I think, I have two and a half things to say as the selfpublished, paranormal YA romance 'Remembrance' and its half-eaten (I actually swallowed only 15% and regurgitated them for quotes and evidence) and dejected state on my plate is concerned:
1) The moment my eyes met with his, the other students in the room blurred into the background. [...] A spark of electricity shot up my arm. Part of my dislike/boredom/urge to ridicule is probably at least partly not the book's fault. The author published it in 2011 riding the last waves of the post-Bella-and-Eddie-afterglow, without realising, that it takes more than one random insecure, normal or unconsciously special girl and one random hot, paranormal-secret-with-a-growl-or-a-smirk to have readers melt at your feet in ecstasy. And here I was, three years later, trying to enjoy the - unspectacular in the first place but rancid by now - exhibition of a recipe that to the unsuspecting aspiring novelist looked foolproofily yummy. Drew is not even of the usual inconsiderate sort. He acts aloof in front of the heroine's classmates - inspiring all sorts of female want and male territory markings - but encourages the heroine to value her talents more, to demand being treated well and to wake up that paranormal spark, remembrance, memory, power, whatever that is hidden within her and is connected to him by fate, of course. Well. Good for him.
2) He accelerated the car more. “Relax, Liz. I’s time you ?got over your little fear of speed.“ […] “You don’t trust my driving?” he asked, offended. “Come on, you know I wouldn’t risk wrecking the jeep.”
”Why didn’t you straighten your hair today?” he asked, unhappy with my decision to let it dry naturally. […] “I like it better straight,” he told me. “You look so young right now, you could pass as a freshman.”
Yes, a fine example of YA paranormal romance cannot really do without a jerk, it seems. So, I had to meet him in form of the heroine's supercatch of a boyfriend she is supposed to be immeasurably grateful to have. Naturally, he is her mom's best friend's son, an athlete, who always has to lunch with his team - his arm-candy quietly broadcasting his manliness at his side. He laughs about her mistakes in class with his mates, doesn't get her art and behaves altogether assholish most of the time, but he and Liz are prefect for each other - according to the Gospel of BFF Chelsea, who has set her eyes on mysterious Drew, by the way. I cannot exactly fathom why Jeremy is portrayed as the most egocentric, whiny, insensitive and stupidly dangerous specimen among his kind (fictional American teenaged male). I can only guess, but my guesses do not make me particularly happy: He has to be of the despicable, throw-out-as-fast-as-possible-sort so the impeccable, nice heroine will not be labeled an immoral cheater or a fickle heart, when she falls hard for her real dream boy and starts to meet him and flirt and laugh and dance with him behind her boyfriend's back (see prologue). Seeing Jeremy-the-Ultrajerk in all his sneer-faced glory shall make the readers moan 'Poor Lizzzzz' in sympathy instead of clucking their tongues in moral contemplation. It doesn't work. At last not as my own, strange mindset is concerned: To me Liz's enduring, anxious-to-please and afraid-to-draw-the-line character comes across as extremely weak, so doormattily pathetic that I felt like chucking my chocolate. No "Poorliz" from me. No, no. Especially since she without doubt listens to the wrong bestie:
2.5) “Her peasant skirt looked like it came out of the sixties, and she barely wore any make-up. She was a quiet girl – short, with mousy brown hair and a few freckles." Artsy Hannah Goldberg had been Liz's second best friend until she fell in love with the lunch-crowd-incompatible star of the drama group. But according to the narrator she disqualifies anyhow because she does not apply her talents on the freckled canvas fronting her head. And "Poorliz" has to suffer a second-best-friend-less state, because the stupid creature is unfortunately outfitted with the peasant skirt and the shortness the YA-character-cliché-guidelines for selfpublished of-the-rack ware dictate for girls of her category. Poor Hannah.
I confidently say: 'Remembrance' doesn't deserve a recommendation, although I never even got to learn why Liz can speak French fluently and knows the Regency period from firsthand experience. I know Liz, I know Jeremy and I get Drew. That's more than enough. Believe me.