a combination of charlotte bronte, charles dickens, and theodore dreiser...or any one of the american realists...
suffers a bit from the pauper syndrome, for some reason this affliction only effected books written from say 1800 to 1940...
also a variation on the ordeal novel...(see comments on dave egger's 'what is the what')...
around 200 pages in and francie is more of a figure of pain and sorrow than a character i feel i really know...she feels like a mop that smith is using to soak up all the liquid suffering and hurt that comes of being a child in that setting in that time...it makes a powerful sympathetic atmosphere, but doesn't go much further...
still a little early for a clear judgement...
the theme of perseverance in the face of smothering adversity is somewhat monolithic at this point, but not to the point where it ruins the book...

about 200 pages in...
i can't help but be struck with the difference between then (1912) and now...
this morning i was reading a scene that almost led me to lay the book aside as hopelessly indicative of an era that no longer resonates with modern sensibilities...
then i remembered this is basically a romana clef novel and i needed to bear that in mind; this is someone's story...
it's just so hard to believe people acted this way...class distinctions are iron bound, customs and cultural mores are wholly rigid, poverty is quicksand, and the individuals navigating this minefield are dead set on pushing each other onto the triggers...
it's a tough world to believe ever actually existed...

if one were to fully internalize reality as it is depicted in this book, one would have to conclude that the world gives off an awful stink...
as i've stated, this text reflects a horrible reality, a reality that i, as a subject of culture, am not totally prepared to believe is genuine...the horrible people, the general antipathy, the disregard for one's own humanity, all stick in my throat and refuse metabolization...
interestingly enough, smith seems to have anticipated this potentiality and discusses it through francie and her youthful attempts at writing...
her teacher tells her to write about 'beauty', that her stories reflect a sordid ugliness that is ill-suited to artistic pursuit...the teacher doesn't believe, or cannot believe, the world that francie writes about is worthy of representation, and even goes as far as to imply that poverty and hunger only exist because the poor and hungry choose to live in such a state...
the teacher's position is analogous to my own and to probably a good many people who will read this story...this text is difficult to believe in...the world certainly does give off an awful stink and its simply the nature of reality that some are born closer to its source and are therefore more intimately familiar with the quality of its stench...my experience has not reflected the same hardship and adversity that smith recounts here, but that is no reason for me to disregard her story as specious...
i guess i simply wish to acknowledge that, like francie's teacher, my primary impulse upon reading this story was to dismiss it as lacking in verisimilitude...i think now, after reading this section of the book, this is an erroneous impulse...

in the end, i was left slightly disappointed...but only slightly...
the conclusion seemed a little too contrived...the love interest jilting her balancing with the mother re-marrying a rich handsome gentleman...it was too easy an ending, but one you really come to expect from this era of writing...it could've really been bad, with happy endings all round, at least smith was savvy enough to avoid this trap...
what i'm ultimately left with after finishing this book is smith's ardent love for the burgh of brooklyn and the time period in which she grew up...even though it was a harsh place, filled with desperation, she still held a deep affection for her neighborhood which she transfered affectionately into the text...