David Patneaude's Blog: Different Worlds - Posts Tagged "david-patneaude-reviews"
Eleanor & Park--Not the Story, the Telling
As of today, more than six thousand readers have reviewed Eleanor & Park on Goodreads, so maybe we don't need another opinion, especially because it's not in the least dissenting. But what the heck, it'll keep me out of trouble for a while. And I need the practice.
When my novel Framed in Fire was published in 1999 (before some of you whippersnappers were even BORN), one of the people who reviewed it commented (unfavorably) on the fact that one of the characters was a bullying stepfather and another was a doormat wife. According to the reviewer, these were cliches that should have been avoided at all costs. The criticism stung a bit (obviously--I still remember it fourteen years later). I didn't see it that way, though. Abusive stepparents (and parents, and spouses, and people in general) are a fact of life. Because versions of them have appeared in stories in the past means they can never appear again? I don't think so. If that were the case, by now we'd pretty much have no stories to tell.
I read somewhere once that there are only thirty stories, and it's up to the writer to make them feel unique. Somewhere else I heard that there's really only one story: protagonist faces conflict; protagonist makes choices; protagonist gets in deeper trouble; protagonist gets out of trouble, one way or another.
My point is, I'm not going to criticize Rainbow Rowell for her evil/abusive/bullying/creepy stepfather, nor for her pushover/doormat mother/wife. Also not for the KID WHO KNOWS KARATE AND GETS TO USE IT WHEN IT MATTERS or the MISFIT KIDS WHO FIND EACH OTHER or the mean girls or the alternating points of view or the authentic teen language. These characters and storytelling devices have been used before, but SO WHAT? The author gives her characters lively engaging personalities. They're likeable. They have significant conflict in their lives and they're left to deal with most of it on their own. As readers, we pull for them. And there's a mystery component that we get to consider as we're tugged along, wondering how things are going to turn out. Because even though we've seen some (maybe all) of this stuff before, we haven't seen these particular characters before and we haven't seen this story unfold through their eyes. So to me it felt as fresh as a story can feel after thousands of years of storytelling and hundreds of years of novels.
If you're up for a solid, well-written, realistic YA tale, read Eleanor & Park. You won't be deja vu'd, bored, or disappointed.
When my novel Framed in Fire was published in 1999 (before some of you whippersnappers were even BORN), one of the people who reviewed it commented (unfavorably) on the fact that one of the characters was a bullying stepfather and another was a doormat wife. According to the reviewer, these were cliches that should have been avoided at all costs. The criticism stung a bit (obviously--I still remember it fourteen years later). I didn't see it that way, though. Abusive stepparents (and parents, and spouses, and people in general) are a fact of life. Because versions of them have appeared in stories in the past means they can never appear again? I don't think so. If that were the case, by now we'd pretty much have no stories to tell.
I read somewhere once that there are only thirty stories, and it's up to the writer to make them feel unique. Somewhere else I heard that there's really only one story: protagonist faces conflict; protagonist makes choices; protagonist gets in deeper trouble; protagonist gets out of trouble, one way or another.
My point is, I'm not going to criticize Rainbow Rowell for her evil/abusive/bullying/creepy stepfather, nor for her pushover/doormat mother/wife. Also not for the KID WHO KNOWS KARATE AND GETS TO USE IT WHEN IT MATTERS or the MISFIT KIDS WHO FIND EACH OTHER or the mean girls or the alternating points of view or the authentic teen language. These characters and storytelling devices have been used before, but SO WHAT? The author gives her characters lively engaging personalities. They're likeable. They have significant conflict in their lives and they're left to deal with most of it on their own. As readers, we pull for them. And there's a mystery component that we get to consider as we're tugged along, wondering how things are going to turn out. Because even though we've seen some (maybe all) of this stuff before, we haven't seen these particular characters before and we haven't seen this story unfold through their eyes. So to me it felt as fresh as a story can feel after thousands of years of storytelling and hundreds of years of novels.
If you're up for a solid, well-written, realistic YA tale, read Eleanor & Park. You won't be deja vu'd, bored, or disappointed.
The Writer's Curse
One curse of being a writer is the temptation to read other writers' stuff and analyze the hell out of it. Instead of simply enjoying a story, doing that old suspension-of-disbelief thing, you tend to look at its bones--the style, techniques, methods, theme. You isolate the pieces--context, characters, conflict, choices, changes. You look at the balancing act of show versus tell, the word choice, the figurative language, the point of view, the tense, the authenticity of dialogue. You note the amount of research that must've been involved.
But in a way all of that can be a blessing, too. Because when you read something really good, and it transports you into that suspension-of-disbelief zone despite your critical leanings, you KNOW it's good. And when you do peek below for a glimpse at the underpinnings of the story, you appreciate what the author has done, the work that's gone into it.
DIRT BIKES, DRONES, AND OTHER WAYS TO FLY is one of those books. Conrad Wesselhoeft doesn't live in rural New Mexico. He isn't seventeen. He isn't trying to figure out seventeen-year-old girls. He doesn't converse regularly with seventeen-year-old friends or members of a national security team. He doesn't fly drones over Pakistan. He isn't a world champion gamer. He doesn't spend hours riding a dirt bike through the desert or jumping it from suicidal heights or diving from airplanes. He's not a kid dealing with the death of a parent and a sister's terminal illness and a shattered family.
But he makes you believe all these things. Which is the mark of a writer who's done the work and the homework. The research. The writing. The revising. He's done the teamwork thing--listening to critique, listening to your agent, listening to your editor.
I appreciated everything Conrad accomplished in DIRT BIKES. But more importantly, I ENJOYED it.
But in a way all of that can be a blessing, too. Because when you read something really good, and it transports you into that suspension-of-disbelief zone despite your critical leanings, you KNOW it's good. And when you do peek below for a glimpse at the underpinnings of the story, you appreciate what the author has done, the work that's gone into it.
DIRT BIKES, DRONES, AND OTHER WAYS TO FLY is one of those books. Conrad Wesselhoeft doesn't live in rural New Mexico. He isn't seventeen. He isn't trying to figure out seventeen-year-old girls. He doesn't converse regularly with seventeen-year-old friends or members of a national security team. He doesn't fly drones over Pakistan. He isn't a world champion gamer. He doesn't spend hours riding a dirt bike through the desert or jumping it from suicidal heights or diving from airplanes. He's not a kid dealing with the death of a parent and a sister's terminal illness and a shattered family.
But he makes you believe all these things. Which is the mark of a writer who's done the work and the homework. The research. The writing. The revising. He's done the teamwork thing--listening to critique, listening to your agent, listening to your editor.
I appreciated everything Conrad accomplished in DIRT BIKES. But more importantly, I ENJOYED it.
