Epic fail. And it makes me sad to say so, because from a technical standpoint, Singer's writing is rock-solid. The mechanics are all in place: impeccable grammar and the ability to craft interesting sentences results in smooth, readable prose.
Unfortunately there's more to writing good fiction than just having the mechanics down. There's a need for some level of nuance, subtlety, and subtext. Without those... Well, reading this book was like being whacked upside the head with the clue stick, brutally and often.
The author wants the reader to understand that Jake is ATTRACTED to Kurt. Whack! That Jake LUSTS after him. Whack! That Jake can think of almost nothing BUT him. Whack! The result is that Jake's level of obsession with Kurt is ridiculously over-the-top. He doesn't come across as enamored or lovesick, but as pervy — and eventually downright creepy. By the time he's masturbating while secretly watching Kurt in the woods, there's a real stalker vibe going — like maybe Jake's a serial killer-in-training.
Well, at least that would have been an interesting direction for the story to go. Way more interesting than what we get, which includes a long day where the drama is focused on the fact that Jake has no clean underwear. NO CLEAN UNDERWEAR. Oh, the horror! THE HORROR! There's lots of page space devoted to this crisis.
Conflating drama out of nothingness is what this book is about. Faux drama, faux conflict, faux angst. Along the lines of: oh my god I just had my first-ever sexual experience so I need us to talk about our feelings but oh no we can't talk because there are people around us but we MUST TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS or I can't stand it but uh-oh now there's a forest fire which is trivial in comparison and its only significance is that now we CAN'T talk about our feelings and oh god I'm sure he hates me although there's no reason why he would I just made that up in order to feel all angsty and shit and now I need to run away from him but oh no maybe he'll run away from ME instead and if only we could TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS because that's what 22-year old guys like me CRAVE after having sex is to TALK ABOUT OUR FEEEEEELINGS and without that I am suffering oh look at me suffer —
There's no nuance anywhere. How do we know who the bad guys are? Because they're BAD. How bad are they? Why, they're so bad that even their manners are bad! You can identify the bad guys because they're so rude, the dastardly creatures. And those townie girls who are crushing on Kurt? They aren't merely flirtatious young women — no, they're aggressive and relentless eyelash-batting predators pushing themselves into men's personal space while staring at their crotches and insistently demanding to visit the men's cabins. And all this while on the job as a cashier at the grocery store. A scary place, that grocery store.
Okay, enough with the ranting already. It's not like I haven't read bad fiction before. But there's something so disappointing about reading bad fiction written by someone who seems to have the tools to write good fiction! Is sensitivity to nuance and tone something an author can learn? If so, PD Singer has the potential to write something better — so, so much better — than this book.