From Publishers Weekly
Set in 1975, Sheehan's second novel skillfully depicts an adolescent girl's small but resonant steps toward adulthood; unfortunately, the bigger steps are handled with a bit too much theatricality. The teenage tendency toward obsession-whether for horses, a particular band or CD, or a single, all-consuming friendship-provides the fuel for this uneven suburban coming-of-age, capturing with artful simplicity the quotidian magic of an improbable friendship. Unpopular 13-year-old Alison Glass, new to Weston, Connecticut and afflicted with scoliosis, and the popular, independent Kate Hamilton discover one another and the world. Sheehan nails important adolescent moments like playing it cool when offered a first cigarette or having one's taste in music scrutinized by a new friend. The quiet pleasures of the pair's private moments clash with increasingly stagy subplots: Alison's persistent fear of undergoing surgery to correct her spine, the over-the-top violence of Kate's drunk, greedy father, and the indiscrete affair between him and Alison's hippie mother. Sheehan perceptively identifies the outside world as a corrupting agent in fragile friendships; however, as Kate herself comments, "It's usually not so damn obvious."
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With her cumbersome back brace and bohemian parents, 13-year-old Alison is an outsider in her Connecticut town until popular Kate befriends her. At school, and on their horses, the girls find escape together. Against a backdrop of 1970s dysfunction (abusive new-age gurus; parental drug benders), the family secrets are sharp and shocking. In her second novel, Sheehan juxtaposes small moments the way an artist uses colors, creating potency and meaning with immediate contrasts. In her bright kitchen, Alison listens to Kate's voice--"a dark thread in a dark hole"--and realizes that her friend is in trouble. These subtle details amplify the seeming contradictions in larger events: a normal school day after madness at home; a child parenting a parent; the past reappearing in the present. And then there's the hope that surfaces after anguish: "There was no reason that I couldn't live this way," says Alison about her twisted spine. "Like any imperfect but plausible thing, a tree growing around a telephone pole." A tender, unflinching, and distinctive view of how girls grow up.
Gillian EngbergCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
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