Rosalind went from having two moms to none at all due to a car accident involving a truck full of “foodstuffs” – turduckens, specifically. Now she has Sean, college friend of her moms and the sperm donor that made Rosalind possible. They have never met, and Sean, single and working as a lawyer who sues schools for a living, has no idea how to take care of a teenager, especially when Rosalind, in her grief, becomes a vegetarian and starts drinking, sneaking out in the middle of the night, starting fights as school, and other things one might expect of a grieving teen. Told entirely through computer journal entries, emails, recording transcripts, instant messenger conversations, and other documents (summed up in one of my favorite words – epistolary fiction), Rosalind and Sean’s relationship warms and grows at a believable pace and not without setbacks, and Rosalind’s movement through grief is heartbreaking at times but not overly heavy or angsty. The peripheral characters – Sean’s weed-smoking father, Rosalind’s “Aunt” Karen, Rosalind’s changing friends at school – add depth to Rosalind and Sean’s personal stories and provide welcome side plots and episodes that keep the entire book from being only about the loss of two parents.
I have to admit this isn’t a book I would have normally picked up. I didn’t like the cover much when I got it and I like it even less after having read the book. However, I met Brendan Halpin while I was staffing a library table at a farmer’s market here in Boston and later, after he volunteered to do some free programming at one of our branches, learned that he is a published YA author. So of course I had to check his stuff out, and I’m glad I did! He actually has quite a few books; How Ya Like Me Now? and Forever Changes are next on my list (and currently sitting on my desk at work). He has a blog, and as someone who is thinking of including his books in book talks on my outreach visits to underserved and typically diverse populations, I especially appreciate his post examining his own books for their diversity, or lack thereof. All authors would be well served to be so self-critical.