Ok I get it, Josie. You're small, pretty, ...whorish. Yes and your little brat boyfriend killed himself...and his mother is moody...blah blah blah. Your car is a piece of crap, you go to punk clubs, you cry alot, every little thing reminds you of Michael and you spend 2 freaking pages describing it, just before devoting another 4 pages to more of the same.I've been skipping pages 2 or 3 at a time, scanning for something lurking in a paragraph somewhere that may be in any way different from the 2 chapters before it. All I've found is bits and pieces of plot here and there, and more redundant blabbering about her poor poor dead boyfriend and her pathetic little life.
While I really tried to like this book, I only made it to page 176 and finally gave up. Maybe I'm too old for this type of story...but all the booze-swilling, drug activity and other drivel really got on my nerves.
Usually I hate putting down a book without at least finding out what happens in the end, but for this one I could honestly care less. I need likeable characters (I can only really get into a book if I can either identify with or find interest in at least ONE character), I need an actual plot!
This book has offered neither. I loved White Oleander...but I wonder what Fitch was thinking with this one.
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