Just let me say, in case you think that I'm secretly in love with Ella, that I've known her since I was eight. Every boy in town knew Ella since they were eight, and none of them are secretly in love with her. Her equipment ain't arrived. You guess it maybe ain't coming either. Like her equipment got delivered to Dolly Parton or something. Ella's just skinny, with some freckles, and this big ole head of tangly blond hair that's always blown to hell, like a Barbie doll your dog's been chewing on for a month.
Set in a small Texan town during the immediate aftermath of a school shooting spree, it was never going to be a 'nice' book. Throwing in a foul-mouthed, vitriolic teenage boy as the first person narrator doesn't exactly help, especially when he's the best friend of the killer. A killer, incidentally, called Jesus. You can see why some Americans got a bit cross.
After Jesus turns the gun on himself, the town is looking for someone to blame, and Vernon's their man. The satire is savage; this small town and its residents are portrayed at their very worst, with the people Vernon should be able to trust - his mother, his doctor, his lawyer - proving the most deeply flawed. Although the characters are larger than life and deliberately designed that way, they still somehow manage to remain utterly believable.
Vernon's voice might be jarring at times; sharp and spiky, and full of loathing. But it lacks spite, and occasionally something else glimmers through the coat of destain and anger which means you can't help but like him. The way this is done is beautifully subtle; the odd mixed-up word or throw-away comment is enough to make us remember that this hard talking, sarcastic trouble-maker is really just a naive teenage boy who loves his Mum.
It's a cracking read. Not nice, but laugh out loud funny at times, and heartbreakingly real, in a completely unreal kind of way.
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