And in the end, it was some of both, which averages out to “meh.” James’s entire family talks in a pretentious, self-satisfied way that I cannot stand. Here James’s mother correctly identifies what bugs me about James, and manages to bug me herself in the process:

“…Frances says Olivia adores Brown.”
“Adores?”
“Yes: adores. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. I just think it’s a little weird to adore a college.”
“Sometimes I can’t stand you, James. You’re so reluctant to show any enthusiasm about anything, or even allow it in other people. It’s very annoying, and immature.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I’m enthusiastic about many things.”

He then names a random house for sale in Kansas, Trollope, and a couple of other writers — without much actual enthusiasm. I spent the first half of the book rolling my eyes: the petty ennui of the privileged teen may be authentic, but that doesn’t make it interesting. I didn’t buy that he actually had any pain; he just seemed to be whining about nothing, and refusing to enjoy his life.*

But as the book wore on and he spent more time with his grandma, I liked him better. She’s a neat old lady who brings out the best in him. By the end of the book, I had more patience with him — though he’s still a prickly, odd young man whose company I wouldn’t enjoy in person, and didn’t particularly enjoy in print.

This book was critically very well-received, though, so your mileage may vary. Particularly if you do like whiny slackers like Holden Caulfield. *ducks*

* I have depression, and it was far worse when I was James’s age. So I do understand that you don’t have to be abused or dying of cancer to have pain. But if that’s the sort of pain that Cameron meant James to have, he didn’t convey it (at least to me).

Comment here

Gingerbread bills itself as “edgy,” with cover quotes from Teen People, Elle Girl, and Twist magazines rather than other authors, and a cover featuring a punky girl with platform boots. But it’s basically your average finding-yourself novel: Cyd hates living with her mom and stepdad, so she acts like a brat until they send her to her “Bio-Dad,” where she learns about her past and becomes more comfortable with her present and future. Sure, she’s a little “wild,” and — ooooh — she makes out with a guy who’s too old for her, but it’s really all pretty tame.

Despite the totally generic plot, something about the writing stuck with me. It has a strong sense of place (San Francisco and New York), which is a kink of mine.

Plus I got caught up in the Francesca Lia Block-esque stream-of-consciousness:

I thought about it on the plane ride home to San Francisco, my new ultra fantastico tribute commune to all things ginger…. Sid and Nancy will chill on the whole scene because we will serve them ginger tea laced with mellow vibes, and just the thought of all those gingerbread-house colors will keep Nancy occupied, coordinating peppermint-stick patterns and LifeSaver-stained glass windows, and will keep Sid-dad on his toes, worrying about cost overruns and labor laws.

Yeah, ok, it’s totally overwritten — but can’t you just taste those ginger-flavored LifeSaver windows?

Anyway, it took me awhile to get into it — mostly because I couldn’t tell whether the book was going to admit that Cyd was being a brat — but I ended up enjoying it in spite of myself. Ooh! And apparently there are sequels!