
When Laurie Halse Anderson is at her very best, there may be no one better, and she's at her very best in her upcoming teen novel
Wintergirls. We're back in
Speak territory here - haunting, powerful, vital. I finished this book over two weeks ago and still can't stop thinking about it. It's killed me to wait this long to tell you just how good it is.
Wintergirls is the story of Lia and Cassie, best friends whose lives changed forever when Lia first saw Cassie make herself throw up. They were eleven. Cassie learned to do it at drama camp, and she brought her new skill home to share with Lia.
Lia and Cassie's friendship, described mostly in flashbacks, becomes mostly about one thing: being as thin as possible. Having power over your weight. Having power over your world by having power over your weight. They support each other and sabotage each other until finally, after Lia's second trip to a clinic, Cassie begins to blame her for all of her problems and ends the friendship.
So Lia and Cassie hadn't talked for six months, but there was Lia's cell phone, ringing in the middle of a Saturday night - and it was Cassie. Lia was still mad; Lia assumed Cassie was drunk-dialing her, and Lia wasn't going to get sucked back into whatever drama Cassie was planning on stirring up.
There's no way Lia could have known that Cassie would eventually call 33 times that night. And there's absolutely no way Lia could have known that Cassie would die shortly after placing the final call to her. Now Lia's left holding Cassie's gift to her - the eating disorder that she can't get out from under. Her mental and emotional state is deteriorating, but her parents, so easily deceived and so rarely fully engaged in her life, don't see what's happening. And down, down, down Lia goes.
I marked about a million passages in this book, but this one that follows is (I think) one of the best. Cassie's mom wants Lia to talk to her. She wants to understand why Cassie would do this to herself. Lia thinks:
Why? You want to know why?
Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and peels off, roll in coarse salt, then pull on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes, as long as they are tight.
Smoke gunpowder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, and roll over on command. Listen to the whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore and worst of all: "a disappointment." Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this. Puke and starve and cut and drink because you need an anesthetic and it works. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it's too late because you are mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can't stop.
Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everysinglething is wrong with you.
"Why?" is the wrong question.
Ask "Why not?"
This is not a happy book. This is not an easy book. Anderson takes us step by painful step through Lia's experience, both before Cassie's death and after, and honestly, by the end of the novel you sort of feel as though you had an eating disorder yourself. That's how good the writing is. That's how
terrifying the writing is. Where Lia goes, you go - and where she goes is scary and painful and dizzying. Anderson takes you to the edge and back over and over and does not let you look away no matter how hard it gets.
My most powerful emotion while reading
Wintergirls?
Do whatever you have to to keep your daughter from going through even a fraction of this.
I always hesitate to use the word "important" when it comes to books, but this one is. Read it. Talk about it. Share it.
It
is important.
Purchase at Powell's or find your local
independent bookstore.