An Absolutely True Post

My first review. Keep in mind that this is highly biased, because I met the author tonight and liked him. Not in that way, though yes, he was cute in that torturedly-awkward-yet-cheekily-deviant-artist kind of way. But it would never work out. He ruins the ends of books. Plus he's a communist. Anyway, on to my review:

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
by Sherman Alexie
Little, Brown and Company: 2007

What a great book cover. Black is very slimming, though this little guy hardly needs it! I appreciate the font choice here: the slightly irregular blockiness lets you know upfront that this is a young adult novel (I had no idea until I got to Borders tonight -- I thought maybe we were going to hear some angry Indian poetry, but no, something different). I remember when I was in fifth, maybe sixth grade -- the years in which you start using sharpies and posterboard for assignments -- and all the girls had, overnight and simultaneously, adopted the universal GIRLY BUBBLE TEXT for gossipy note writing, doodling, science projects, etc. You know what I'm talking about: those perfectly shaped letters with their fat curves and flaring sarifs. Do girls feel the need to adopt shapely letterhead at age 12 in order to reflect their new curvaceous bodies, or is that coincidental? Anyway, though my pubescent development wasn't too sluggish, my ability to write bubbly letters never showed up in my panties. My block letters were just thicker chicken scratches. I was bad at symmetry, too, and so the last half of whatever I was labeling would always smush together. Another girl in my class had a similar problem, though hers was exacerbated by her inability to spell. I remember looking at her poster during some kind of health presentation, and wondering what

NO SOM-

KING

was supposed to mean. Maybe someone should have told her mom "no somking" while she was pregnant with the poor girl!

Anyway, back to Mr. Alexie's cover. I love the toy cowboy and indian. Very reminiscent (for me) of The Indian and the Cupboard. This was one of those childhood books that I never enjoyed reading, yet read 6 or 7 times throughout my "young reader" life. I remember feeling uncomfortable both with the subject matter (toys come to life and practically burn your house down!) and the British colloquisms (my first introduction to "mum"--why can't this kid say things right?). I was fairly intolerant as a child, but I couldn't have been so closedminded, because I read the book so many times. I guess because it was there, and maybe I was sick of Beezus and Ramona.

So yeah, juxtaposition of racially dueling lives and whatnot. What really drives me crazy about this cover is the super-sheen matteness of the black space. Yes, it looks lovely on the shelf, but as soon as I touch it, it starts absorbing every molecule of oil that is typically coating my grubby hands. I'm all about respecting the craftmanship of a well-bound or beautifully illustrated text, but I don't want to feel the need to don white gloves every time I'd like to read my book. Come on, Sherman, it can't be that great.