Archive for June 14th, 2018

June 14, 2018

Patrick Ness, Release

Release begins with a quote from Mrs Dalloway and another from John Grant’s “Glacier”. I’d been feeling rather unenthusiastic about the book, but I like both Grant and Woolf, so that this combination of epigraphs made me a lot more curious about what I was about to read. Even more so when the story itself began “Adam would have to get the flowers himself”, suggesting that Ness was aiming for a closer link to Mrs Dalloway than a mere epigraph.

Release takes place over one particularly bad day in the life of 17 year old Adam Thorn. Already feeling apprehensive about the party that is to take place this evening (to say farewell to Adam’s ex boyfriend, whom he is still a bit in love with, and who is leaving town), over the day he has multiple run-ins with his ultra-conservative religious (and homophobic) family, comes out to his father, is sexually harassed by his much older boss, is victim-blamed by his father, and discovers that his best friend is also leaving town in a week. Structurally, this is the Mrs Dalloway aspect of the story; a series of incidents over a single day, culminating in a party, with the passing of time marked in various ways throughout.

releaseIn the afterword, Ness says that the book’s other intertext is Judy Blume’s Forever. I haven’t read that book in about twenty years, but am told by people who’ve read it more recently that the links are obvious to them. There are in-text references to Blume as well, but also a major debt that children’s and YA lit owes Blume is the ability to depict and talk about sex frankly and entertainingly. Ness clearly understands this; I don’t think I’ve ever seen sex between two men shown this clearly in YA, and I’m a bit moved by how many reviews online say the same and are genuinely excited by this aspect of the book. I’ve said in the past that Ness is particularly good at the specifics of individual people and situations and weaker on the big, structural parts of his worlds, and that holds true here–there’s some really sharp observation underlying all of Adam’s various interactions (I think I actually barked at an aside in which we learn Adam’s parents like his best friend Angela because she gives them an opportunity not to be racist), and the emotions are realistic and heartfelt. (Though I remember being mildly annoyed about the deceitful bisexual heartbreaker plot in More Than This, and here it is again, though tempered by the presence of other characters who are attracted to people of multiple genders.) Had the book simply been this–Adam’s story, told well–it would have been a very successful, very polished novel, though perhaps not a very ambitious one.

But there’s a B-plot; one which refers to other events in Adam’s small Washington town. A teenage girl, Katherine, has recently been murdered by the lake, her death impinging on the lives of Adam and his friends only as a puzzling background noise and something that might cause their parents to object to the evening’s lakeside party. Katherine’s spirit has somehow risen from the lake, and is seeking to understand her death, but she has also become entangled with something else—a spirit known only as the Queen, and attended by a worried and rather ineffectual 7 foot tall faun (probably my favourite character). The Queen and Katie sometimes understand themselves as separate, sometimes as the same, but the faun knows that unless the Queen can work out how to disentangle herself by nightfall, some horrible, world-ending thing will take place.

It’s tempting to take the Mrs Dalloway reading as far as it’ll go and try for a direct comparison to the Septimus plot, but that wouldn’t be doing Release any favours—presumably its relationship to the older book is more complex than this sort of direct one for one substitution. But part of the reason it’s tempting to use Woolf as a model for mapping the relationship between the two parallel stories is that there’s not enough in the text itself to give you ways to read it. My Carnegie reading group was pretty unanimous in feeling that this entire plot was all but disposable, and looking for reactions online I discover that most readers have been baffled by it. What we know about the Queen/Katie plot is that it’s very definitely the subordinate plot—it’s both sparse and entirely in italics, which stylistic choices made me feel that the book wasn’t really committing to it. It made me think of Ness’s earlier The Rest of Us Just Live Here, where the larger supernatural plot is relegated to the chapter headings and the contrast between it and the more ordinary concerns of the protagonists is part of the point. I wasn’t a fan of that structure there, and here, where it seems like almost a side-effect, it continues not to impress me.

But, as I say above, a book which abandoned the Queen and focused entirely on Adam might feel a lot more coherent, but it would also be rather unambitious. I don’t want this to have been a different book, but I wish it had been better.

(I don’t think it’s going to win the Carnegie, but then I’m always wrong about what should win the Carnegie.)