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288 pages, Hardcover
First published June 7, 2016
And just for a second, maybe because it was California and you could understand how truly vomit-worthy fame could be only when you were right up next to it, I almost, kind of, understood what it might have been like to be a Manson girl.
I thought about the Manson family, driving around with blood on their hands, and how in Hollywood, you couldn’t tell the killers from the actors. If there was a stranger place on earth, I didn’t know where.
Alison Umminger writes about girls, sex, violence, and which people society deems worthy of caring about, which ones it doesn't, in a way not often seen in YA fiction.For once, a book's blurb is actually worthy of its contents.
Sharon Tate was just a name, or a beautiful blonde, or an actress, or the wife of a director, or another woman who really became famous only when her life was over. When she went from being a body on a screen to a body in a bag. I wanted the movie to bring her to life, but the camera seemed intent on making her nothing more than a beautiful face and a banging body. It didn’t seem fair, not to her, at any rate.It is a rare YA book that contains such depth in such a light manner.
"Will you be okay here by yourself tonight?" Delia asked. "It's perfectly safe, just don't do anything stupid like unlock the door or go for a walk. Remember, in LA pedestrians are just roadkill waiting to happen."
"JUST BE THE GIRL. DO NOT KILL ANYONE."
"I JUST GAVE A THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD EX-CON A BLOWJOB. DO I GET PAYED EXTRA?"
And just for a second, maybe because it was California and you could understand how truly vomit-worthy fame could be only when you were right up next to it, I almost, kind of, understood what it might have been like to be a Mason girl.
I found [Leslie Van Houten] by accident, reading an article in the waiting room of the lady-parts doctor my mom was going to when she was trying to get pregnant with my brother. (ARC, p. 1)
Nasty, filthy America, where you could put a person on trial for being an asshole, and supersize transsexuals ate dog shit off of lawns, at least in the movies. (ARC, p. 2)
It had crossed my mind that my sister might be a slut, but a really nice-smelling, clean, and carefully closeted slut. (ARC, p. 8)
When my mom became a lesbian[...] (ARC, p. 23)
Before my mom decided she was a lesbian, I thoughts lesbians were all these nice, earthy, crunchy, "let's smother you with our extra twenty pounds of lady love and fight the power" people.
It felt like my mom, my dad, my sister, they could all just take one relationship, trash it, and go on to the next thing, start building again, and expect everyone else to be excited. To throw a freaking party. But what about me? I was the leftover from my mom's second marriage, about to get promoted to being the leftover from my dad's first.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he said. "I think I'm going to apply to colleges next year, see if I'm good at anything." Then he smiled again and looked me dead in the eyes. "Or maybe I'll just do more of this?" Then he leaned his body into mine and kissed me again. If those were his future plans, they were find by me.
If you crossed Mean Girls with The Lord of the Flies and weaponized all of them, then you pretty much had the Manson girls. Death row was sooooooo cliquey.it's not a coincidence that the book starts and ends with a plane flight, because it does take you on a trip. and when everything comes together in the last chapter, i couldn't help but feel emotional too; i fell in love with the beautiful ugliness of celebrity stardom that was depicted here.
Los Angeles was a freak show of broken hearts and half-fulfilled dreams, full of artists, liars, parasites, and roadkill, all of whom had just a touch of violence in their hearts.this is one of those times where i really hate my inability to review properly because this is the kind of book that deserves, i don't know, an essay. it definitely isn't, in the main character's words, "YA lit written by barney the dinosaur himself" and that is SO refreshing to see. and like, i laughed my way through this story only to be surprised towards the end by some real truth bombs and really sad realities. i wasn't prepared *sobs for no reason*
Another night meant another club opening. Another grisly murder. Another love story.!!!!!!
"At least, that sounds edgy," Delia said. "Herpes' sounds like something a really dirty Muppet would get."
"Okay, they had choices, but Susan Atkins said that he could see right through her when he met her. And she wasn't the only one."
"Anna," Dex said. "Never underestimate the power of telling a person exactly what she wants to hear."
He was talking to me like I was an idiot. And he was missing the point.
"So I had a breakthrough," he said, and he took my sister's face between his hands, like he was going to make out with her or snap her neck in one swift move. "I know. I know who you are."
"That's reassuring," I said. "You did live together for five years."
My sister glared and Roger ignored me. Just like old times.