The first 100 pages or so of this 355-page book have energy and verve.
Narrated by 15-year-old Rebecca, who's madly in love with a young bloke who doesn't even know she exists, at first it's humorous and fun, and well able to convey the intense feelings young people go through.
But then the relationship is broken up by the boy's mother. Rebecca's family shifts to a small village called Brightley, and the book feels as though it has lost its purpose.
We have a couple of ghosts who contribute little to the story (one is a cousin of Keats, but his poetry is banal, and his personality's as faint as his presence); a stereotypical famous artist who's full of himself, is a chauvinist, and mostly mouths tosh about art; and the village's wise old lady dispensing herbal teas and home-grown produce and who consorts with ghosts and offers grandmotherly homespun wisdom.
Rebecca is full of teenage angst and self-deprecation, some humour and a good deal of irritability. She's a vivid character, but is surrounded by people who barely make a dint in her self-focus.
This may be typical of teenagers, but I found it made for a book that has too little conflict and too little action.
- Mike Crowl is a Dunedin writer, musician and composer.
