This month, my YA book club decided to read books about cancer.
Uplifting, I know.
Well, kinda. Two of the books (Jesse Andrews' hilariously profane Me & Earl & the Dying Girl and John Green's beautifully written but not-as-heartwrenching-as-it-wanted-to-be The Fault in Our Stars) were certain to be competent, debate-worthy books. But because we wanted a foil, we each decided to select a Lurlene McDaniel book. The queen of terminally-ill teen schmaltz in the 80s and 90s, McDaniel would surely provide the contrast we were looking for.
Did she ever.
I'm going to spoil every detail of this book, so if you truly want to read it, you should stop here. I can't help myself, though. It's so deliciously awful that I must share every gory detail.
Carrie is a survivor of leukemia, and one day at her support group, she meets Keith, a sophomore with Hodgkin's disease. Within ten pages, Carrie is totally crushing on him because he is a raging hottie. He's also going to die, but Carrie doesn't know that because Lurlene McDaniel hasn't told us yet. Carrie will find out when we (officially) find out, and, trust me, it is going to epic.
McDaniel comes from the School of Describing Natural Settings In Great Detail. At any given moment, Carrie is smelling the air, gazing at the twilight, or analyzing the various shades of colors around her. In fact, if Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep were ever, God forbid, turned into a movie, it would be entirely filmed in that 1970s Hazy Porn Filter. McDaniel also comes from the School of Telling Not Showing. The reader need not make a single solitary inference, for the author graciously provides every detail imaginable. At a picnic, Carrie invites herself to eat the food from the lunch Keith's family has brought.
"Midway thought the meal Gwen handed Keith his guitar, and he played songs that people could sing. As she watched him play, Carrie decided that Keith made everything fun." (p. 31)
It is worth noting that Keith, prior to this, has done absolutely nothing that would lead anyone rational to believe he is anything but a boy who says things like, "I like music. I play guitar." because that's all he's done up to this point. So when, during a baseball game, Keith gets knocked on his ass when a batter line drives a pitch into his shoulder, it's hard to feel any emotion except... well... except delight.
If this makes me a bad person, I don't want to be good.
Keith's hospital visit from this accident turns into an Oh Shit moment when it's discovered that a tumor has metastasized. He's a goner. And it's only page 50. Carrie immediately becomes a stalker and visits Keith in the hospital more than his parents do. Even her shrieking harpy of a mother can't convince her to let the boy die in peace.
Instead, Carrie goes Full Throttle Creepy and makes Keith a terrarium (teenage girls love doing this kinda thing for boys they're crushing on) and invites herself over to his parents' house so that she can eat dinner with them and sleep over while Keith is, like, dying on the sofa. When his family announces they're going to their summer home so that Keith can experience the place he loves most before dying, Carrie's already in the car buckling her seatbelt.
At this point, Keith is pretty much catatonic and in constant pain, but Carrie doesn't give a shit. They take a moonlight walk on their last evening at the summer house, and Keith tells her some Serious Things. Dying, apparently, gives you the clarity to trot out heinous, life-affirming platitudes like, "For me... it's over. But not for you." After this bon mot, I was hoping they'd have crazy-good sex (so I'd at least be titillated), but, no. They just sit with their backs against a tree and Carrie weeps even though he's asked her (very) nicely not to.
Upon returning, Keith gets worse. Despite his hospice nurse telling the family that the sleep apnea Keith has developed is no indication that his life is eclipsing, Keith is dead 6 hours later. And the nurse probably gets fired. Here is where the book goes from maudlin and lackluster to hilariously bad. And unintentionally pornographic:
"...his family crowded inward, stroking, touching, exploring with soft touches and softer words." (p. 141)
*blinks* WHAT? I can't tell you how happy I am that McDaniel practiced a little restraint in telling us exactly what the family "stroked" and "explored with soft touches". Because honestly, friends, there are few things outside the bedroom that deserve these verbs, and I sure as hell don't want to read about a family actively using them on their dying son/brother.
So who is Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep for? Man, I wish I knew the answer to that question. Time has not been kind to the book, and I can't imagine it having an emotional influence on anyone, let alone a modern teen. Yet, there's a cadre of teenage girls who check McDaniel books out from my library. I can't imagine it's for any other reason but tongue-in-cheek irony.
Oh, please. I hope that's the case.