Last Cut (2012), by Wren Handman

This review was first published in Resource Links Magazine, “Canada’s national journal devoted to the review and evaluation of Canadian English and French resources for children and young adults.” It appears in volume 18.2

Last Cut

“A Cautionary Tale for Young Divas” is how I would subtitle Wren Handman’s Last Cut. The protagonist—16-year-old Caitlin—is carefully crafted as a self-interested aspiring actress with talent, and serious attitude. Initially, I wondered whether young readers would continue with the book; there are perhaps too many subtle clues of Caitlin’s real nature for readers to like her. Maybe that’s not necessary, though, for all readers. Those who persevere with the novel will be rewarded with an intimate glimpse into the dangerous and damaging problems into which naïve hubris can lead one.
Overly sure of her acting ability, Caitlin tries out for—and lands—a role in a “professional” movie. To take part, she has to skip school, which requires lying to her parents. She also has to be 18, which requires lying on her contract… which she doesn’t read anyhow.  In telling her friends about the audition, she lies that “they totally loved me … they even asked me to stay for, like, a second audition afterwards that they only give to the people they really want to see” (31). My patience with Caitlin by this point was growing thin, but my respect for Handman’s authorial abilities was increasing. I may not like Caitlin, but I have to admit that she and her friends seem very much like high school girls I know, with the same relationships, the same catty games, the same petty jealousies, well expressed.  When Caitlin surfaces from her work to attend a party, her friends Hannah and Suzanne are overjoyed to see her; her response is telling: “they’re overdoing it just enough that I can tell they don’t mean it. I mean, it isn’t that they’re not happy to see me. It’s just that they know they hurt my feelings on Wednesday, so now they’re overcompensating to try to make me feel good. They’re acting so excited to see me that it really feels fake, and I have a hard time mustering any enthusiasm” (89). The relationship between honesty, sincerity, acting, and artifice finally comes home to Caitlin, but it is too late: in the end she learns a hard lesson, and has gambled away most of what she thought she had for a dream of stardom that was doomed at the outset by her own dishonesty.
My one real reservation about the novel lies in where we are left. Topless photos of a Caitlin, aged 16, are circulated by the movie’s publicity people before her age is discovered. The severity of this situation is earlier alluded to by the casting director—before we know any photos have been released—but we are left with no indication of what this ultimately will mean for Caitlin, for her family, or for the movie producers. Child pornography is a very serious issue, and it feels like Last Cut trivializes the situation by leaving it unresolved. The final scene exacerbates the problem; Caitlin’s boyfriend is angry enough to leave her, telling her that her concerns are pointless, that “the whole world doesn’t revolve around you” (141), when in fact her concern is at least partially founded on the fact that her stupidity has caused considerable legal problems—perhaps criminal prosecution—for the movie producers who gave her a chance. Perhaps the teen reader will not care, but personally prefer to have real-world legal problems not left hanging. The criminal justice system within which Handman—as a realist author—is writing provides many possible answers: it would be nice if we were told which Handman envisions for her characters.

Molly’s Cue (2010), by Alison Acheson

This review was first published in Resource Links Magazine, “Canada’s national journal devoted to the review and evaluation of Canadian English and French resources for children and young adults.” It appears in volume 16.1

Molly’s Cue

Molly’s Cue fills a niche in children’s literature similar to the one Jane Austen’s Emma (1815) fills for adults.  Like Emma, Molly has it all: she is confident, talented, and sure of her future.  Like Emma, Molly needs to learn to respect others for their abilities—more, less, or just different from her own—and to understand how she can best contribute to the world around her.  For Molly, this learning is painful, and takes most of her first year of highschool, the time-frame of the novel.  The superficial issue is drama, and its connection with Molly’s recently deceased grandmother, “Grand.”  When Molly learns the truth about Grand’s relationship to theatre and the stage, her belief in her legacy of dramatic ability dissolves.  Her confidence shattered, she almost drops out of drama class.  With the help of her teacher, her best friend, Candace, and Candace’s new boyfriend, Molly rediscovers her artistic voice, and begins a journey into her future that readers will not only appreciate but possibly emulate.
Entwined with Molly’s negotiation of stagecraft, Acheson weaves the story of the adults in Molly’s life: her friend Candace’s pregnant, unmarried mother; Grand, who worshipped the stage but never performed on it; Molly’s widowed mother, supportive but strained by the demands of those around her; and Molly’s immature uncle “Early,” whose own need to grow up is instrumental in Molly’s budding recognition of her place in her family and her community.  The characters are heart-warmingly real; their troubles are expressed sympathetically, in a manner that is not overwhelmingly angst-inducing.  The balance Acheson has developed between affectionate emotional attachment and interpersonal conflict strongly resembled one of my favourite authors, Glen Huser; Molly’s Cue can sit beside Huser’s Touch of the Clown (1999) with pride in achieving a positive and strong voice for the artistic child reader to hear.

The Taming (2012), by Eric Walters and Teresa Toten

Katie is invisible. She likes it that way. It’s safer than standing out, given her borderline-alcoholic mother with a history of bad choices in male companions. The one before last, for example, had been a real problem… But then Katie is cast as Katherina in her highschool production of The Taming of the Shrew. On the stage, she can be as strong as she knows she is inside, and it feels right. And she is good. Everyone tells her so, including the new boy, Evan…

Evan has come down in the world, from a life of private schools to a public highschool where he has little respect for his peers and none for his teachers or the administration. His privileged life continues: the clothes, the Audi, the attitudes that carry him through life and impress all the girls, including Katie… but also the psycho-emotional price he pays for having, as his father puts it, a “higher market value” (113).

Eric Walters and Theresa Toten take turns writing sections of the novel from the perspective of these two teens as they come together both on and off stage.  Seeing their carefully crafted relationship from both sides will be illuminating for young readers, who often wonder how the other gender functions.  But while Katie is an excellent example of a strong but seriously troubled teen struggling to come to terms with past abuse and present insecurity, Evan is initially—no, for most of the novel—little more than a Letch-in-Prince-Charming’s-clothing.  His actions seem to be all that Katie thinks they are, but his inner monologue foreshadows the pain he will cause her before the novel is over.  The way this dynamic is structured presents a strong warning to all young girls regarding many boys’ intent: the warnings our mothers and fathers give us, but we never believe.  Katie’s friends Travis and Lisa, too, are wary of the attention Evan showers on her, and—as similarly socially outcaste before the advent of Evan—are strongly supportive, even when their concern angers Katie.  The workings of these teens’ relationships are carefully and effectively constructed; we see these characters as real teens within their fictional setting. When Katie and Evan’s relationship reaches its climactic moments, we are left to consider seriously the two personalities, the social and familial causes of their several problems, and how they as individuals choose to respond to the traumas of childhood and adolescence.

In the end, unquestionably, Katie stands strong.  She tells Evan unequivocally: “You taught me so much, Evan. About myself, about … so much,” but she has grown beyond his reach: “You need help. Your father … Get help, Evan. […] No one will ever lay an hand on me again” (223-9).  Evan, always in control—taught control as the only acceptable modus operandi by his domineering financier father—has lost what he has fortunately come to realize is a prize worth keeping: Katie’s love.  We see Katie’s growth; we see the healing that goes on in her family, the potential for happiness that she helps to establish for herself and her mother. With Evan, there is less evidence of change. Certainly he does stand up to his father on behalf of his powerless mother, and he does finally admit to himself that he needs healing, needs Katie’s love as much as he used to mistakenly think she needed his mojo.  But in the end we are left with only the possibility of his seeking the professional help he needs, and standing up to his father once seems only too likely to create more barriers to healing. Evan is going to find only resistance, not assistance, from his family. Still, his moment of realization is strong, and we can only hope that Evan has learned as much, as effectively, from Katie as she has learned from him. What is certain is that teen readers have much to learn from both of them. The novel is so well crafted that the learning will come gradually, accompanied by powerful vicarious emotions that I think will help them prepare for real relationship dilemmas when—hopefully only if—they are encountered.