The novel "The Impossible Knife of Memory", by Laurie Halse Anderson, follows the main character, Hayley, and her father as they navigate their host of familial problems, including his PTSD and alcoholism and her flippancy towards school, while Hayley all the while tries to fall in love. This book, like many other works of YA lit, strives for capturing the voices and emotions of snarky, misfit teenagers everywhere, and in doing so encapsulating today's counter culture, but in its efforts instead winds up conforming to another subset of mainstream culture, but mainstream culture nonetheless. It accomplishes this, mainly, through its unrelenting use of cliches. Cliches, cliches, cliches. The entire book, barring the specific subject matter and details, was a conglomeration of cliches. From the non-threatening love interest who 'isn't like other boys' to the demonization of conventionally attractive girls, "The Impossible Knife of Memory" entirely overuses cliches.
One cliche that played into the overarching thematic message of the book was the use of 'zombies' as a metaphor for, well, everyone in Hayley's small town save her small group of friends. "A quick lesson. There are only two kinds of people in this world: 1. zombies, 2. freaks.", says Hayley. Hayley refers to her teachers as 'the zombie rulers', and describes walking through the halls 'surrounded by zombies on all sides.' She refers to her friends' relationship struggles and subsequent drama as 'zombification.' And time and again, Hayley is shown as the only one to stand up and help those in need, the only one to speak out against authority, the only one who reads books, the only self aware being in her small world. And she's the only person in the school who doesn't care about her appearance, obviously. (Even though she's white, skinny, and 'naturally beautiful', read: conventionally attractive. But she has blue hair, guys!) As if caring about one's grades and appearance or being extroverted robs a person of any and all individuality. As if judging someone for liking pop music and dressing to fit with trends makes you any less awful than judging someone for dressing goth and listening to the blues. This cliche is prevalent in teen lit because all teenagers like to think that nobody shares their particular brand of madness, that they're the only unique one in their school, or even in the world at large. But that's the thing: everyone thinks that way, and as a result it isn't wholly true for anyone. It's a tired trend in the world of YA lit, one that cultivates teenagers with condescending, superior attitudes that can't see the world clearly because they're too high up on their horses. Not to mention the fact that judging others for not liking to read is inherently classist, and judging girls for wearing makeup and short skirts is inherently misogynistic, which is particularly amusing given the feminist meta that the author peppers her text with.
Another way "The Impossible Knife of Memory" is cliched is in its tone. The author implements a ton of what's called 'first person snark'. It's a middle aged person's attempt at getting inside teenagers' heads, and it's bemusing at best and cringe inducing at worst. The author, Laurie Halse Anderson, in this case, is reaching through the pages in the book and putting her hand on your shoulder for an uncomfortably long amount of time, telling you that she understands, that she isn't like those other adults. It's sad, really. From page one, our heroine drops pithy one-liners and pseudo-insightful drivel. She calls adults stupid, calls her fellow classmates 'zombies', refuses to do her schoolwork, all in a painfully unsubtle attempt at making her relatable to real high schoolers. The result, though, is a voice could come from literally any teen lit protagonist, from classics like "King Dork" to more contemporary works like "The Fault in Our Stars". "Detention was invented by the same idiots who dreamed up the time-out corner. Does being forced to sit in time-out ever make little kids stop putting cats in the dishwasher or drawing on white walls with purple markers? Of course not. It teaches them to be sneaky and guarantees that when they get to high school they'll love detention because it's a great place to sleep.", snarks Hayley from detention. Does anyone actually talk like this? Does anyone even think like this? The answer is no, absolutely nobody does, except for adult book authors trying to market to teens.
The way that this book deals with romance is also extremely cliched. We've all heard this story before: troubled teenage girl with weirdly colored hair, the attitude that ate New Hampshire and a dark past meets a handsome boy who isn't like any of the others, who sweeps her off of her feet and charms her socks off despite her being nothing but rude to him, and against all odds, teachers her how to love. Finn, the love interest in this story, fits all teen lit criteria for a boy. He's charming, sickeningly so, he's different from the other boys (obviously), and he's startlingly persistent even though the female protagonist starts out hating him. In the end, he 'fixes' her with the power of love. This is a seriously unhealthy trope to perpetuate for a number of reasons, the most prevalent of which being that it teaches troubled, sad girls that if she just sits tight, a beautiful boy will notice her reading Hemingway in a coffee shop and kiss her self-harm scars and make her happy again, all the while leaving her the passive party in her own recovery. Stop this, authors. Although I can see why so many troubled teenage girls might find it a comforting, easy fantasy to withdraw into, it is ridiculously problematic. Instead, teach teenage girls that their happiness shouldn't be dependent on other people, and that the only person who can help them onto the road to recovery is themself. If you keep writing books like "The Impossible Knife of Memory", girls will assume that their sadness is beautiful enough that some boy will inevitably come and take it away from them. That's simply not true.
Again, this book does tackle some fairly unique subject matter. Whether or not it sensationalizes said subject matter is beside the point. It was a narrative I could relate to, and I wanted to like the book, I really did. But the cliches it employed had me rolling my eyes on nearly every page, and underneath the pseudo-counterculture veneer it was deeply problematic. Laurie Halse Anderson's novel "Speak" was and will continue to be one of my all-time favorites, but "The Impossible Knife of Memory" disappointed me greatly.
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