I could I'd thunk them all at your goddamn doorstep, as noisy as you
were quiet, as furious as we were giggly, as cold and scornful as I was
breathless and hot watching you cat burglar for evidence and come back
shrugging and empty-handed so we still didn't know, we still couldn't be sure,
not until everything was developed...But we never developed them”(Handler).
That’s what makes this book stand out. It forces readers to
enter Min’s frantic, post-heartbreak mind. And as messy as it is, it is somehow
beautiful. And, most importantly, it’s real. Many romantic/chick-lit novels
have the happy ending we hate to love – but this one doesn’t. Because the end
had already happened.
Rowell and Handler have taken major steps in transforming
the highly popular –and also highly criticized – chick-lit culture. Perhaps the
most important one, though, is the one that is shared between them: showcasing
reality. Reminding love-struck teenage girls (and the occasional boy) that love
does not always last, that not every story can have a happy ending, and that
people who don’t meet society’s skin-tight standards can indeed fall in love.
Yes, this is the most important thing: the reminder that we are human.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Blog post 9: Heroes and Villains
Over the past two weeks, I’ve read both Eleanor & Park and Why We
Broke Up, so I thought I’d discuss the heroes and villains concept within
both of them, since they’re so different (even though they’re both “romance”
novels).
In Eleanor & Park,
there are a few minor characters who give Eleanor a hard time, but the
villain who reigns supreme is her stepfather, Richie. He is abusive not only to
her, but to her mother and siblings. He is constantly at the bar and when he
does come home, Eleanor is sure to stay out of his way. We as readers know very
little about Richie, but we don’t need to: it is obvious that he’s wicked to
the core. Eleanor’s mother doesn’t
harbor the strength to escape her abusive relationship with Richie, so Eleanor
is forced to take care of herself and her siblings emotionally. Eleanor could
be considered a hero to her siblings because she’s there for them on nights
when Richie is especially abusive. However, she’s more of a “hero” to Park than
anyone else. And Park is a hero to her. Though they could not be more opposite
on the outside, they manage to connect and fall in love; this ultimately
changes them, making them dependent on each other emotionally because nobody
else around them treats them the way they should be. Eleanor and Park do not
possess powers, and they don’t physically do anything to save each other (minus
the time Park punches Steve for making fun of Eleanor), but they “save each
other.” As cheesy as that sounds, I think it’s actually really wonderful.
Having been outcasts their entire lives, it’s so nice to see them finding something
(or rather, someone) to believe in.
In the case of Why We
Broke Up, there aren’t really any heroes or villains. Min and Ed are the
main characters, and they’re already broken up before the book even starts. I
guess (spoiler alert!) you could call Ed the villain because he ends up
cheating on Min in the end, which obviously really hurts her. However, Ed doesn’t
possess any qualities of a typical villain – mostly because he isn’t wicked or
isolated or anything like that. He’s just a jock who got stuck between Min and
the life he was taught to live. But he still made an awful choice in the end-
and didn’t really apologize for it or seem to regret it – so let’s just call
him the villain. Min isn’t really a hero or a villain, in my opinion. Perhaps
she’s a hero to herself for telling him off via the letters that compose the
novel, but overall, she doesn’t save anyone or end up in any situations that
require resilience or bravery. Maybe she possesses heroic qualities. I’d like
to think she does. But we never really get a chance to see them. All we learn
is how much she loved Ed, and therefore, why she’s so completely and utterly
done with him (even if she so completely and utterly isn’t).
Both of these novels are realistic fiction/romance novels
that focus on polar opposites attracting. However, the “heroes and villains”
are different in both. In the case of love, though, you can probably often
argue that the lovers themselves are the heroes and villains. We see a strength
in both female characters (much more so in Eleanor), but the male characters
are very different (Park being much more likable due to his
not-being-an-awful-boyfriend-ness). One
novel comes to a crossroads at the end (as many love stories do), while the
other was over before the first page is even turned. Though the stories
themselves are different, the heroic and villainous qualities of people are
still seen in both.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Blog post 8: Truth in Memoir
I think that the line between fiction and nonfiction is
blurred. I feel like most memoirs aren’t 100 percent true in the sense that
every piece of dialogue is word for word. They’re still memoirs, though. The
amount of truth bent and the purpose behind bending it is what I believe
determines whether or not a story is to be considered fiction or nonfiction. In
the case of Frey, his truths were too far bent; there was too much distance
between what he said and what really occurred. That being said, it’s hard to
categorize his story because there are probably still plenty of truths to it.
This brings Shields’ opinion into the argument: should we so distinctly label
novels as fiction or nonfiction? I’m not sure. Books like Frey’s make me wonder
whether or not it’s necessary. Perhaps books like his, which are “mostly” true
but still bend major truths, could be labeled as nonfiction, but have an author’s
note at the beginning. That way, readers don’t feel betrayed/know what’s real
and what isn’t as they read. It’s just up to the author to decide how honest
they’ll be in their note.
Another problem: we’re too caught up in the labels of
stories. I understand what Shields says when he asks why it all matters; as
long as it’s a good story, why worry about the genre label? I really think
these labels should be used for general identification purposes, since people
want to know where to look for fiction vs. nonfiction as a whole. But
controversy over a few books that fall on “blurred line” is very unnecessary.
If it becomes too difficult to discern which category it falls into, make
another category. Call it miscellaneous, call it “both,” call it something,
anything, but don’t make it a bigger deal than it is. In the end, we all just want
a good story.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Blog post 6: Readicide
The more I think about it, the more I believe that Readicide
is real - at least to some degree. I know I'm not the only person who despises
Shakespeare and struggled to stay focused while reading The Crucible; more
often than not, I disliked the book or play I had to read for whatever English
class I was in. I understand why these works are taught; besides the fact that
they're "classics," a lot of them have themes that have been deemed
important. The problem with this is that there are plenty of works today that
contain the same themes, but can be more easily read. I wish I could be an
advocate for Hamlet or Macbeth, but the truth is, I couldn’t stand
them. I love the lessons that they teach and the underlying questions, but I
can also find these concepts in books that are written in modern day English.
Classic works should be taught in a way that students can understand them
today.
Unfortunately, we are
trying to too hard to preserve these works of literature. Classics are deemed
classics because they were extremely popular when they were released and for a
period of time thereafter. But many classics aren’t enjoyed by students today,
and that’s because they don’t think the same way students did decades ago. We
have to adapt to our time period. I think we should adopt the “50-50” method of
teaching half classics, half modern books. There are books that were written
last year that are just as important as those written fifty years ago. Students
may enjoy reading more if they feel they can relate to the characters more, or
if they can at least understand the text. Just because a book is modern doesn’t
mean it can’t be analyzed. Critical thinking skills can be built while reading Perks or The Fault in Our Stars. Eventually, even those books will be
considered classics…so why not start teaching them now? We’ve changed the way
we look at and teach other subjects, and English is long overdue for a
makeover.
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