Review: The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green

So many young adult romances these days are so serious and gloomy that it's refreshing when one comes along that is full of spirit and humor. And that's ironic in this case because the two main characters of The Fault in Our Stars have good reason to be gloomy. One has terminal cancer, and the other had his leg amputated in order to remove his cancer. Their early encounters with near-death has given Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters a jaded view on life, which shows in their witty humor. These kids aren't heroes or fighters, though that's what everyone calls them. They just happen to be dying from an anomaly of their bodies. Yet they learn how to enjoy the small things and to find love, which is important. This story, despite its subject matter, had me laughing for most of it. When it gets to the final stretch, when things grow predictably gloomy, I grew bored, but I can see the appeal to the many readers who have fallen in love with John Green's tale.

The story is told from the perspective of Hazel Grace, a sixteen year old girl who has lived past her life expectancy because of a miracle drug called Phalanxifor (which doesn't really exist). Her parents want her to be as happy as she can. So rather than mope about, she must attend support group meetings, where Patrick, the support group leader, talks about God and about how he (Patrick, not God) lost his testicles to survive cancer and how everything will be alright in the end. The kind of stuff that makes Hazel gag. Her only friend is Isaac, who is about to lose his eyes in order to (hopefully) defeat cancer, but one day a hot boy turns up named Augustus Waters. And the first thing Augustus does is stare at her. Stare and stare and stare, until she stares back. He asks her out, breaks past her defenses, and shows her V for Vendetta because she reminds him of Natalie Portman.

And so they continue to be friends, but definitely more than friends. They fall in love, but take awhile to admitting it. She doesn't want to hurt anybody because she knows she will die young. Augustus, or Gus, has already been hurt when his ex-girlfriend lost her battle to cancer (Hazel would hate to know I used that metaphor). Hazel eventually shares her favorite book, An Imperial Affliction, by Peter Van Houten (also made up), with Gus. This book becomes almost central to the conflict, as the two want to know how it ends. Van Houten, maddeningly, ended it too abruptly, and Hazel's one wish is to know how the characters' stories resolve.

The first two-thirds of this book are fantastic. Hazel is an intelligent, hilarious narrator, and the dialogues between her and Gus are full of energy and wit. Green has the courage to write teenage characters who are smart when so many other teenage characters in YA fiction try not to be so smart. The dialogue, I'll admit, is not entirely believable, but what matters is that the dialogue is lots of fun. It isn't aiming to be real. It's very much like Diablo Cody's Juno, another teenager who spoke with too much wit, but without which the movie wouldn't have been so fantastic. I laughed out loud a lot while reading this book, and it's not often a book allows me to do that.

But, of course, this is a book about cancer, and most any book about cancer has a part where you will cry. You will cry because the person with cancer dies, or you will cry because they overcome all odds and survive. Either way, there is that serious moment when things look bad, or when you just don't know what will happen, and that's no different for this book. The problem is, the book gets really dull. The last third loses much of its energy, inevitably, and while it never gets bad, Green does a lot of philosophical explaining, and none of it is particularly mind-blowing stuff. This last third of the book, more than the rest, is a meditation on life, on the fact that everyone is a part of this world for a brief amount of time, but some people are on it for an even briefer amount of time. The book grasps at an over-reaching philosophy on life's grand meaning, and ends up finding a new way to say something not all that new.

Not that I mean to bring a gloomy note to the end of my review. John Green is clearly a talented and very imaginative writer. What makes The Fault in Our Stars so enjoyable is that its sole mission is not to elevate these cancer kids to the status of heroes. The book's mission is to make them human, make them real, and make them into people you wouldn't mind having as a friend. These aren't gloomy kids seeking pity, or pitying themselves (not all the time, but everyone does that now and then). These are kids trying to enjoy life, to make it as normal as possible, which means getting frustrated with people who treat them like little saints. Despite its dances with death, The Fault in Our Stars has a rebellious joy for life, dancing in the face of the universe.

Review: The Green Mile, by Stephen King

Up front, The Green Mile feels like an unusual style for its author, Stephen King. It's a work of realism, not a work of horror, not a work of fantasy. Yet, the deeper you get into its story, the more you realize it still falls within King's whims. In this case, it's a work of magical realism. King's greatest invention is John Coffey, a simple-minded man with a supernatural power. He's a man who is much more complex and multi-faceted than he seems, and what he seems is a barely more talkative version of Hodor. That complexity isn't apparent until you climb deeper into the novel's depths, where there are plenty of surprises and shocks that more than make up for the slow climb. In some ways this is a silly novel, in other ways a marvelous, poignant tale, and in all ways it is quintessential Stephen King.

Paul Edgecombe is the main character of the story, the head prison guard at Cold Mountain Penitentiary, where those on death row wait until it is time to walk the Green Mile and meet "Old Sparky." Paul is writing this story from the vantage point of old age in a senior retirement home. He remembers fondly his friends Brutal, Dean, Harry, and the warden, Hal Moores. He remembers even more fondly his wife, Janice. There are also the prisoners whose executions he oversaw. But this cast of characters would not be complete without the Stephen King-esque villain of Percy Whitmore, a prison guard who only has this job because he has connections high up, and he is nasty in the more or less one-dimensional way a King villain is nasty.

John Coffey is the reason Paul has decided to write this "memoir" of what happened during those final months at Cold Mountain. Coffey is a giant of a black man, who always seems to have tears streaming down his eyes. He speaks and acts gently, though he looks as though he could tear somebody in half with ease. Coffey was sentenced to death for the murder of two small white girls, who he had in his arms when the police found him. He had them in his arms, crying, and repeating that he "couldn't help it." Absent DNA evidence, nothing could have proved him innocent of raping and killing those two girls. Yet, of course, we have the feeling he is innocent (I won't say whether he is or not, though most people know that answer by now). This sets up The Green Mile as a story similar, in small ways, to To Kill a Mockingbird, another story about a gentle, though large, black man accused of a crime he probably did not commit

Integral as he is, Coffey is sidetracked for much of the story. First there are two executions, one to let us know how the whole deal works, and another that has an impact on the main part of the story. This second is of a man named Delacroix, a Frenchman who killed several children. Yet this Frenchman is not portrayed as a vicious, vile man. He is a goofy, pitiful man who falls in love with a mouse, Mr. Jingles, and delights over the little tricks Mr. Jingles performs. Percy, from the start, hates Delacroix and attempts to kill the mouse. The prison guards, meanwhile, enjoy the company of Delacroix, but wish Percy was gone. Sometimes people on death row, no matter what they may have done, are more likable than those who supervise them.

Mr. Jingles is one example of the novel's silliness. Mr. Jingles is an important part of the story in the later bits, yet the attention the prison guards give him, the admiration they have for him, seems silly. Perhaps it's simply because life at Cold Mountain really is that dull. Also silly is the amount of detail King goes into describing Paul's apparently very painful urinary tract infection. We get detailed accounts of how Paul feels blazing pain when he pisses outside. Yet, I can't exactly fault King for these details. As unnecessary as the attention given to Mr. Jingles seems at the start, and unnecessary as the details of Paul's UTI feel when they happen, these things exist and happen for a reason in the book, and yes, it is necessary for Paul's UTI to be so painful. And that's part of the genius of the story, that it leaves no stones unturned and covers all of its bases.

This takes us to the magical realism aspect of the story: John Coffey. He is not just a normal man, as I said before, but a man with the power to heal. And we first see this when John heals Paul's UTI just as it is at its worst. But it's more than healing that Coffey does. He absorbs the evil right out of the illness and lets it die in the air. Illness in the novel is a form of evil. It transforms the wife of Warden Hal Moores, Melinda Moores, into a monster that spews venomous language in as mild a manner as possible. Melinda has a brain tumor, yet I doubt brain tumors really have the effect on most people that they do on Melinda. John's a savior to such people, yet his goodness is complicated in ways that the evils in the novel, such as Percy Whitmore and, later, Brad Dolan, are not complicated. That's King for you.

In the end the novel is gripping, entertaining, shocking, and touching. It's one of King's masterpieces because of its flaws. Being set at death row, its main character has plenty of time to meditate on death, and on life. These men, no matter what they did, are made human while on the walk of the green mile. This is when fear sets in, the fear that they will exist no more once they take their seat on Old Sparky. And with some of these men, it's sad to see them go, even though the reason they are there is because of some terrible crime committed. Or not committed. I'm not sure if King wrote this in a stance against capital punishment so much as it is a story about the joys, sorrows, and pains of life, and as a meditation on death. This story is just what it is - magical.

Review: The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde

When The Picture of Dorian Gray came out in 1890, it wasn't very well received by critics. By now, its story has become famous. The late 19th century probably wasn't ready for the obvious homoerotic content. It's a novel focused on male beauty written in a world more comfortable with female beauty. The beautiful Dorian Gray is the object of fascination by many in this novel, but especially by the two major side characters: Basil Hallward and Henry Watton. Both admire his beauty, though for different reasons. Basil is a painter and sees him as the perfect model. Henry sees him as a blank slate to be filled with his own philosophical ideas. It is the combination of the admiration of both of these men that turns Dorian Gray into the monster he becomes.

Basil Hallward, the painter, represents the artistic view of beauty. He wants to transform Dorian Gray's beautiful image into masterpieces of art. The only problem is his feelings for Dorian get in the way. He paints one portrait so well that he doesn't want to show it to the world. He confides to Henry that the painting had too much of himself in it. The world would know the painter had strong feelings for the subject, and to reveal these feelings would likely kill his career and reputation. Instead, he gives the portrait to Dorian to keep.

Lord Henry Watton, on the other hand, is a jovial pessimist. He takes great interest in Dorian as well, but because he sees Dorian as innocent and naive, a vessel to be filled with new ideas. Henry takes great joy in seeing those ideas change Dorian. Dorian, as we first meet him, seems little more than the empty shell, beautiful on the outside,that Henry imagines him. Until Henry suggests it, Dorian never considers the idea that beauty is not everlasting. It fades with time. Worst of all, it fades after a very brief amount of time. Dorian begins to wish that he could keep his beauty and that the painting Basil had drawn would age in his stead. Eventually, during a strange trip through a dark place, he gets his wish. Wilde never explains the magic behind this connection between Dorian and his painting, but he doesn't need to. Too many stories today make the mistake of wasting precious story time explaining how and why. It's a fantasy - that's all.


Society's obsession with beauty often blinds it to the flaws of the beautiful. That may be the point Wilde is making here. This isn't a mind-blowing idea, but Wilde's flairs of imagination are what make the story so exceptional. Dorian is idolized by his two closest friends. Henry in particular sees him as harmless. Others in society also obsess over him, but it's clear he has made some enemies. Not out of jealousy, not all of it, but because he has developed a corrupting influence. Acquaintances have killed themselves or had to drop out of higher society due to some scandal or other. No doubt many of Dorian's friends have grown addicted to drugs. Wilde describes much of this through rapid-fire exposition. One section of the novel goes on for a little too long, when Wilde describes all of the luxurious things Dorian has become obsessed over. Jewels and fashion, things of material beauty.

This is a novel with a wickedly fast pace due to Wilde's use of dialogue. His characters have quick wits, sometimes too quick, which helps the novel flow along at a brisk pace. When nobody is talking, we are usually in Dorian Gray's head, seeing his views change and watching him consider the consequences of his evil actions. The portrait does not shield him from his own soul, it turns out, and it's changes begin to make him fearful of himself. For a novel written over 120 years ago, this is very readable to modern audiences. It plays out much more like a play than a novel. Lord Henry's humorous wit is as much fun to read as seeing Dorian's evil ways spread. The novel's energy makes it feel fresh, so don't be so hesitant to dust off that old tome (or download the free Kindle version) and dig in. It makes for a very fun ride.

Review: Anna, by Meghan Riley

The biggest disappointment in reading Anna is that the story isn't quite what's advertised. The story, as suggested on the back cover, doesn't truly begin until the very end of the novel. There is a shadow man, yes, as the back cover titillatingly reveals, but he doesn't appear until 120 pages in, and even then it takes another 60 before Anna believes he is real. Really, what this novel is about is the life of a seemingly normal teenage girl named Anna who is only beginning to have somewhat weird things happen to her, but things that aren't so important as to make her forget about stuff like boys and the homecoming dance. And that's disappointing because this is a well-written book with better-developed characters than other, similar young adult novels, but its reluctance to get to the heart of its story will test the patience of its readers.

Anna is in her last year of high school at East Bank, and she can't wait to be done. Her father was killed in Afghanistan four years ago, and since then she has dropped substantially in popularity. She has only one friend, Heather. Her family is poor - they only have one cell phone for the entire house, and they have no internet and no computer. Anna's mom works as a waitress, and Anna herself works at a jewelry store. Her brother, Michael, locks himself in his bedroom playing video games and he also hangs out with kids who are into some shady activities. Anna often has to babysit him when her mom has to work, which limits her own social activities. Not that she minds. She is a good student who spends her time at home doing homework. She's very bright. In fact, her dream job involves astrophysics.

If you'll notice, that above plot summary does not involve any shadow persons. It also does not contain information about the story's main contents - a love triangle. Anna has a crush on the high school's star quarterback, Steve McCormick. Yet, of course, he has no idea she exists. That is, until she bumps into him one day and knocks his books all over the hallway. In helping him gather his things, Anna accidentally grabs the copy of Steve's physics midterm that is due the next day and only discovers this while at home. Having no access to the internet and, thus, no way to facebook him, Anna's only choice is to complete his assignment for him. When Anna tells this to Steve the next day, he becomes smitten with her, suddenly realizing the beauty behind the nerdy nobody. He asks if she will tutor him in physics and she ecstatically agrees.

Yet another boy appears. Anna joins an astronomy club through the East Bank Community College, where she meets Jared, a student from rival Milford. Jared, like Steve, is tall, handsome, athletic. Only, he plays lacrosse instead of football. He is instantly attracted to her, though she is too naive to notice. While Steve is a nice guy, perhaps a little too nice for a star quarterback (he doesn't even have an ego), Jared is also nice, but he has a little more personality. He's much more flirtatious, giving Anna the nickname of Copernicus due to her apparent astronomy genius. It seems the stuff of dreams (and cliche) that a nerdy girl with low self-esteem becomes the love interest of the two most popular boys of their respective high schools.

Now, I've given three paragraphs for plot details, when I generally stick with just one or two, and that's because there is a lot going on in this book. And I haven't even gotten to the shadow man parts. The problem is, this novel suffers a glut of plot. Anna has boy trouble. She also has a freckle formation on her arm that is shaped just like the constellation Pleiades. Her friend Heather is upset that her mom is remarrying and that Anna is being a selfish friend who won't listen to her problems. Michael is playing too many video games, and he's also getting into drugs and stealing. Anna's crush, Steve, is giving her mixed signals, and it's unclear whether he still has feelings for his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Jessica. Anna's mom is constantly under stress. Anna's arm becomes itchy and develops boils. Oh, and a shadow man visits her bedroom but her mom assures her it's just sleep paralysis.

Meghan Riley has a very pleasant, refined writing style. It helps make the book read smoothly despite all the details and plot points she throws the reader's way. There are moments that will make you chuckle, and many readers will likely fall in love with the romantic guessing game of "Who Will Anna End Up With?" I was enjoying this book immensely for a good chunk of it. But then I began to grow impatient. I began to flip to the back cover to remind myself what got me interested in reading it in the first place. This is a supernatural romance story that fails to utilize its own unique identity. In Twilight, Bella falls in love with the vampire Edward, thus making up the entirety of the plot. In The Hunger Games, Katniss is enlisted in a free-for-all death match that involves one boyfriend inside and one outside. In Divergent, Tris finds herself fighting an oppressive ruler while trying to sneak in a date with her own boyfriend. Anna, the novel and the heroine, is much smarter than all three of these, yet Riley fails to exploit her novel's unique identity. In the end, it's a story about Anna worrying about homecoming dance, about whether Steve really likes her or if she should go with Jared, and during those non-fantasy elements, it's just ordinary.

Anna is a heroine who I think is needed in the genre. She is smart. She is ambitious. The two guys she has a crush on are both very nice. She does not have a violent streak or any hints of masochism. Anna feels very real, much more fleshed out than the heroines I mentioned above. I like Anna. Not many young heroines seem to have much of an interest in being smart, yet Anna has a passion for astrophysics. She even talks passionately about facts and figures, the sort of things that would bore Bella or Katniss or Tris. Anna is a brilliant creation by Meghan Riley.

Yet in the end I have a tough time recommending this book. Those who enjoy such books as The Hunger Games and Divergent will have trouble enjoying this because of a lack of action. And while Steve and Jared make for nice romantic figures, the lack of a darkness within them also makes them less exciting. Finally, those intrigued by the premise will be sorely disappointed, as I was, when it takes Riley 350 pages to finally arrive at what was promised, but by then you will be too drained from having read Anna's ordinary life adventures. Things happen so quickly at the end that several questions arise that go unanswered, but I can't pose them without ruining what happens (and one of them is HUGE). I may or may not continue with the series, but my concern is that the sequel will follow the same formula as this - waiting until the end before it makes any meaningful advances in its story. I really hope Riley begins diving into her story proper before then.

*I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.*

Review: Allegiant, by Veronica Roth

Veronica Roth's Divergent Trilogy very slowly arrives at its inevitable, almost predictable, conclusion. The characters seem predestined to rush thoughtlessly into action, so quickly that not even the reader has the opportunity to think about what's right or wrong. These rash characters are convenient to Roth's plot because they forgo the need to develop the story's themes or its plot. But once you do stop to analyze these things, you realize there isn't a whole lot of depth. Everything that happens is just an excuse for more action.

There will be obvious spoilers following for those who have not read the first two books in the series: Divergent and Insurgent.

The not-so-shocking conclusion to Insurgent revealed that Tris and everyone in her city have been part of an experiment to breed and weed out the purest of people. Now that the faction system has been destroyed, the city, of course, finds itself divided again into further factions. There are those who wish to keep the faction system alive. Still others, led by Tobias' mother, Evelyn, would like to run the city without any factions. And a third group, the Allegiant, run by Tobias' father, Marcus, and the previous leader of Amity, Johana Reyes, want to go to the outside world and see what's waiting for them. Obviously Tris and Tobias and Christina and Uriah and the old gang join this last group. The story has grown stale inside the city.

Outside the city they enter a secluded world where a select few smart people run the city experiment. The person in charge is named David. He is crippled and moves around in a wheelchair, but his powers of intellect are superior. Tris and Tobias have difficulties fathoming a world that, reader, you and I take for granted. The name Chicago means nothing to them, but it is the city they have grown up in. Yet this isn't the same United States we know. War has ravaged society. In response, an odd response, people were placed in experimental cities in order to, I guess, create a class of genetically pure humans who can rule society without violence and injustice. These would be the Divergent, except in a confusing twist, not all Divergent are genetically pure. Tris is, but Tobias is not. For Tobias, this is a complete shock.

Roth's villainizing of the intellectual-based faction, Erudite, has led to some criticism of her being anti-intellectual. There are exceptions to this, as Cara, Will's sister, comes from Erudite, and she's one of the good guys. But Roth turns this anti-intellectualism into anti-science in Allegiant. Outside the city, people are seen as genetically pure (GP) or genetically damaged (GD). Those who are genetically pure are seen as superior beings who can do no wrong, while the genetically damaged can't help their poor decisions. We find the GD grouped into giant slums, apparently treated poorly. Tobias is labeled GD and the effect is an instant ego crush. He dives into a depression, even before we readers fully understand what this label means. I still don't entirely understand it, either, even though Roth tirelessly explains it.

This latest development in the trilogy just feels like too much. None of the major plot developments are developed very well, and the story just jumps from one oppressive environment that the characters must rebel against to the next. And they waste no time rebelling against the most recent one. Right away, Roth's heroes dislike the way society is run outside the city, and they quickly make rash decisions that have serious consequences. Thought is only given to the now, not to the future, and no attempt is made at discussion. Those in charge don't listen anyway. This seems to reflect a skepticism and cynicism about the workings of our own society. Once Tris and the gang rebel against one oppressive system, the next one is just as oppressive, if not more so. The position of Tris is to destroy rather than create. What solution does she have to make a better system? None. For her and her friends, nothing is better than something.

Allegiant is unique from the other stories in that it is no longer told just from the perspective of Tris. Tobias also has a perspective, and the story alternates between the two. Unfortunately this is less intriguing than it should be. Roth provides no real depth to character in order to differentiate the two. At times, while reading, I forgot whose perspective I was reading from. Tris and Tobias both have identical world views, and only slightly separate problems. The same is true of other characters. They have no real personality, just one-dimensional character traits that are hardly compelling. This causes Roth's George R. R. Martin-esque penchant for killing off characters to have less of an impact. When Lynn dies at the end of Insurgent I had a hard time remembering who she was. More characters die in the third book. Or, I should say, more names die.

Roth is a young writer, and hopefully that means she will grow and develop in her craft. I'm afraid that, too often, young writers who earn success early on have no incentive to improve. Why improve when people will buy your books as they are? Characters need to be more than just names - they need to become people. A story should have focus. What are the goals, what are the obstacles? When Roth turns this into rebellion after rebellion, the cost is a lack of development and a lack of coherence. The ending has apparently upset a lot of people. I won't reveal it, but when I read the points readers have made, I have to agree. On the other hand, I admire Roth for sticking to her guns and not giving in to what readers would want. Readers are not always right (though in this case they are). Allegiant, unfortunately, is the weakest part of what has turned into a mediocre trilogy.

Review: Insurgent, by Veronica Roth

I'm sure we've all seen the types of teenagers who make up the main characters of Veronica Roth's Divergent series: broody, troubled, angry, and egocentric. I'm sure we've all been one of those teenagers at some point. Roth does a good job of portraying that side of teenage life, the despairing side. But the act has begun to grow tiresome. Her main characters, Tris and Tobias, don't seem to have any other side to them, both easily provoked to violence. Still, I can't help but notice a psychological depth here that's not seen in other similar teenage dystopias. Throughout this second novel, Insurgent, Tris is not only fighting a brand new enemy, but she's fighting inner demons of guilt and post-traumatic stress. Yet again, like the first novel, I find elements pushing me away while other elements are simultaneously drawing me in.

For those who have not read the first novel, Divergent, what I have to say from now on will be a spoiler.

At the end of Divergent, the erudite leader, Jeanine Matthews, unleashed her secret weapon, an army of Dauntless warriors under the control of a simulation serum. This serum does not effect the Divergent, such as Tris and Tobias, for unknown reasons, and so a force of people are able to fight back. However, Tris is forced to kill her good friend Will, who would have otherwise killed her. The guilt of this act eats at her through the entire novel, and even trickles into the next one. She grows to the point that she can no longer effectively handle a weapon. This seems like a convenient plot device, but it's also a peek at the psychological trauma caused by war. Roth may not probe this with much depth, but at least it's something.

Tris escapes along with Tobias and Tobias' abusive father, Marcus. From this escape we get glimpses into the two factions largely overlooked in the first book: Amity and Candor. In Amity, there's a maddeningly slow political process where people slowly think out and discuss problems and then must decide unanimously. Their leader is Johana Reyes, who is a somewhat important character. Candor is similarly wimpy, led by the spineless Jack Kang. Tris and Tobias eventually get back together with old Dauntless friends, and Tris in particular has to face the uncomfortable position that she just killed the boyfriend of one of her closest friends, Christina.

Insurgent is not as good as Divergent. At least in Divergent there was some "guessing" as to who Tris would end up with. Now that Tris and Tobias have become a couple, that guessing is replaced by broody, controlling relationship problems. For instance, Tris has kept it secret from Tobias that she killed Will, because it was such a traumatizing experience. When she inevitably shares this, it's in front of other people. This angers Tobias because he feels they shouldn't keep secrets from one another. Tris of course points out the hypocrisy in this statement because he had kept plenty of secrets from her. This theme becomes an obsession over the course of the rest of the series (what I have read so far) - the theme of lies. But the question is whether a secret is truly a lie. Everyone has a need to keep a secret or two, and sometimes sharing a secret, even with your closest lover, is not wise. And demanding that your partner share their every secret is controlling and abusive. Not that every relationship in a novel should be the best relationship ever, but when the novel seems to portray this relationship as desirable rather than destructive, that's a problem.


I can't help but feel that, by the conclusion of this novel (and being nearly halfway through the third one), there is a sense of sameness, of repetition, and maybe Roth is trying to drive something home with this repetition, but if she is I don't like the direction she's going. There's a simplicity to the way the series views life, views conflict in the world, as though it can all be explained in a few sentences. Matters aren't deeply developed, and neither are characters. Nobody truly jumps out of the pages, and as more characters are introduced, I can't help but feel they differ very little from one another in their lack of introspection. They all seem to accept some simplistic view of society without question. That's true of everyone. Many characters rush headlong to face problems without consulting somebody else, and they end up making poor decisions. That seems true of this book as well, that perhaps with a little more consultation and thought, it could have turned into something much more.

Review: Divergent, by Veronica Roth

According to Wikipedia, "A dystopia...is a community or society that is in some important way undesirable or frightening." I only put that because I wonder whether Veronica Roth's Divergent belongs in the category of dystopia. Most of the people seem happy with the world they live in, and only a select few, the "divergent," have any reason to fear it - and even that doesn't become clear until late in the book. In 1984, on the other hand, all of the people live in fear that the Thought Police will arrest them just for appearing to be disloyal. In The Hunger Games, the people are in constant fear that every year they may be selected to duke it out in a kill-or-be-killed free-for-all survival game. Divergent may be a dystopia in that a majority of the people don't realize how limited their world is. It's much more similar to The Giver than The Hunger Games. While it lacks the maturity of the former, it is more thoughtful and probes more carefully into the psyche of its characters than the latter. That makes Divergent intriguing, even as it delves into character conflicts only its teenage audience base would find interesting.

The world of Divergent is broken up into five factions: Abnegation, Dauntless, Erudite, Amity, and Candor. These factions were created based on the the values people believe will create a peaceful, long-lasting society in their post-apocalyptic world. Abnegation represents selflessness, because only the selfish will go to war. Dauntless represents courage, because only the courageous will stand up to villainy. Erudite represents knowledge, because ignorance leads to war. Amity represents kindness, because a nice person has no desire to kill. And Candor represents honesty, because it is deceit that allows war to happen. Just like in The Giver, once people reach a certain age they are selected to choose which faction to join. The only difference is that the teenagers have a choice where to go. Everyone undergoes a simulation that helps determine which faction they are the best fit for, but this is more of a guide than anything. Most people will stay with the faction they are born into. But not everyone matches the personality and the likes or dislikes of their family, so they may choose differently.

This is where Beatrice Prior, a member of Abnegation, comes in. She dislikes the customs of the Abnegation, who are so selfless they aren't allowed to look at themselves in a mirror. The path of selflessness seems extreme, and Beatrice is often reminded of how selfish she is, though her thoughts and desires seem normal for a teenage girl. She's torn because she knows choosing another faction will be like an act of betrayal to the family she loves, but she doesn't think she will be happy as a member of Abnegation her entire life. Perhaps the simulation will help her decide. Except, it doesn't, and this is where the label of Divergent comes in. Her simulation test recommends her for three factions, when it is programmed to only recommend one. The woman who tests her tells her not to tell anybody else because it is dangerous to be Divergent. Why? Nobody will say or nobody knows, and the reasons become clearer only later on.

While I mention in the first paragraph that the novel probes into the psyche of its characters, it doesn't probe very deeply. Divergent falls into the unfortunate trap of young adult literature that is more focused on the physical than the mental. This is why Beatrice obviously chooses to join Dauntless, where she becomes Tris. Here, withstanding physical pain or facing death by jumping onto or off of moving trains equals courage. This is an unfortunately limited view of courage. Tris becomes that shy girl you knew in high school who became a wild child when she went off to college. She gets tattooed, seeks thrills such as jumping from tall buildings, and has the desire to beat the living daylights out of anyone she doesn't like. With its punch-first mentality, the novel hardly seems to set a good example for teens and it makes the story that much less interesting for adults.

Other notable characters include Caleb, Tris's brother; Four, one of the leaders of the Dauntless, and the love interest for Tris; Eric, the merciless leader of the Dauntless; and then some of Tris's friends from other factions who also choose to join Dauntless: Will, Christina, and Al. There are also her rivals, who include Peter and Lynn, as well as some others whose names I forget. Most of the characters have blank personalities, known simply for liking another character or just being a jerk. Only Tris and Four have more complexity. The romance between the two begins just like any other teenage romance, where the characters only tease one another with glimpses of their feelings. Tris doesn't understand why Four is so interested in her, though it's obvious to us readers. Her upbringing has made her unable to see any of her own qualities that might attract somebody to her. And Four is not the only one. Al shows interest in her, but Tris is not interested. At least she has the decency not to lead him on, however, unlike a certain Twilight heroine.

Al represents some of the story's misplaced values. Al is a faction transfer from Candor. He's a massive physical presence, but also very kind and sensitive. This sensitivity automatically removes him from any possibility of being seen as a romantic figure. He's just not dangerous enough. Tris can't like him because she sees him as a coward, yet there are several instances where Al does something extremely courageous. In one moment he defies the Dauntless leader when he helps a friend. Tris, however, judges him as a coward due to his approach to the fighting that is required for Dauntless initiates. After knocking out his friend, Will, Al decides he does not want to fight simply for the sake of hurting another person. So he bows out of each fight early. I see this as an act of courage rather than one of cowardice. It takes a lot of courage to defy the values of the society you are a part of when you have a moral stance against them. The novel seems to be sending the wrong signals to teenage readers.

Another place the novel misplaces its values is in its denunciation of the Erudite faction. The Abnegation and the Erudite are at odds because the Abnegation, as the selfless faction, have taken the position of leadership. Only they can be trusted to act in the best interests of the others. The Erudite believe leadership should be shared, which does make sense. Roth leaves no doubts, however, that the Erudite are villainous. Of those who are Tris's biggest rivals, most or all of them are from Erudite. Even Eric, the cruel Dauntless leader and Four's biggest rival, comes from Erudite originally. Not only is knowledge power, Roth seems to be suggesting, it is evil. Hopefully the young adults who read this have sharp enough critical thinking skills not to buy into this mentality, because ignorance truly does cause people to value the wrong things.

These things make it hard for me to recommend Divergent, though I know plenty of teenagers do enjoy it. It's a simplistic book; its characters make childish decisions, even the adults. And yet, I found it intriguing enough by the end that I still wanted to keep reading, and will probably read to the end. It's much better than The Hunger Games, though I know many people will disagree. The Hunger Games had very little interest in the politics of its world, and it removes the psychological element from its violence, making it much easier to stomach the fact that teenagers are being killed by each other for the sake of entertainment. Tris is a much more introspective and curious character than Katniss, whose dullness and stupidity in Catching Fire made me quit the series altogether. Divergent also isn't afraid of having an affectionate romance, one where characters actually profess their love, caress one another, and even discuss sex (but not engage in it). Divergent is much more visceral and engages in a more complex game of politics than The Hunger Games (not that I mean to say the game is all that complex, just more complex).

So do I recommend Divergent? Part of me says no, at least not if you expect complex, adult themes. It seems to embrace violence and make it exciting, but people do get hurt, badly, and even killed. Yet Tris is psychologically affected by the violence. And although a strong part of me debated whether to continue the series while I was about three-quarters of the way through, events at the end changed my mind and made me want to continue on. That part of me would recommend it. Expect to be surprised, but don't expect to be amazed.