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Sweet Valley Confidential by Francine Pascal

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(Warning: contains spoilers)

I collected Sweet Valley Twins books like young boys collected baseball cards. Their candy-colored spines were lined up on my shelves, ready to be traded with friends, passed around, and discussed. When I had devoured everything I could, and began to feel a bit too old for the sixth grade adventures of Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield, I firmly felt that I was ready to move on to Sweet Valley High and the “mature” adventures that high schoolers have. My mother disagreed. So I got my fix of Sweet Valley High in the library, after my mother had dropped me off for the afternoon. I spent hours curled up on the floor of our town library, devouring the illicit adventures of the “adult” Wakefield Twins. Yes, at that point in my life, junior year of high school was way adult to me.

Therefore, the prospect of being introduced to the Wakefield Twins as actual adults (or as twenty-seven year olds, just a year younger than me) was enticing. Not only would I be able to see where all of my favorite characters had ended up in life, but I would also finally get a tale of Wakefield twins who were actually approximately my age and see a (hopefully) satisfying conclusion to a key part of my childhood.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Sweet Valley Confidential opens on Elizabeth Wakefield, living alone in New York City, working for the online theater magazine Show Survey, a sort of “Zagat ratings guide of Off Broadway” (p. 5), as she so often has to explain to people. We are immediately confronted with her utter hatred of Jessica, as Elizabeth ignores a pleading phone call from her sister. The reason for this sisterly feud, and the crux of the entire book, is Jessica’s engagement to Todd Wilkins, Elizabeth’s former boyfriend and her lifelong crush. And not only has Jessica stolen Todd, but she started this entanglement with him back in college, and then revived it while Todd and Elizabeth were still together. As Elizabeth mopes in New York City, starting a semi-romantic relationship with an upcoming playwright/Todd-lookalike and planning her revenge, Jessica and Todd are home in Sweet Valley. Although the entire town looks askance on them, judging their betrayal, Jessica refuses to leave her hometown, from a mix of stubbornness and a “this is where I want to raise my kids” sentiment.
As expected, the entire book is basically a set-up to get Jessica and Elizabeth back in the same place, for the inevitable blow-up, shakedown, and reunion, but the way Pascal goes about it is contrived and seems to drag on forever. Both Elizabeth and Jessica, characters who I desperately wanted to be as a middle schooler, were reduced to pathetic caricatures, simply acting upon their basest instincts. And the plot was just a bares bones shell of an outline, with Elizabeth and Jessica repeating the same lines over and over.
Elizabeth: “I hate Jessica. I loved Todd. Oh, betrayal, betrayal. I’m too weak and wimpy to act, or to even tell people how I feel.”
Jessica: “Oh, Todd, everyone hates us. But I love you so. But I love my sister, too.”
Todd: “Uhhh………”
Pascal (who I recently discovered didn’t even write the Sweet Valley High books back in the day) is a perfect example of why it is a bad idea to tell, not show. Everything is spelled out for the reader, and we never get a true glimpse into either of the Wakefield twins, never get to see why they feel the way they do. We are just hammered over the head with their angst. Additionally, some of the writing just plain doesn’t make sense at all, or is so flowery that it invites eye-rolling: “Their eyes were shades of aqua that danced in the light like shards of precious stones…There wasn’t a thing wrong with their figures, either. It was as if billions of possibilities all fell together perfectly. Twice” (p. 9-10). On multiple occasions while reading, I looked up to exclaim, “WHAT is going on here?”, to the amusement of my husband. (I will not even go into the sex scene that appears in the last chapter of the book. The language used here would make third-rate romance novelists appear to be National Book Award winners.)
However, the oddest thing about this book was the way that Elizabeth and Jessica thought of each other. While I am not a twin and have no idea how twin relationships work, or their level of closeness, Pascal wrote this novel as if Elizabeth and Jessica were actually involved in a torrid romantic relationship. The two seemed to pine for each other in a way that slightly disturbed me, aching for each others’ bodies. It was just plain weird.
While it was nice to be able to see some of the characters that had appeared in the Sweet Valley High series, these supporting characters didn’t get much air time, save for the small mentions of what they were doing as adults, and a brief anecdote to illustrate this. Save for Bruce Patman, who did a completely 180 overnight and transformed into Elizabeth’s best friend, and Steven, their brother, no one else really factors into the story. I would have liked to see more of an appearance by both Lila Fowler and Enid Rollins, who were Jessica and Elizabeth’s best friends, respectively, but the narrative is very tightly focused on the twins themselves. I believe Sweet Valley Confidential suffered from the exclusion of the other residents of Sweet Valley, who were a key part of the Sweet Valley High books.
Ultimately, I am glad that I read this book, simply for the nostalgia factor. I wouldn’t discourage any Sweet Valley Twins or Sweet Valley High fans from doing the same themselves. But I wouldn’t hand this to anyone who had never read the Sweet Valley books before. Perhaps the reader needs that firm grounding in the Sweet Valley universe to retain their love for the Wakefield twins after reading Sweet Valley Confidential.

Take your pick Friday

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In case you ever believed I was a little one sided in my reading, I thought I’d shake things up for this Friday and post two shorter reviews of books I’ve read lately. Not only are they much different than my normal YA fare, but they’re also as different from one another as they could be.

First up, William March’s classic The Bad Seed. You may be familiar with the movie; this is the dark story about a mother raising a child who is a killer. I haven’t seen the movie myself, but after reading the book, you bet I’ll be watching it soon.

Rhoda Penmark’s always been a bit of a strange child, but her mother hasn’t thought much of it. The thing is, it’s becoming harder and harder for her mother to ignore it when the little boy who won an award that Rhoda believes she earned is found dead. His medal is missing as well. When the rest of the class mourns the boy’s loss, Rhoda continues living as though nothing happened, as though the boy himself never existed. And not just that, but she continues insisting she earned the honor and deserves it.

This chilling novel is not for the faint of heart, and it’s not necessarily a quick read. It’s filled to the brim with Freudian psychology, which is something that interests me to no end. As readers, we’re dropped into the mind of the mother, except that we have the knowledge — or at least the great suspicion — that Rhoda’s got a killing streak in her, and we can’t help but want to shake sense into mom. But what do you do in that situation? How do you punish a child who has no remorse? How do you come to terms with yourself as a parent raising a child like that? Are you to blame or is society to blame?

Hand this book to those who like psychological thrillers/horrors that are less on the bloody side and more on the strange side. I think readers who enjoy books like or Flowers in the Attic (for the strangeness) or Mommie Dearest (the family drama) would find this one a worthwhile read. It’s an adult book, but your teen readers will be interested in this book. It’s a classic that shouldn’t be left behind. I know I’ve mentioned I’m not a one-sitting kind of reader, but this was a book I devoted an entire day to because it was that engaging and, well, horrifying.

After reading a heavy book, I thought I would treat myself to something completely sweet, which is why I dove into My Milk Toof by Inhae Lee. Although not a graphic novel, this book is similar in set up, but it uses large photos with captions to tell a few short stories about a pair of milk teeth (baby teeth) who choose to reunite with the person whose mouth they came from years ago.

A knock on the door one day leads the author to discover a small tooth waiting for her. He introduces himself as Ickle, and he’s welcomed into his new (old?) home with a story, a snack, and even a place to sleep. He’s happy getting so much attention, but it’s not too long before Lardee shows up, and like any siblings, the two of them have their fair share of spats. But they don’t fight all the time — the two of them have adventures together, including bath time (probably my favorite story in the book).

What I love most about this book is how sweet the images are. Everything is real, but the focus is on the tiny details of the teeth and their toys. When Ickle begins teething (because, yes, milk teeth can teeth too!), you see him in comparison to the door he’s chewing. The teeth change their facials expressions throughout, as well, so as readers we know exactly what they’re feeling, even without reading the text. This is a cute story without being cloying, and never once did I feel like it was over done or the story got old. These sorts of books usually don’t work for me because they feel phony and overdone, but Lee gets enough emotion behind the stories to make me care about the characters — even if they’re just teeth. In fact, my husband, who is a non-reader of fiction and certainly a non-reader of comics, read this one cover and cover and really liked it, too.

To get a little more background into the project and for more of the cute stories of Ickle and Lardee, check out Lee’s blog. I’d be comfortable handing this book off to older children through adults; it’s perfectly appropriate for all ages, and it’d be enjoyed on different levels. My Milk Toof is one of those books I’ll be picking up after a bad day and one which I hope has more prints made available soon — I’d love to get a copy of Ickle telling Lardee he can’t play because he’s too busy reading.

What I’ve Been Reading: Two Mini-Reviews

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What Happened to Goodbye, by Sarah Dessen

Mclean’s father has just moved them to their fourth new house in as many years. After her parents’ bitter divorce, where her mother left her father for the couch of her father’s favorite college basketball team, Mclean and her dad have been constantly on the move, following her father’s job (a consultant for failing restaurants) wherever it takes him. And with each move, Mclean reinvents herself, choosing a new name and a new personality, always trying to escape the person she actually is, the person she doesn’t quite know yet. However, in this new town, Mclean mistakenly gives her own name, and finds herself being real with the friends she meets along the way, especially Dave, her child-prodigy-looking-to-actually-be-a-real-teenager neighbor, who somehow finds his way to the core of Mclean. While on the surface, this seems like a very quiet novel, it is the relationships that Mclean forms throughout the book and the strong characters that give it depth and power. I loved Deb, the timid, unconfident friend who takes charge of the town model that Mclean suddenly is roped into helping build. I loved the details of Luna Blu, the restaurant that Mclean’s father takes over. And I loved the rocky, slowly transforming relationship between Mclean and her mother. This is a book that slowly finds its way into your heart: my favorite Sarah Dessen novel yet. (Release date: May 10, 2011. Review copy borrowed from Janssen at Everyday Reading.)

Skipping a Beat, by Sarah Pekkanen
Julia and Michael were high school sweethearts, rescuing each other from their small town West Virginia life and running to Washington, D.C., where they vowed to escape the legacies of gambling addiction and unhappy marriages that they left behind them. When Michael’s hard work finally pays off and his start-up company selling flavored vitamin water takes off, the life that they had once imagined suddenly pales in comparison to the riches set out before them: a palatial estate in Washington, D.C., another house in Aspen, gardeners, servants, and endless reserves of money are all at their beck and call. Even though the love is gone from their marriage, Julia tries to be content with her life, still scarred from the lack of security in her own childhood. But then Michael’s heart stops. And he dies. Clinically dead for more than four minutes, he wakes up a transformed man, one who gives away all of his money and auctions off his possessions, now concerned with love and personal fulfillment, rather than money. Now Julia must decide whether to leave her husband, who once gave her only a loveless marriage, or stay and try to make it work with this stranger, who promises her love and adoration…but not security. Sarah Pekkannen truly creates a masterfully layered protagonist in this novel, one whom I slightly disliked at the beginning of the novel, yet eventually grew to respect and understand, if not ever love. Julia is complex, and can be both frustrating and sympathetic. Yet all of her actions are firmly rooted in her backstory, and the novel itself is well-plotted. One quibble I did have was with the ending, which seemed to rely a bit upon a deux ex machina. However, the conclusion did still work, in its own way. Recommended for fans of Jennifer Weiner and Emily Giffin.

The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan

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I’ve been reading more adult books to temper some of the less-than-amazing YA books I’ve read lately. It’s not that there’s anything horrible, per se, but nothing has been that spectacular for me in a while. Perhaps it’s a case of needing a little reading change.

I picked up a copy of David Levithan’s first adult novel The Lover’s Dictionary at ALA Midwinter, a little reluctantly. I am familiar with Levithan’s YA offerings, and I’m a fan of the books he edits at Scholastic. I gave this one a whirl.

I can’t give a real plot description for this book, since it’s not a plot-driven book. It’s not really a character-driven book, either. This is an extended letter from one person in a relationship to another, and the set up is really the point of the story: it’s a dictionary.

Each page begins with a word that we’re familiar with — bolster, elegy, only, and yesterday being a few examples — and then there is a short description for the word, told through an episode in the relationship. Perfunctory, for example, is a short one that reads “I get to sign some of your Christmas cards, but others I don’t.” Other words have longer explanations, some spanning a few pages. But the entries are short, much like these moments in any romantic relationship are, and the book reads quite fast. Because I wanted to savor it, I read this one in many sittings, over the course of a few days. Since there aren’t any character or story arcs in Levithan’s book, this is a great book to read at any pace, fast or slow.

This is a sweet book, and I think it really captures both the ups and downs of a relationship. It’s at times a little over-the-top for my romantic reading inklings, but these moments are countered with tension in the relationship, too.

Although I liked the book, the story didn’t do much for me. I think I liked the execution and style, the exercise in trying a dictionaryesque approach to story telling, much more than what was contained within. I found it kind of thin otherwise, something fairly forgettable. There are some excellent lines in the book, and some things worth quoting reading aloud, but don’t go in expecting much in terms of substance. This is the kind of book I’ll reread passages from when I’m looking for a little writing inspiration.

While Levithan is a well-known YA author, this is not a book for teens. There’s an interesting discussion on one of the YALSA blogs about this book, and how there’s question of why this wouldn’t be one worth cross-shelving (that is, having a copy in adult fiction and one in teen fiction). But for me, there’s no reason for this. Sure, the characters in The Lover’s Dictionary are adults; however, the reason this isn’t a book for teens is that this is a story about an adult relationship. It’s a love letter, sure, and there are teens who will read this and love this. But the fact of the matter is, it’s a very limited appeal to teens who simply do not have this sort of understanding yet. They’re not mature enough to appreciate what this is, and frankly, there are many better books for teens that are love letters between romantic partners. It’s less an issue of sexuality (there’s not much) or of language (again, not much) but more an issue of development and understanding of the adult side of life. Teens will get there on their own; we don’t need to push them there. Those who are ready will find their way to the adult fiction area themselves and discover this.

Pass this off to your fans of romantic reads or books that are simply a little different. It’s not standard Levithan, but I think it might drive adult readers to check out his other works.

A Red Herring Without Mustard by Alan Bradley

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A Red Herring Without Mustard by Alan Bradley is the third in a series of mystery novels featuring precocious eleven year old amateur detective Flavia de Luce. Despite the age of the protagonist, the books are written for an adult audience, although they do have great crossover appeal. They’ve garnered a lot of acclaim, and it’s well deserved. Even if you’re not particularly interested in mysteries, if you like a quirky character, you’d enjoy reading about Flavia’s adventures.
Flavia is a special sort of child. She’s more interested in her dead uncle Tarquin’s chemistry laboratory than any other more normal childish pursuit (although she does enjoy flitting about the town on her bicycle, Gladys). Her specialty is poisons, and she often uses these (non-fatally, of course) against her two older sisters as vengeance for their mean-spirited pranks. (Let’s be honest, sometimes it’s not vengeance for anything, sometimes it’s just to torment them.) She also has a penchant for discovering dead bodies, and like any good character in a mystery novel, she ensures she’s involved in solving the crime.
Flavia lives with her sisters and father (her mother died when she was a baby in a climbing accident) in 1950s England, in the de Luce family’s sprawling estate of Buckshaw. Her father’s been a bit remote since the death of her mother, and her two sisters, while once close to her, now make it a habit of torturing her (a favorite taunt is that Flavia is a changeling, a fairy swapped out for the real human child as a baby). Buckshaw sits in a peculiar little English town called Bishop’s Lacey – a town full of colorful characters and an alarming number of murders. The town and time period lend the stories much of their charm.
What makes these books truly entertaining is Flavia’s voice. She’s got a tremendous amount of character and it’s remarkable that Bradley, a grown man, is able to write her voice so convincingly. It helps that Flavia is very deliberately not your typical eleven year old. She’s resourceful, cheeky, intelligent beyond her years, and treats adults as her peers. She’s also frequently selfish, petulant, mean-spirited, and foolish. Despite all that (or perhaps because of these failings), she’s also always likable. As a reader, I never felt left behind by Flavia’s sleuthing nor did I find that I was miles ahead of her. She treats the reader as her confidant and makes numerous (often very amusing) asides that allow us to get into her head.
A Red Herring Without Mustard involves a gypsy, a lost baby, and a ring of forgers. Its predecessor, The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag, finds Flavia investigating the death of a famous puppeteer, and the first in the series, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, involves a dead philatelist (that’s stamp collector to the uninitiated) on Buckshaw’s lawn. The mysteries are all good, by which I mean they always make sense, there are not gaping plot holes, and they move along at a fair clip without forcing the reader to slog through boring bits. They’re also different than what you tend to find in your usual mystery fare (dead lovers and the like). So while each book is rather long, clocking in at 400 pages or more, they never feel so and can be read in a couple lazy afternoons.
Each book is a distinct mystery unto itself, so they can theoretically be read out of order, but I wouldn’t recommend it. One of Bradley’s talents as a storyteller is to let his characters grow from book to book. Flavia’s relationships with her father and sisters change over the course of the three novels, as does her understanding of her mother and the people in Bishop’s Lacey. By the end of the third novel, I was left with the knowledge that the de Luce family dynamic is much more complex (and therefore richer) than I realized in the first novel.
I’ve heard that the audios are really good with spot-on narration for Flavia’s voice. I think these are books that would do well on re-read (or re-listen) – even though I know whodunnit, there’s enough humor in Flavia’s irresistible voice to keep me interested a second time around.
Copy checked out from my local library.