Haven’s warm, clammy palms press hard against my cheeks as the tarnished edge of her silver skull ring leaves a smudge on my skin. And even though my eyes are covered and closed, I know that her dyed black hair is parted in the middle, her black vinyl corset is worn over a turtleneck (keeping in compliance with our school’s dress-code policy), her brand-new, floor sweeping, black satin skirt already has a hole near the hem where she caught it with the toe of her Doc Martens boots, and her eyes appear gold but that’s only because she’s wearing yellow contacts.
What to say about these sentences… apart from the fact that I dislike them already. Partly because all the adjectives make them sound like a high-schooler’s creative writing project, and the outfit descriptions remind me not-so-fondly of ‘My Immortal’. But really, this is like the first two sentences and already my gut’s telling me I’m in for a bad time.
Next, our main character (Ever Bloom) tells us that Haven’s father is not really away on a business trip like Haven thinks he is, her mom and her mom’s personal trainer are at it like rabbits, and her brother broke her ‘Evanescence’ CD. How the hell did she know all that stuff?
But I don’t know any of this from spying or peeking or even being told. I know because I’m psychic.
I read the last sentence to the tune of ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’. I couldn’t help it.
Then Noël hits us with a killer line:
Touch is too revealing, too exhausting, so I try to avoid it at all costs.
Once Damen gets here, I’m calling bullshit on that one. The whole book will be rewritten because of Damen’s effect on Ever. Really, this is just sloppy writing. It’s almost like a Deus Ex Machina! Oh, the special Love Interest is here? Fuck everything I’ve written before this scene, now it’s just going to be pointless touching between Ever and Damen because as you know… they just have to touch each other. The relationship is built on physical contact and how hot Damen is, you just know it.
I reach inside the iPod pocket I’ve stitched into all of my hoodies, concealing those ubiquitous white cords from faculty view;
I’m not sure ubiquitous is supposed to be used like this. From the dictionary I’ve got on my Mac, it tells me that ubiquitous is basically another term for omnipresent. So her earbud cords are present everywhere at the same time, using a term characteristically used to refer to God? Methinks not. So that’s a mistake right there.
I just tell her I’ll see her at lunch and head toward class, making my way across campus and cringing when I sense these two guys sneaking up behind her, stepping on the hem of her skirt, and almost making her fall.
It may just be me, but did any of you sense an undercurrent of pity running through that sentence? I have a goth friend, oh she’s getting bullied, I better just act nice because there’s nothing much else I can do. Mind you, Ever doesn’t do shit to help the situation from what I just saw. I imagined her wrinkling her nose and hurrying off so people don’t think they’re actually friends. After all, who’d want to be friends with a goth? (/sarcasm)
I head toward my seat in the back, avoiding the purse Stacia Miller has purposely placed in my path, while ignoring her daily serenade of “Looo-ser” she croons under her breath.
The Scary Sue has been introduced good and early in this novel. Makes my job that much easier. By the way, Noël: you don’t need to beat us over the head with the dialogue of the minor antagonist. I’m not sure about kids in the U.S., but in all the schools I’ve been in only third graders announce their intentions to be mean to you like this.
I wasn’t always a freak. I used to be a normal teen. The kind who went to school dances, had celebrity crushes, and was so vain about my long blond hair I wouldn’t dream of scraping it back into a ponytail and hiding beneath a big hooded sweatshirt. I had a mom, a dad, a little sister named Riley, and a sweet yellow Lab named Buttercup. I lived in a nice house, in a good neighborhood, in Eugene, Oregon. I was popular, happy, and could hardly wait for junior year to begin since I’d just made varsity cheerleader.
Okay, let’s examine this. Popular, happy, cheerleader, nice house, family, cute dog. Everything seemed to be going right, I guess. But the line ‘I wasn’t always a freak’ kind of rubs me the wrong way. It just seems so… overdone. This scenario has been done before, so many times! Teenagers with special powers almost always think of themselves like this. Heck, I know a lot of teenager’s that think they’re freaks in real life (including me, sometimes). But there could be other ways of putting it, especially when you think that Noël could have been more subtle about it. Character interactions and all that. Show and not tell, and all that. But what do I know? I’m not a published author.
My life was complete, and the sky was the limit. And even though that last part is a total cliché, it’s also ironically true.
I hate this narrator. I really do. I really, really, really do. This book is a very good example of shitty first-person narration.
She then goes on to describe her near-death-experience-that-she-says-wasn’t-really-that-near.
It’s like, one moment my little sister Riley and I were sitting in the back of my dad’s SUV,
Why would you begin a sentence with ‘it’s like’?! Why the fuck would you do that? Is Ever, like, a Valley Girl? Is the rest of the book, like, going to be, like, written like this?
Wanting to wander through that vast fragrant field of pulsating trees and flowers that shivered, closing my eyes against the dazzling mist that reflected and glowed and made everything shimmer.
This narration is more purple than Barney the Dinosaur.
I panicked. I looked everywhere. Running this way and that, but it all looked the same- warm, white, glistening, shimmering, beautiful, stupid, eternal mist. And I fell to the ground, my skin pricked with cold, my whole body twitching, crying, screaming, cursing, begging, making promises I knew I could never ever keep.
I really hate this narrator. The last sentence doesn’t even make sense, it’s as if Noël just wrote it for the sake of writing random words! At least… you know what? Forget it. Moving on. I’ll see you in the next chapter, and bring some drinks if you want. I’m packing grape juice.