I know I said I never wanted to see Jacqueline Wilson's books again after the mess that was Picture Imperfect - but while searching forums and threads to validate that rage, I found people discussing her oft-forgotten YA novels from the 80s and 90s. I couldn't resist.
This is far more bearable than any recent Wilson. I think the third-person narration helps, because every internal monologue in her modern works sounds identical. Tina isn't the away-with-the-faries, obsessed with art and classic literature, talks like it's painfully obvious she's written by an elderly woman, protagonist that we've come to expect from a Jacqueline Wilson book. She's the peak of the "girl obsessed with a boy who treats her like dirt" trope.
You're not really meant to like anyone in this book except Tina and her sisters Jan and Louise. Tina is a victim to a seventeen year old boy while she is only fifteen. You feel dreadfully sorry for her, sympathising with her naïve adolescent delusions about love while wanting to shake her to make her stand up for herself. The book begins with Tina attempting suicide after this boy, Simon, dumps her, and suicide is one of my favourite themes in fiction, as harrowing as it can be.
Simon and his best friend Adam are insufferable, objectifying the poor young Tina and mocking her. The third person narrative could have distinguished a bit clearer from Tina's love-blindness, that Simon was truly an absolute pig, especially comparing her petite body to his eleven year old little sister, just after he and Tina have had sex. He literally calls her a little kid. Which she is. She's fifteen. Leave her alone.
I wish Tina's trauma had been explored further, and certainly its effect on how quickly she got attached to Simon. Her twin brother Tim died when they were seven, Tina is haunted by the experience but her mum refuses to acknowledge it. Tina likes comparing her seventeen year old boyfriend to her deceased seven year old brother, saying that's what he may look like now. That's unhealthy, and yes unhealthiness is what Wilson likes to portray, and (in most cases) not glamorised, but I wish it had been unpacked more!
Of course, a book published in the early 90s, I should have anticipated the constant AIDS references in poor taste. It's the only sexually transmitted risk that's every talked of, it's the illness brought up in flippant remarks.
Thankfully I only counted about two dreaded ever so's, for once the main character didn't have the pretentious old fashioned speech and it was her boyfriend using big words and making references (like to Emily Brontë's poetry!) that she doesn't understand, that was refreshing, but only off the heels of the horrors of Wilson's other works. Tina's dialect waned at times but it was a good effort.
Sex happens, is discussed, the word sex is used, but it's not described, no body parts are named, hell she can bring herself to say shit but not condom.
As usual the callous adult's attitudes to a young girl's despair and trauma enraged me, but that's true to life.
Reading Wilson's early stuff makes you realise she got too big for her boots. Yeah it's fun to look back on the outrageous boundaries her children's tales pushed, but the always either studious or boisterous, always good at art, all with the same imaginations, weird speech patterns, having childish interests they're ashamed of, making up pretend games, hates their body for being either too underdeveloped or too fat, it gets very repetitive. Ms Wilson lost originality some time ago.
The twist on the final page, if you can call it that because it's so ambiguous, was spoiled for me before reading. I don't think I'd have guessed it beforehand but I don't like the stereotype it conforms to.
I always wanted a first-person suicide attempt from Jacqueline Wilson. We both do love The Bell Jar. I won't tell you if Tina succeeds or survives, but I can tell you that no matter what happens, the story ends too abruptly afterwards.