I wanted to like--no, love--this book. The subject matter--a 12-year-old surviving in a not-so-far-fretched dystopian--is exciting and potentially unnerving; much of the writing is tersely evocative and dryly humorous. But there's something self-indulgent about many of the writer's choices, from plotting to description to character development.
Take the title character, Zed. Tough, orphaned, living by her wits, Zed has numerous predecessors in literature (Pippi Longstocking, Dido Twite, and Deenie Gauthier, to name just three). But whereas those characters were all given a backstory to help explain in part what makes them tick, author McClung doesn't feel the need to do that with Zed. We have no idea how she ended up in the Bosch-like nightmare of a tower block that is her home, how she learned to read somewhat, why Luc (the evil genius-come-Danny Zuko of the building) is so avuncular toward her for most of the book, and how she became the scrounger that she is. We're expected to take McClung's word for all of this, which makes it tough to care too deeply about Zed.
McClung also seems to have decided that there was no need to describe visuals, though she's more generous when it comes to describing odors. Is there a reason we don't know what Zed or Luc look like?
Then there are the plot points and details that aren't true to even the fictional reality. Early on Zed is described as looking younger than 12, largely because she doesn't get three square meals a day. How, then, does she muster up the strength to take down bulky grown men hired as bodyguards/bruisers, let alone survive some brutal torture?
This book angered me in a way few books have--but not because of the subject matter. It angered me because McClung is clearly a talent writer with a fierce imagination, but lax editing (or a lack of an editor altogether) resulted in her strengths being obscured by ther weaknesses.