Penance is the rare book that's compulsively readable while also being delicate and insightful about its subject-- at least for me. Everyone has different standards about what is and isn't impossible to put down, but for me, after reading the first chapter, every moment spent not reading this felt wasted.
It's deftly written while always having incredibly clear prose that is neither 'invisible' or bland-- every word is chosen thoughtfully, even if the vocabulary and sentence structure is often simplistic. It reminds me of my favorite Palahniuks and Pat Barkers: a book that never talks down to its readers, trusting them to understand the complexity of thought found in its straight forward (and occasionally blunt) packaging.
And the messages this book sends are very complex and well thought out: is it possible to cover true crime in a moral way? What type of people bully and what type people are bullied? What's the cost of not 'fitting in' as a child? How does the internet warp young minds? What kind of person is a 'good' victim? Are 'good' victims real, or an invention of narrative convenience? Can children's play and imagination build up to murder? What kind of child is capable of murder, and is that capability innate, or does it grow over time? When does bullying become criminal? What amount of bullying is acceptable or 'normal'? And, perhaps most importantly, the question the book tackles in its final section with one of the most richly layered and consequential plot twists I've ever seen: Is there really any difference between true crime journalism and true crime fanfiction? Is everyone engaging in true crime discussion just writing a different kind of fanfiction?
Even if they're not doing it in prose, everyone is forming a narrative in their heads. No one in these forums and blogs and chatrooms and social media accounts was an actual witness to the events they're compelled to discuss. Is all of that just a different kind of fanfiction? And if it is, who has the moral high ground? Who is engaging in these topics in a respectful way?
Is anyone?
Is the only way to answer these questions in a way that's respectful to the victim, this book seems to say, is to just write fiction. So Eliza Clark did, and I think it's one of the most engaging, creative, layered and thoughtful books I've ever read.
...At least, I think so. I don't know much about true crime, but Eliza Clark clearly does.
I don't read a lot of YA, or any really, but every summer I get intensely bookblocked and need to read something out of my usual genre to get out of it. And this did the trick, mostly. It's kind of like feeding on cardboard, there's no nourishment there, but my body can basically digest it. And that's fine! This genre isn't for me! Whatever.
The narration style is kind of terrible for action scenes, which had me skimming a lot of the final 10%. A lot of it felt like it was written in-the-moment as Novik came up with the idea, and it made a lot of the plotting clunky. The prose was fun though and I liked what Novik was trying to say about complicity. This is a good baby's-first-grimdark, or a way to microdose young readers to books with darker, if not particularly more challenging, themes.
I think Darnielle is trying to do something very intentional with the pacing of this novel, the denial of closure and satisfaction, and it just does not work for me. I have other quibbles with its choices - for a novel about mothers, it seems to only be able to envision women as distant helpmeet who uphold the virtuous and unquestionable nuclear family - but all of those pale in comparison to how boring I found reading it. Danielle's prose is astoundingly good, but in service of what?
This is a book of incredible conviction and literary depth, to say nothing of its deep political commitment. A lesser novel would use the central conceit-- the spy who sees from the perspective of both sides of the war-- to flinch from political commentary, playing a both-sides game where it can't lose, but neither can it win. Nguyen wisely takes the risk to give credit and criticism to every part of a conflict that's much more than two-sided. Complex and multi-layered, this is a heart-wrenching, hilarious, disgusting, sexy, depressing and enlivening book.
I only wish it used punctuation marks! I know the choice is stylistic, and thus stylistically valid, but books without punctuation are very difficult for me to read (thus the fact that this book took me a year to complete!) due to learning disabilities. I ended up only able to finish as an audiobook, voiced by the immensely talented Francois Chau, whose performance leant even more depth, texture, and feeling to the narrative.
Thank you to NetGalley for allowing me to read an ARC in return for a fair review.
This book is trying to do something tremendous, and, mostly, it succeeds. Its failings are small things, niggling complaints about pacing and length. I'd give this book a 4.75 if possible, because it's just short of absolutely perfect. A lot of the dramatic weight could have been improved by either having fewer main characters, or more room in the book to flesh those characters out. This book is a response to Stephen King's IT, and that book is famously enormous; while this book doesn't need to be a doorstopper, it could have benefitted from a few extra pounds.
All that said, it's thematically and emotionally immaculate. The mood shifts between Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the works of Alison Rumfitt, and IT, yet it manages to entirely original. The book really comes into its own as the voices of its main cast emerge and flourish, and perhaps selfishly I wanted more time to sit with them. However, the very action-oriented horror suits this book well, and the buckling conclusion is as heartrending as it is satisfying.