Book Review: American Youth by Phil LaMarche

First things first: I hate the boy.

It's not that high school freshman Teddy LeClare, main character of Phil LaMarche's American Youth (published by Knopf Canada), isn't worthy of a story. It's "the boy" that I hate, LaMarche's stylistic choice that ensures we never forget for a moment just how alienated this kid is. It's the kind of technique that works well in a short story, providing an instant idea of where one stands in relation to the tale, but a novel begs for something subtler:

The boy knew it was dangerous, driving with a drunk. He'd seen the commercials. He'd been subject to the campaigns in school. But to care about your physical well-being, you have to care about your physical well-being. The boy's drunk mind fantasized about crashing full speed into one of the broad pines on the side of the road - his body flying into the dashboard, through the windshield, headlong into the trees and small saplings. Pain was what his body craved. It pleaded to be burned and scalded and dashed to pieces. It longed for relief.

It makes it very clear that Teddy doesn't inhabit himself, but it keeps me from getting close to him, too. It overpowers things, like serving horseradish as a side dish instead of a condiment - it distracted me from the more delicate components.

In spite of this common complaint, "masterpiece" makes a frequent appearance in the buzz and reviews for the novel. Thematically, the book covers attention-getting ground. The key event of the story is a shooting that leaves one of Teddy's friends dead; the book is the story of what follows. But American Youth isn't so much a book about guns as it is one about cultural conflict and change.

Teddy's economically-depressed small town is becoming a suburb, and there's an us versus them element as the population changes. As Teddy is adopted by a gang of suspender-wearing, morality-focused, Second Amendment-defending teens (the titular "American Youth"), it becomes clear that it isn't the deadliness of the bullet that mattered so much as the illuminating flash of the gunshot. It's a real world discussion that is so polarized that understanding the other point of view seems impossible, making it the perfect place for fiction.

Article Author: Bonnie

Bonnie writes about books every Thursday at Fourth-Rate Reader, about everything else at Signifying Nothing, and sometimes she resorts to pictures. She lives in Toronto.

Visit Bonnie's author page — Bonnie's Blog