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kirstenanderson 's review for:
Rumble Fish
by S.E. Hinton
rumble fish
5 ✨
’Tell Rusty-James that life does go on, if you'll let it.'
overview: I don’t know, maybe I read too much into Hinton’s novels… but I always feel like I have a different perspective of life after reading them. I feel flayed open and gutted, and then somehow all stitched up. This book made me cry. And not just a couple of wayward tears. I cried. This is a story of how suicide doesn’t always come by your own hand. This is a story of belonging, yet not. Of leaving, but coming back. Of forgetting, but not really. Of existing, but never living.
I am going to quote a review from a commenter named Sharon:
There's something about 'Rumble Fish' that makes me read it a few times every year. If you think this is a book just about gang fighting - you're wack. It's about wanting to be something you can't be, finally getting it and realizing that it wasn't what what you wanted. It's about being misunderstood and misinterpreted. It's about picking the wrong heroes.
It's about wanting to belong to anybody. It's about life turning into black and white.
She put it into words much better than I could.
characters: Rusty-James is a sad, thoughtful kid, and comes off as a bit of an introverted loner, yet strongly connected to people at the same time.
For a tough kid I had a bad habit of getting attached to people.
I made a list in my head of people I liked. I do that a lot. It makes me feel good to think of people I like — not so alone. I wondered if I loved anybody. Patty, for sure. The Motorcycle Boy. My father, sort of. Steve, sort of. Then I thought of people I thought I could really count on, and couldn't come up with anybody, but it wasn't as depressing as it sounds.
I tried to remember why I liked lots of people. "I wonder — how come?
Maybe because I don't like bein' by myself. I mean, man, I can't stand it. Makes me feel tight, like I'm bein' choked all over.”
“I couldn’t hear my own voice. I tried screaming and I still couldn’t hear it. I was that alone. I was in a glass bubble and everyone else was outside it and I’d be alone like that for the rest of my life.”
I waved back. I wasn't going to see him. I wasn't going to meet him for dinner, or anything else. I figured if I didn't see him, I'd start forgetting again. But it's been taking me longer than I thought it would.
As much as he deeply concerned and even scared me, I was captivated by Motorcycle Boy’s character. He was heartbreaking, addicting, and so lost.
”Sometimes," said the Motorcycle Boy, surprising me since he didn't usually start conversations, "it seems to me like I can remember colors, way back when I was a little kid. That was a long time ago. I stopped bein' a little kid when I was five."
"California," he said, "is like a beautiful wild kid on heroin, high as a kite and thinking she's on top of the world, not knowing she's dying, not believing it even if you show her the marks.”
For some reason or other the Motorcycle Boy was alone, more alone than I would ever be, than I could even imagine being. He was living in a glass bubble and watching the world from it. It was almost like being alone, hearing him, and I tried to shake off the feeling.
"Well, remember," said the Motorcycle Boy, "loyalty is his only vice." After about five minutes of silence, the Motorcycle Boy spoke up again. "Apparently it is essential to some people to belong — anywhere.”
That was what scared me, what was scaring Steve, and what would scare anybody who came into direct contact with the Motorcycle Boy. He didn't belong — anywhere — and what was worse, he didn't want to.
"You better let go of the Motorcycle Boy," he [Steve] said. "If you're around him very long you won't believe in anything."
"I been around him all my life," I told him. "And I believe everything."
"Russel-James," he [Dad] went on, "every now and then a person comes along who has a different view of the world than does the usual person. Notice I said 'usual,' not normal.' That does not make him crazy. An acute perception does not make you crazy. However, sometimes it drives you crazy."
"Talk normal," I begged him. "You know I don't understand that garbage."
"Your mother," he said distinctly, "is not crazy. Neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother. He is merely miscast in a play. He would have made a perfect knight, in a different century, or a very good pagan prince in a time of heroes. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river, with the ability to do anything and finding nothing he wants to do."
Justice for poor old Steve; he really was just along for the ride.
writing: Hinton’s prose is personally addictive; its raw and open and not afraid to spill the ugly truth. Underneath the odd names, the rough characters, and sad situations there are such simple, hard hitting questions about life, answers that you may not want to realize, and truths so complex they seem unreal.
”Blind terror in a fight can easily pass for courage.”
atmosphere: ok so it ain’t pretty
5 ✨
’Tell Rusty-James that life does go on, if you'll let it.'
overview: I don’t know, maybe I read too much into Hinton’s novels… but I always feel like I have a different perspective of life after reading them. I feel flayed open and gutted, and then somehow all stitched up. This book made me cry. And not just a couple of wayward tears. I cried. This is a story of how suicide doesn’t always come by your own hand. This is a story of belonging, yet not. Of leaving, but coming back. Of forgetting, but not really. Of existing, but never living.
I am going to quote a review from a commenter named Sharon:
There's something about 'Rumble Fish' that makes me read it a few times every year. If you think this is a book just about gang fighting - you're wack. It's about wanting to be something you can't be, finally getting it and realizing that it wasn't what what you wanted. It's about being misunderstood and misinterpreted. It's about picking the wrong heroes.
It's about wanting to belong to anybody. It's about life turning into black and white.
She put it into words much better than I could.
characters: Rusty-James is a sad, thoughtful kid, and comes off as a bit of an introverted loner, yet strongly connected to people at the same time.
For a tough kid I had a bad habit of getting attached to people.
I made a list in my head of people I liked. I do that a lot. It makes me feel good to think of people I like — not so alone. I wondered if I loved anybody. Patty, for sure. The Motorcycle Boy. My father, sort of. Steve, sort of. Then I thought of people I thought I could really count on, and couldn't come up with anybody, but it wasn't as depressing as it sounds.
I tried to remember why I liked lots of people. "I wonder — how come?
Maybe because I don't like bein' by myself. I mean, man, I can't stand it. Makes me feel tight, like I'm bein' choked all over.”
“I couldn’t hear my own voice. I tried screaming and I still couldn’t hear it. I was that alone. I was in a glass bubble and everyone else was outside it and I’d be alone like that for the rest of my life.”
I waved back. I wasn't going to see him. I wasn't going to meet him for dinner, or anything else. I figured if I didn't see him, I'd start forgetting again. But it's been taking me longer than I thought it would.
As much as he deeply concerned and even scared me, I was captivated by Motorcycle Boy’s character. He was heartbreaking, addicting, and so lost.
”Sometimes," said the Motorcycle Boy, surprising me since he didn't usually start conversations, "it seems to me like I can remember colors, way back when I was a little kid. That was a long time ago. I stopped bein' a little kid when I was five."
"California," he said, "is like a beautiful wild kid on heroin, high as a kite and thinking she's on top of the world, not knowing she's dying, not believing it even if you show her the marks.”
For some reason or other the Motorcycle Boy was alone, more alone than I would ever be, than I could even imagine being. He was living in a glass bubble and watching the world from it. It was almost like being alone, hearing him, and I tried to shake off the feeling.
"Well, remember," said the Motorcycle Boy, "loyalty is his only vice." After about five minutes of silence, the Motorcycle Boy spoke up again. "Apparently it is essential to some people to belong — anywhere.”
That was what scared me, what was scaring Steve, and what would scare anybody who came into direct contact with the Motorcycle Boy. He didn't belong — anywhere — and what was worse, he didn't want to.
"You better let go of the Motorcycle Boy," he [Steve] said. "If you're around him very long you won't believe in anything."
"I been around him all my life," I told him. "And I believe everything."
"Russel-James," he [Dad] went on, "every now and then a person comes along who has a different view of the world than does the usual person. Notice I said 'usual,' not normal.' That does not make him crazy. An acute perception does not make you crazy. However, sometimes it drives you crazy."
"Talk normal," I begged him. "You know I don't understand that garbage."
"Your mother," he said distinctly, "is not crazy. Neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother. He is merely miscast in a play. He would have made a perfect knight, in a different century, or a very good pagan prince in a time of heroes. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river, with the ability to do anything and finding nothing he wants to do."
Justice for poor old Steve; he really was just along for the ride.
writing: Hinton’s prose is personally addictive; its raw and open and not afraid to spill the ugly truth. Underneath the odd names, the rough characters, and sad situations there are such simple, hard hitting questions about life, answers that you may not want to realize, and truths so complex they seem unreal.
”Blind terror in a fight can easily pass for courage.”
atmosphere: ok so it ain’t pretty