I'll say one thing for Phillip Pullman's The White Mercedes--it put to good use my training in 18th century melodrama, and how often can you say that?
For those who weren't enrolled in Professor Hynes' 2006 class on Restoration and Eighteenth-Century Drama (Tagline: "We'll learn quite enough about rakes and coquettes, boobies, cits and cuckolds to keep the most overheated imagination busy"), tragedies prior to the 18th century tended to follow the Shakespearean model: a high, noble figure is brought low by some fatal flaw, whether it's jealousy (Othello), indecision (Hamlet), or being kind of a jerk (all of them). The 18th century melodrama focused on more middle or low class roles, and their fatal flaws were less something inherent to them and more a result of societal pressure--there was still a moral lesson, of sorts, but the real goal was to engage the audience emotionally, which is why they were frequently called "sentimental plays." In my long-ago English course, we looked at The Conscious Lovers (1722) and The London Merchant (1731).
My thesis for this review, as you may guess, is that The White Mercedes is a sentimental novel, written in terms that would have been familiar in an 18th c milieu, but with all the angst and excess that 80s and 90s YA revelled in. The plot: 17 year old Chris feels estranged from his divorced parents, and generally at odds with himself when he rescues and falls in love with Jenny, a girl from slightly lower circumstances who's now living on the streets. The star-crossed lovers' time together is cut short with a string of coincidences that would be more or less impossible in an always on, smartphone enabled world. The question is whether the two can reconcile by more coincidence, or whether an entirely unrelated tragedy involving gangsters and stolen bank loot will tear them apart. ...Given the genre connections I've made, you can probably guess the outcome here.
Chris and Jenny are largely our lead characters. Chris seems largely a Holden Caulfield type. After his parents' recent divorce and re-partnering with other people, he seems largely at odds with himself; whatever sense he had of what a family should be is gone. He tries to put that faith back into his boss, Barry Springer, who seems to have the idyllic family Chris yearns for, but, well, don't
put your faith in the upper bourgeois, let's say. Jenny's story is considerably more tragic, to the point of exploitation--a background of sexual abuse is understating it. The only other two really relevant characters are Barry, the aforementioned boss with a seedy backside, and the crime boss owner of the titular white Mercedes, who is a thoroughly bad person, but also clearly driven out of remorse over his brothers' incarcerations.
There's a lot of pontification about the nature of people--what it means to be a good person, and how that goodness squares up with maturity, coming of age, and sex. This is all fairly typical YA fare, but either I haven't read much in this vein in a while (a distinct possibility--not like The Outsiders or the Contender are happy romps) or it goes a lot further than usual in terms of putting its characters through hell. I really can't recommend the book, just based on Jenny's experience; parts of it feel sadly contemporary with current affairs (I'm thinking of the way she, as a waitress, fends off her boss's advances, forced to do it with less than vocal rejection to keep her job). But while it doesn't quite go so far as to make her pain just a lesson for Chris, it's so unpleasant that I'm left feeling kind of disappointing.
Which, to bring it back, was largely how I felt about 18th c sentimental plays.