Bone Gap Review

So, Bone Gap. I picked up this book because I've been making an effort to read more critically-applauded YA titles.  I believe that the Young Adult genre, which can be tremendously fun, also has more to offer than juicy hooks and romantic drama.  There's important stuff out there being written.  I just need to read more of it! Bone Gap popped up on my radar as such a book to read, but I wound up being largely unimpressed.  I give this book three stars, because it's well-written, but overall it failed to make an impact. Here's why.

Bone Gap dips its fingers into magical realism, a genre I remember studying in high school when reading Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits. Magical realism, also known as marvelous realism or fabulism, is characterized by a realistic setting being pervaded with strange, unnatural occurances — often introduced with a nonchalant attitude, as if it's perfectly normal for magic to invade real life.

Latin America is responsible for introducing magical realism into literature, and the style was immediately understood as something important. In the regions where the genre was born, harsh governments prohibited criticism from being written openly. In disguise, magical realism questioned and attacked established political and social systems.

In recent years, we've seen a surge of magical realism in YA books.  For the most part, I have not been a fan of the trend.  It seems to me that these books are masquerading as literary.  They ape the style of an important literary genre, but fail to use the techniques as a means of social critique — or in any way deeper than window dressing.  (For more of my complaints on this issue, see my review of The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender.)

This is my main issue with Bone Gap — that for the most part, it's purposeless. There is a strong theme that runs throughout the book that argues for the unimportance of physical appearance, which is good.  Mostly, though, the threads of Bone Gap's narrative are willy-nilly.  It's hard to understand how the book works as a whole, because the story is random, spinning it's stylistic wheels with little direction.

The story takes place in the fictional Illinois town of Bone Gap.  As one of the characters notes, there are no mountain gaps in Illinois — the town got its name for the gaps in the bones of the world.  Roza, a mysterious Polish exchange student who was taken in by two brothers, Finn and Sean, is kidnapped and dragged into one of these gaps by a creepy, nightmarish entity.  Finn, a young man known for his spaciness, is unable to describe Roza's kidnapper to the police, earning him the disdain and ire of the townspeople of Bone Gap.

The narrative perspective flits among various characters, but mostly focuses on Roza and Finn.  I got to be fatigued by their storyline-heavy sections, instead looking forward to those chapters that focused on the stolid, yet passionate Sean, and the independent, individualistic Petey — Bone Gap really shines when it focuses on its characters, instead of its bizzare plot.

Despite its nice moments, however, Bone Gap will not be a story I revisit.  Instead, I'll mentally shelve it with other YA books that tried to hit a higher literary mark and missed.

 

 

 

Tampa Review

This novel is not enjoyable to read.  I went through it as quickly as I could, treating it as a grim, grim task.  I'm left very torn over whether it's a book of any worth.  I'm uncertain over the author's motives for writing it.  What am I sure of?

It is a book about a female sexual predator. 

The most convincing arguments I've read that support Tampa praise the book for its examination of predatory female sexuality.  They argue that Nutting's writing is feminist, that treating women as the superior sex — less evil, more saintly than men — actually does women a disservice.  Better instead to acknowledge the full spectrum of female behavior. This is an argument that I understand, and can even get behind.  Because of this point of view, I have a reason to not throw Tampa in the trash.

Nutting uses explicit language.  

It cannot be argued that Tampa isn't sexually explicit.  The question is, does Nutting verge into the gratuitous?  In my opinion, yes.  Nutting has a reason for the lascivious prose — she wants to provoke the reader.  But she goes above and beyond.  I was so provoked by Nutting's language, that my nausea overtook my intellectual reactions.  To be fair, I consider Lolita.  Now universally celebrated, Nabokov's masterpiece elicited horror and disgust at the time of its publication.  It could very well be that, for me, Tampa's hyperbole is masking its worth.

The novel is interpretable.  

I found Tampa to be largely problematic, but the novel does elicit thought and elicit argument. That alone should warrant the book's worth, but does Tampa's repulsive gratuitousness strangle what points it strives to make?  My answer: yes.