At the time when I first read Mel (2001, when I was but a wee Mem) the romance between Mel and Mitch was the driving reason for my interest in this novel. She's a tough girl down on her luck, battered by life! He's a dashing rock star come to sweep her away! Boo, Keith, creepy-ass teacher prone to flirting with and banging underage girls.
As I reread Mel a few months ago, having at last tracked down the author's name and the publisher (a valiant struggle worthy of this one digression), I was surprised to find myself both exasperated by and bored with the frequent romantic digressions and asides. Keith is revealed as a scumbag and something of a sexual predator to the audience from the very beginning, though Mel remains ignorant of this for nearly the entire book, a fact I find deeply annoying. Her relationship with Mitch has no impact whatsoever on anything else in the book. Mitch himself has no significant role outside of being the exciting, yet safe love interest. Keith at least has a bearing on the plot near the climax of the novel; Mitch exists solely to provide Mel with an abrupt, happily-ever-after ending.
This is hugely unfortunate, as without the sizeable romantic subplot to distract from the rest of the novel, Mel is really a very good book. Mel's decision to renovate her decrepit two-room house eventually spurs the entire community into action. In an area of town neglected by the local government, the citizens live in run-down and overcrowded tenements; the most basic expectations of reliable plumbing and regular trash collection remain unmet. Most of the people who live in the neighborhood will never have the opportunity to leave.
Mel herself begins the novel so focused on her own escape that she forgets her neighbors are as trapped as she is; she scorns those who would help her and struggles instead to do things on her own. It's only when she allows old friends and neighbors to lend a hand that she is able to accomplish the things she sets out to do. Similarly, the community can only obtain what it most desperately needs - attention from the local government - when it operates as a whole. The friendships Mel forms with a few girls her own age are particularly uplifting.
Mel's relationship with her mother is also striking. I admit that this might be for somewhat personal reasons: a number of the more evocative scenes describing her mother's depression and Mel's emotional response reminded me then (in 2001) and now of two awful years in 1999 and 2000 when my mother was first diagnosed with clinical depression. There's a certain overwhelming hopelessness that comes from seeing someone so well and truly loved sliding away from you, of recognizing the signs and finding there is nothing you can do to stop it anyway. Liz Berry very effectively captures this. (I will say my mother never beat me, for which I am quite grateful.)
Marian's reaction to the renovated house and Mel's reaction to her reaction toward the end remains my favorite scene in the book, for all that it reveals in both Mel and her mother and what it drives home with regards to their relationship.
As someone who has also seen the ways in which my mother has improved on antidepressants, I'm also profoundly grateful to Ms Berry for being one of the few writers I have encountered who has acknowledged and shown the assistance medication can provide to those who struggle with mental illness, and as someone who has not benefitted from medication as my mother has benefitted, I am grateful that she does not declare them a cure-all and that she shows how much additional work must be done.
There is one passage that made me cringe, when a shopkeeper (Mitch's grandfather and probably my favorite character in the entire novel, on account of how he's old and fiesty) soothes Mel's fears that she, too, will one day suffer a mental breakdown by telling her that depression isn't hereditary. Studies aside, it'd have to be some strange coincidence for me, my brother, my mother, my maternal grandmother and both my maternal aunts to all suffer from some degree of clinical depression.
Liz Berry's prose is strong, particularly when she settles into a groove near the third chapter, and her pacing is more than serviceable. Mel is a particularly quick read, propelled by Berry's rhythmic prose and a swift study of events as they occur.
Ultimately Mel is a strong novel about the ramifactions of loss, of the strength a community provides and the power of forgiveness, thought it is heavily weakened by the presence of a substantial B-plot which has little to no bearing on the A-plot. The ending is hugely dissatisfying and thought it does not detract from the hard-won victories that precede it, I will say that it is jarring and even frustrating for such an honest book to close in such a cheap, pat manner.