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A review by krish_
Saving June by Hannah Harrington
2.0
And thus, the reason why I sometimes really hate first narrative. I am of the minority: Saving June has failed to awe me into an emotional chokehold, which seems to be the general denouement to the reading experience of many readers out there. This book, to its unfortunate luck, contains many reading pet peeves of mine. Sadly, there were so many things that bugged me about the way it was presented that I couldn't concentrate on the story itself. Although, to be completely and utterly truthful, I don't think it would've made much difference to how I am ultimately rating this now. (I say all this with much respect, much respect).
First off, the first person narrative and why I hate it: you can't get out of the character's head. You're stuck, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, etc. You have no defense against the onslaught of perpetual reflection. Harper said and explained, analyzed and hypothesized every degree of emotion that passed through her angsty, rock-solid but essentially vulnerable-in-a-strong-way, sixteen year old body. Everything. From her parents' divorce, to her antagonizing aunt Helen, to how she was always in June's shadow, to how far she and June have drifted apart, to how she hates June for killing herself but still misses her and loves her, to Laney and their yin-yang but somehow opposites attract kind of friendship, to Jake and all that jazz...I have a problem when a character talks too much. I keep saying this, but I love dialogue. And action. I don't want to just sit there and be told what a character is feeling. I don't need to know (and an author doesn't have to tell) everything a character is going through. It's too much. By "too much", I don't mean too much to read but I mean too much information that it takes away the reader's involvement.
And here is where I am contradicting myself. As obviously pointed out by reviews I've read, people were emotionally invested -- so what am I saying? I just mean, a reader is not merely a "reader". We don't just sit there and read and nod and believe. We participate. There are scenes we read (and visualize in our heads) and its like a searching game...we read and we recognize small gestures that hold so much truth about a person's inside, words that reveal rooted secrets despite their seemingly trivial and insignificant initial impact, and its those details that unveil our clouded minds and deliver to us epiphanies about the characters (I'm thinking Melina Marchetta...Jellicoe Road, specifically). We read between the lines, we cover the gray areas, we fill in the blanks. Its like catching someone doing something from the corner of your eye and you think, ha, gotcha! If we're told everything, all the work is done for us. I want to see their pain, not hear about it.
But enough with that. I've spent enough lines on one narrative complaint. Also, I'm sure none of you understood a single word.
Anyway, I have more to whine about. This is a case where the author is so pervasively in your face that I can't focus on the fiction anymore. Music to politics to first-time sex to feminism to organized religion to how parents are just as screwed up as their teenage kids. Oh, but not these youths...they hold intellectual debates over bonfires. I don't have a problem with that. Its nice to see young characters stand up for their beliefs, but its not the characters, though, is it? Its Hannah Harrington. She has so much to say about everything that she's given up a section of her brain, each targeting a different field, to each one of her characters. In this case, write an essay. Or just a rant and post it on a blog. You don't have to write an entire YA novel and get it published for the masses -- what a hassle.
The music. The incessant barrage of name/song dropping was making me choke on air. The discussion on the spiritual death of punk, to the manufactured, over-processed, "fast food for the ears" products of major pop labels...yappi yappi yap. We get it, its hip to listen to old school and unenlightened to listen to Top 40. Just like how its original to be vintage and generic to shop at Forever 21. (Let me make it clear, I listen and adore much of the music mentioned in said book and I shop both at thrift stores and XXI). This is an obvious social commentary on the state of youth today, except that we've heard it all before and its exhausting.
I found everything Harrington was saying too judgmental, hasty and demeaning. How, for example, Aunt Helen turns to God because she has nothing else in her life. Harsh, much? If that's all she has to cling on to, then so be it. Don't turn them into caricatures. And I felt she did that with many of the characters: Aunt Helen, her parents, Laney...
This is all without even addressing that fact that Harper stole her sister's urn! Come on, child! Think! Her justification for her "road trip" was far too fickle for me to even consider buying. That was not for Harper to decide.
But here's the thing, sometimes Harrington says something blindingly pretentious, then does something to make me believe that she knows she's being pretentious and that, perhaps, this is actually a satire, or some higher work of fiction, not simply a teen book. But then she goes back to being pretentious and then I heave a sigh and roll me eyes...
I'm going to end it here. I don't want this to sound anymore of a "hatey" review than it already does. If anyone is left feeling offended, that was not my intent. I just had to...but maybe that's how Harrington felt, and since this review can be seen as a judgement on her, then I'm a hypocrite. So, really, who the fuck am I to say anything at all?
First off, the first person narrative and why I hate it: you can't get out of the character's head. You're stuck, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, etc. You have no defense against the onslaught of perpetual reflection. Harper said and explained, analyzed and hypothesized every degree of emotion that passed through her angsty, rock-solid but essentially vulnerable-in-a-strong-way, sixteen year old body. Everything. From her parents' divorce, to her antagonizing aunt Helen, to how she was always in June's shadow, to how far she and June have drifted apart, to how she hates June for killing herself but still misses her and loves her, to Laney and their yin-yang but somehow opposites attract kind of friendship, to Jake and all that jazz...I have a problem when a character talks too much. I keep saying this, but I love dialogue. And action. I don't want to just sit there and be told what a character is feeling. I don't need to know (and an author doesn't have to tell) everything a character is going through. It's too much. By "too much", I don't mean too much to read but I mean too much information that it takes away the reader's involvement.
And here is where I am contradicting myself. As obviously pointed out by reviews I've read, people were emotionally invested -- so what am I saying? I just mean, a reader is not merely a "reader". We don't just sit there and read and nod and believe. We participate. There are scenes we read (and visualize in our heads) and its like a searching game...we read and we recognize small gestures that hold so much truth about a person's inside, words that reveal rooted secrets despite their seemingly trivial and insignificant initial impact, and its those details that unveil our clouded minds and deliver to us epiphanies about the characters (I'm thinking Melina Marchetta...Jellicoe Road, specifically). We read between the lines, we cover the gray areas, we fill in the blanks. Its like catching someone doing something from the corner of your eye and you think, ha, gotcha! If we're told everything, all the work is done for us. I want to see their pain, not hear about it.
But enough with that. I've spent enough lines on one narrative complaint. Also, I'm sure none of you understood a single word.
Anyway, I have more to whine about. This is a case where the author is so pervasively in your face that I can't focus on the fiction anymore. Music to politics to first-time sex to feminism to organized religion to how parents are just as screwed up as their teenage kids. Oh, but not these youths...they hold intellectual debates over bonfires. I don't have a problem with that. Its nice to see young characters stand up for their beliefs, but its not the characters, though, is it? Its Hannah Harrington. She has so much to say about everything that she's given up a section of her brain, each targeting a different field, to each one of her characters. In this case, write an essay. Or just a rant and post it on a blog. You don't have to write an entire YA novel and get it published for the masses -- what a hassle.
The music. The incessant barrage of name/song dropping was making me choke on air. The discussion on the spiritual death of punk, to the manufactured, over-processed, "fast food for the ears" products of major pop labels...yappi yappi yap. We get it, its hip to listen to old school and unenlightened to listen to Top 40. Just like how its original to be vintage and generic to shop at Forever 21. (Let me make it clear, I listen and adore much of the music mentioned in said book and I shop both at thrift stores and XXI). This is an obvious social commentary on the state of youth today, except that we've heard it all before and its exhausting.
I found everything Harrington was saying too judgmental, hasty and demeaning. How, for example, Aunt Helen turns to God because she has nothing else in her life. Harsh, much? If that's all she has to cling on to, then so be it. Don't turn them into caricatures. And I felt she did that with many of the characters: Aunt Helen, her parents, Laney...
This is all without even addressing that fact that Harper stole her sister's urn! Come on, child! Think! Her justification for her "road trip" was far too fickle for me to even consider buying. That was not for Harper to decide.
But here's the thing, sometimes Harrington says something blindingly pretentious, then does something to make me believe that she knows she's being pretentious and that, perhaps, this is actually a satire, or some higher work of fiction, not simply a teen book. But then she goes back to being pretentious and then I heave a sigh and roll me eyes...
I'm going to end it here. I don't want this to sound anymore of a "hatey" review than it already does. If anyone is left feeling offended, that was not my intent. I just had to...but maybe that's how Harrington felt, and since this review can be seen as a judgement on her, then I'm a hypocrite. So, really, who the fuck am I to say anything at all?