This book made me miss being an English student, and it also made me miss my youth, which is a little bit silly since in some ways I'm still in it, but most importantly this book also made me feel less alienated and invalidated for the circles of self-sabotaging, self-hating, and self-aggrandizing angst my mind tends to run in.
On the surface, FOSTER DADE is about kids at boarding school and the rise of an Adderall ring and how all of that plus teen hormones and teen cruelty in the landscape of BlackBerries and Facebook all comes to a devastating, tragic, in many ways inevitable end. And it is all of those things, but really, at its heart, it’s a story about youth and wanting to fit into the ecosystem you find yourself in, and wanting to be happy in general, and finding it frustratingly difficult to do either let alone both of those things, especially at fifteen. It's also about the pressures and pitfalls of expected masculinity, and of course, given the boarding school setting, about privilege and the politics of class even/especially amongst high schoolers. And it is beautifully and so honestly written. I loved every page, I am obsessed.
Objectively, this book is written with talent and verve and expertise and pain and thoughtfulness and honesty and a tremendous amount of feeling. Subjectively, I found it to hit finely in many ways, and personally, at moments I was not okay, in the way (perhaps masochistically as a reader) you want a book to affect you.
Part of what is so expert about this story’s craft is that it perfectly achieves that narrative goal that the things that happen should be unexpected and yet make perfect sense. And true to that aim, the way these characters act just always fits perfectly. Everything that occurs feels inevitable, and yet I wouldn’t call any of it predictable, not at least in a lame or disappointing or (certainly not) cheap sense.
The verbosity particularly towards the end is frustrating to get through because I got weary of the interruptions and breaks from the linear story. And I want to say that it’s a conscious expertness on the part of controlling the pace to stretch out the climax, but the equal truth is that it’s simply frustrating to experience, like when someone is telling you a story and you know the good part/the satisfaction is a sentence away, but they keep delaying that reveal, dangling the achievement of satisfaction, talking instead about inconsequential things like visual descriptions of the scene or the historical background to these events etc. etc. Just give it to us!!! You can tell us those asides in the denouement. Stop dancing around the neat unfolding of this story, stop delaying our full receipt. But I obviously must commend that more than I criticize it, because clearly it made me feel things as any good piece of writing should. So well done, Nash. Point taken.
I love the way even Annabeth, whom Foster once described and always seemed to view as perfect beyond flaw ("I'm uniquely good at finding faults in people, especially as I get to know them better, but she is perfect"), even/especially she is complicated through the end. And I love the painful and frustrating realism of how everything shakes down in the end, and how those with particular privilege weather the chaos versus others, without it, who don’t (and how even those of lesser but still present privilege who do get caught in the torrent find themselves, for the privilege they do have, washing up on comfortable shores all the same). I love a book like this that talks about privilege in ways that are not high and mighty, instead of those obvious shallow and predictable attempts that are annoyingly self-aware and conspicuously self-satisfied.
Upon finishing:
I nearly started crying reading the last paragraph of the closing author’s note aloud to my roommate hahaha
This book should have a trigger warning about themes of suicide (since it’s not explicitly written into the cover copy), but aside from that dare I say it is perfect. And even that flaw is one not of story but of packaging.
It is sweeping in feeling, like TOMORROW, AND TOMORROW, AND TOMORROW, but a little bit grungier. It is like a grown-up THE PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER that nods to A SEPARATE PEACE. It is like MEAN GIRLS expanded across genders and without the comedic tone that in the movie softens the torturous cruelty of it all.
And it hit me particularly hard personally because of how much I related to Foster, and how frighteningly similar our patterns of thinking can often be (and particularly were, for me, in high school and even early college, and sometimes even now when the late-night thoughts spiral still). And it’s haunting to watch his story play out and to realize how closely mine might have resembled it all had just a few (not insignificant, to be fair, but passive on our part) details of initializing circumstance been different.
This book feels real, and it feels painfully beautiful. I’ll close this entry with a quote (just one of many palpably beautiful lines; every sentence in these 500+ pages is gorgeously constructed) a quote from the final lines of the book, and the last lines of Foster’s famous final paper: “There are moments like this when I allow myself to see the beauty I’d always foreclosed to myself. Part of me thinks that my ability to see it when I do is inseparable from the pain that I feel, and when I think that, the pain suddenly isn’t so bad. The sun is going to come up in the morning. I really don’t like myself a lot of the time, but sometimes I look back over the words I’ve written on my blog and elsewhere and I kind of smile at my own bullshit. I’ll grow up, and then I will come back to them again. It’s fine. I will be fine. There is a spastic firelight in everything. The trick is knowing how to find it.”
:,) <33