My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
Synopsis:
A young girl named Astrid (or Ass-Terd if you watch "The Office" sitcom) ends up in the foster care system after her mother goes to prison for murder. Her mother, Ingrid, is quite the messed up individual...and you can see how that effects a child being raised by such a character. This story takes you along Astrid's journey of being eternally connected to her biological mother, while also trying to survive as a teenage girl in this big, bad world.....one foster home after another. It's DRAMA! It's SEX! It's LIFE! (That's right, I said sex. Now do I have your attention?)
Review:
Where do I begin!?!?!
First off, this story is beautifully written. It's like reading one long (very long) tragic and inspiring poem. As it should be: the two main characters are "artists." Astrid is a painter/drawer and Ingrid is an author. They live in L.A. CALI BABY! I'm only slightly jealous of that. Which is probably another reason I adored this novel - it took place in Southern California....a place I imagine would be lovely to live but will probably never find out. I shall live vicariously through these stories!
Astrid is a character that is easy to fall in love with and be pissed off at at the same time. She has to grow up quick, and having (what I believe) to be a slightly crazy mother...she didn't have much of a chance. I personally know of scenarios (in my own family!) that take place in Astrid's life, so it was simple to relate to and completely believable. Which made it all the more sorrowful, tragic, downright depressing.
"I was torn. He deserved to be punished, but now she had crossed over some line. This wasn't revenge. She'd had her revenge, she had won, but it was like she didn't even know it. She was drifting outside the limit of all reason, where the next stop was light-years away through nothing but darkness. How lovingly she arranged the dark leaves, the white blooms."
What would you do if your mother killed her boyfriend? When you were 12 years old? I can't even begin to fathom what I would do. Astrid's life is one possible outcome - and more probable than most. It's genuine stuff. In all seriousness, it's more than likely happening at this very moment.
Astrid's character crosses a lot of lines that I never would (in theory, haha). But then again, I didn't have the traumatic and hard-knocked life she did. I'm not an incredibly judgmental person, so I chalked it up to: some people are fucked up...because that's how this world is. I love the detail Janet Fitch goes into when describing these things that are forbidden. Taboo. Wrong. If it makes you uncomfortable...good! She's doing her job as a writer, and you are doing your job as a reader. I enjoyed the really screwed up parts of the novel - they can give you a sense of security in knowing your life isn't as bad as you might think it is sometimes. It also helps to prove that humans are very complex. Every life is it's own universe. Anything can happen, so don't be so quick to judge or dismiss a person for the less sunny aspects of their existence.
"And I was deluged by fresh waves of shame and regret. He never knew when he met me that first day, when the little boys sat on the porch, that I would be the one to ruin his life the way Starr crushed his model in the living room."
"I had foolishly doubled my dose, and now I lay shipwrecked on a desolate shore littered with broken glass. I caught a cold from the air-conditioning, which worked too well in my small porch room. All I could think of was how alone I was. My loneliness tasted like pennies. I thought about dying. A boy in the hospital had told me the best way was an air bubble in the bloodstream. He has bone cancer and had stolen a syringe he kept in an Archie comic book. He said if it ever got too bad, he'd shoot up some air, and it'd be over in seconds. If it weren't for my mother's letters, I would have thought of something. I reread them until they were soft and divided along the creases."
Ingrid, while a unique and strong-minded individual, should not have children. I know she loved her daughter Astrid, but she also ruined her. I see this all too much in reality. I wish I could save Astrid from her mother, but I know deep down that everything happens for some stupid reason or another...even if it makes no sense at all.
Astrid goes to a new foster home often - she even says she went to eight different schools in five years. It's a struggle to want this one home...this one family to work out, but it's just as fucked up as the others ones, if not worse. However, every single home she lives in and leaves gives her a piece of herself that made her who she was in the end. Bad things can make good lessons, this I know is true. I've experienced it myself. It's always hard to comprehend while going through it - it can only be appreciated and recognized in the rear-view mirror.
Oh yeah! I did emphasize the sex to get your attention. There is the dirty, bad sex you'd expect a troubled 14 year old to have. Then there is the sexual tension that most people in general have. The sex gives the story life. It is, after all, one of the basic human instincts. It provides one of the uncomfortable edges to the novel, while making the characters more real. And it's totally not porno-esque...so don't get too excited.
Without giving too much more of the details away of this wonderful novel, I will say it was so worth the read. It's a melodic tragedy. It's heartwarming and heartbreaking. It's what a good book should be. I absolutely recommend White Oleander!
"Who am I, Mother? I'm not you. That's why you wish I were dead. You can't shape me anymore. I am the uncontrolled element, the random act, I am forward movement in time. You think you can see me? Then tell me, who am I? You don't know. I am nothing like you. My nose is different, flat at the bridge, not sharp as a fold in rice paper. My eyes aren't ice blue, tinted with your peculiar mix of beauty and cruelty. They are dark as bruises on the inside of an arm, they never smile. You forbid me to cry? I'm no longer yours to command. You used to say I had no imagination. If by that you meant I could feel shame, and remorse, you were right. I can't remake the world just by willing it so. I don't know how to believe my own lies. It takes a certain kind of genius."
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