Three unlikely events happened in quick succession, and I'm not talking about the planes yet: that I got this book off library hold almost immediately; that I started reading it and didn't stop; and that I enjoyed it. So I feel responsible to try to contribute a useful review.
Don't let the plane crashes fool you: this is a Judy Blume book through and through. All the typical Judy preoccupations - or rather, all the typical preoccupations of the typical Judy adolescent and young adult protagonists - are present: many underwear-related conundrums, best friend spats, bad haircuts, good posture, dancing with boys, various and sundry bathing suit area questions/concerns, Deflowering 101, who do I confide in about this, should I tell or not tell my mother that, how much am I likely to disappoint my grandparents, etc. etc. etc. Truly, it was like reading, "Are You There God? It's Me, Elizabeth (New Jersey)."
Don't get me wrong: I think this is all a good thing! Judy Blume knows how to write a Judy Blume book, and that's what we want from her, right? In this sense, this is her magnum opus, the queen mother of all Judy Blume books, because it's Judy Blume on an epic, citywide scale: a portrait of 1950s Elizabeth, NJ, only in this version, Elizabeth is entirely populated by Judy Blume characters. And add into that mix the overarching question of the three planes, which provide an extra layer of anguishing, anxiety-provoking mystery - kind of like menstruation onset timing or breast development pace or other Blumesque worries, but to the zillionth power. And it makes perfect sense, because whether worrying about the mysteries of reproduction or whether the repeated plane crashes are being caused by Communists, Martians, or God, at the end of the day, the typical Blume heroine is really consumed by the existential question of when, how, and *whether* she will mature into adult womanhood - and, if so, how good of a job she will do at it when she gets there.
I see many reviews stating the book has too many characters, skips around too much, and you don't get to spend enough time with any of them to, you know, develop a healthy attachment. It's true the book sometimes seems to skip around in a manner emulating Dickensian serial installments - IF Dickens happened to actually be Judy Blume and was interested in Existential Quandaries and Puberty Questions of Elizabeth, New Jersey rather than, say, Prison Reform, Child Labor, or The Corruption of the Legal System, Schools, and Basically All Societal Institutions. I didn't have any problem with this skipping about or the character count, but I happened to be sick in bed for the day and so read the book in pretty much one sitting, which may have helped mitigate the issue. However, I also think the book is really more of a collective portrait of a specific time, place, and community in relationship with itself and with some very specific and inexplicable circumstances. To that end, I think the bird's eye view perspective works well, especially as the community members' relationships and connections to one another are largely driven or influenced by the impact (literally) of these giant silver "birds," as they are called at least once, that fly and fall over the skies of Elizabeth.
Another fascinating aspect of the book is Judy's apparently photographic memory and extremely detailed depiction of early 1950s daily life in Elizabeth. So many specific businesses and streets are described that you could practically draw a map. I kept envisioning those Family Circus cartoons with the little dashed lines showing where the kids ran around the neighborhood all day. That, or this retrospectively horrifying retro 50s board game we got from a garage sale in my childhood. That game was called Park and Shop, and that's exactly what you did in the game and a very large part of what the characters do in the book. (They also go to the dentist a HELL of a lot. He is practically the town mayor.) Anyway, these people shop like it's their job, and there is a specific store for every little thing. Fans of Mad Men will appreciate the book's depiction of the dawn of consumerism and advertising and thinking along the lines of: that bra/angora sweater/Birdseye frozen food/Cadillac/television/cigarette lighter/compact/pair of slingback heels will CHANGE MY LIFE FOREVER!! (There are so many brand names and store names mentioned in this book that it's practically a rap song, only one featuring exclusively material goods that are now way too bulky, large, and square.) Now, I'm not saying we're not still totally like this, but it's kind of freaky to see how we became this way, and geez, despite the fact it was all so much effort back then. Today we can practically buy things just by thinking about them, and then a drone drops it on the lawn.
But I digress. My point is that the book is a fascinating historical document, and not just because of the planes (though her research on those details is just impeccable as well). I was born in the 70s, so not that long after that time, and it's not like I'm unfamiliar with 50s culture, or so I thought, but damn - Judy offers such rich detail about daily life and ritual (a nice contrast to offset the monthly falling planes) that the 50s for the first time seemed extremely distant and foreign to me. I felt like I may as well have been reading about the Victorian Era.
And to bring this whole rant back to my original point about the book - this backdrop of capitalism and Progress and invention and control and creating All The Things to Solve All The Problems and Make Life Great and Convenient and Elegant is such a fabulous contrast to the fact that THREE DIFFERENT JETS CRASH ON THE SAME CITY THREE MONTHS IN A ROW!!!! If this isn't epic, then I don't know what is. And at a time without CNN or Google or widespread awareness of PTSD? And during war and McCarthyism and the space race? I don't know about you, but I would have gone Plum Nuts. It must have been like the infamous War of the Worlds broadcast, only Real.
Judy thus does a great job of helping us understand one of those challenges literature exists to illuminate: when we humans think we are flying sky high and then get the wax melted right off our wings. As literary history shows, humans and their literature tend to magnificently freak out when our science proves no match for nature or when it's revealed to be too powerful or not powerful enough. The fact that Judy can write a book that (like Frankenstein, or pretty much all Modernism) explores such a challenge - and yet still make that book appealing to readers of freaking Deenie, or Blubber - prove that Judy is forever awesome, and that she has some heatproof wings, at least in my book.