Sparkling water fanatic. Lover of random crap. Goodreads member curious to see if the grass really is greener on the other side.
WARNING : Passages included which may cause your brain to hurt. Read on at your own risk.
Trying too hard or not trying hard enough?
There are times when I'm able to overlook writing deficiencies for the sake of storytelling genius. This is not one of those times.
Plush had all the makings of a heart-pounding thriller, but failed to deliver on the total package. I'd like to check out the movie because I think Catherine Hardwicke's style of off-kilter (and sometimes dark) movie-making would lend itself perfectly to this bizarre story.
Unfortunately, the "meant to be interpreted as edgy" style of writing came across as a horrifically hot mess. It's not just about how the words jumped all over the page in an imitation of the frantic, drug-riddled lifestyle that the characters participated in. If the author had chosen to interject certain scenes with this sort of realistic way of thinking/acting/behaving, it would have been fine. Time spent inside of the main character's head while she hallucinated, participated, and flashed back to moments of the story would have been perfect moments for the frenzied, spaz-tastic, jumble of words and sounds to spill out into the page.
When an entire book is penned this way, including multiple typo errors... it just screams MISSED THE MARK!!! (complete with lots of caps, exclamation marks, and weird sound effects in comic book fashion - which we saw plenty of in this book) Any brilliance which came from using the idea of living in the moment falls to the wayside when an entire book is drowning in the overuse of...well...everything.
Before anyone tries to come back at me for not understanding - this is one of these books which I was able to understand from a story perspective. Sex, drugs, and having a stalker? Been there, haha. I'm sort of jealous that I was never in a rock band though. If I had written a journal back in those moments of my young adult-hood, maybe it would have looked something like Plush, complete with the crazy musings and thoughts in the moment. But would that journal make for a good book? Probably not - at least not without some editing and rearranging for the sake of cohesion.
Plenty of people think this story is brilliant. Their opinions are no more wrong or right than my opinions are. I'm okay with those people loving the book. In all honesty, I'd rather just go read a real rock star's memoir or re-read How to Kill a Rock Star instead.
Had this book been edited for typos and at least a few moments been reworked, it might appeal more to the masses. Oh wait, this book is too "edgy" or "indie" to go that lame route of marketing for mass appeal. *snort*
You tell me. Are the following passages brilliantly edgy, or just plain weird?
I hate my body so I never eat after I get in the door anyway - only water and sorrow and from a filter drowning out the beauty of the sky. Miles and miles of heartache. No Dad. Just me and Jack. Forever in time.
Jack would punch Trey and take food money out of his wallet, then swing me into the air and take me shopping. But me, just me : skin, bones, uncertain soul. I don't know.
We make out, my ass on the hood of his old car. I'm fast, lightning speed. Nothing can stop me. Twitch. Gack. Spigaked. Squawk. Sigh. I unzip his pants and bend over the truck.
Roro's fingers are in my mouth, and I suck hard and my ass is ohhhh RoRo, Bo, and somehow I'm now sucking slow and hard on a pink dildo
in my mouth
in and out
up and down
where my life will go
not even Jack the prophet knows