I had problems with this book, honestly. I know it was tackling a difficult subject. I know that I am not the one to be evaluating and judging the well-being of suicidal teens, and the protagonist of this book is literally a boy planning to commit suicide, and he wants to take some people with him.
Leonard’s confessional is all cynicism, antipathy, and naive self-centeredness, and right out of the gate his corrosive rationalizations for wanting to kill his classmate and himself are brashly laid out, daring the reader to catch a thrill with him as he sets out to complete his final day. There are enough small, heart-wrenching moments that attempt to humanize Leonard even as you’re aware of the horrible thing he intends to do, and so the book tries to cultivate empathy even as it pushes you away.
Maybe I wasn’t sufficiently empathetic, but there was just so much that rubbed me the wrong way, despite my best efforts to appreciate the weight of the story (and there is a lot; Leonard has been victimized in several ways that certainly explain, if not justify, his state of mind.) For instance, I get that, for the purposes of the story, Leonard Peacock was not the type of kid to be comfortable with girls and women. But I’ve said it before — as a female reader, all my life I’ve been handed the stories of men and young men and been told that many of these stories are the classics of literature, and that the points of view represented within have some kind of special merit. I’ve been tasked with empathizing with the male perspective way more than male readers are required to do the same in reverse during their formative years of reading. And now, as an adult woman? I can put my foot down. I can decide I’ve had enough. I’ve done enough empathizing with boys like Leonard Peacock, who is socially awkward and probably mentally ill and who also has a spectacularly creepy, entitled, immature view on women, both those who he would like to fuck (the virginal Lauren) and for whom he can barely contain his contempt (his mother, the whore, and I’m using “whore” in the feminist critique context, not calling her a whore myself.) It’s just… enough. Just because I understand that for this particular book, these unhealthy views on women are part of a larger portrayal of a young man who needs a lot of help and guidance, does not mean I have to be okay with the larger pattern of legions of fictional women being sacrificed on the altar of adolescent male redemption.
That short rant made me tired, just thinking about all of the times I’ve excused terrible male behavior in literature because “It’s realistic!” or “That’s just who he is as a character!” Authors don’t have to choose, over and over again, to demean women through the derisive eyes of their shitty, misogynistic characters. So I’ve had enough talking about this book, to which I have tried to give the benefit out of the doubt as much as possible, but now I’m taking my ball and going home.
I was in a YA book club a few years ago and we read this. I despised it and was pretty much the lone voice of dissent.
I am no longer in that book club.
I knew within 5 minutes of listening to the audiobook that I was going to have a lot of trouble with this kid’s POV, but I kept going out of, I guess, a sense of duty since the subject matter seemed so important? I was really stunned, when I finished it, that opinions on the book seem generally positive, because overall it seems incredibly cavalier and doesn’t go as far as it should toward condemning Leonard’s whole scheme. It spent far too long in retrospective, trying to humanize him by saying “Oh he’s bullied! Oh he was abused!” and while both of those are obviously horrible things no one should ever have to experience, it doesn’t justify the actions he wanted to take. And then very little time is given to the actual climax and aftermath, which just seems irresponsible to me. Without getting into spoilers, I was just incredibly put off by the whole thing.
I had to go back and read the review I wrote back in cbr4 because I knew I didn’t like it but couldn’t remember the specifics.
First of all, wtf is the deal with Matthew Quick? He also wrote the silver linings playbook, also about depression and attempted suicide. Is this therapeutic for him? Does he have issues he’s working through? Otherwise, he should just move on and try another topic.
Secondly, my review was mostly about my hatred for the character of Leonard’s mother and the way she was portrayed by Quick.
I guess I want to punch Quick in the face.
I want to applaud this rant and give it a thousand cheers. Especially this part “Authors don’t have to choose, over and over again, to demean women through the derisive eyes of their shitty, misogynistic characters.”
Or this ” Just because I understand that for this particular book, these unhealthy views on women are part of a larger portrayal of a young man who needs a lot of help and guidance, does not mean I have to be okay with the larger pattern of legions of fictional women being sacrificed on the altar of adolescent male redemption.”
It’s like you’re inhabiting my brain.
Well thank you. I’m sorry that you have to feel the same anger, but uggghhhh, sometimes these books really incite it, you know? This book is difficult enough with intention of murder-suicide, but to throw in the Nice Guy bullshit was what sent me over the edge. Haha, I’ll stop before I get into it again.
I think every reader who has even the slighest feminist leanings has those angry feelings at some point. It’s one of the reasons I’ve become really, really skeptical of male authors and tend not to trust them until they prove themselves