Paint it Black

I haven't read or seen White Oleander, so I can't compare Janet Fitch's new(est) novel to the one that made her famous.

It took me a week to get around to blogging about Paint it Black. In part because it's been a busy time, but more because I just wasn't sure what to say. The novel follows the life-worn (at all of, I think, 20) Josie, as she struggles to make sense of her lover's suicide. It's the early 1980s, and Josie is a runaway and punk; Michael was the son of a writer and pianist, who left Harvard for art classes at what I think is LACC.

The novel flashes back to Josie & Michael's short-lived happiness, and the darker times that preceded his death. The tragedy of love, and the inability to help the ones you love struggle with their demons - neither make this an easy read emotionally, and yet Fitch's writing has such ease and fluidity that it's a quick read. But then you're left with the weight of the pain, and the question of how some shoulder it while others simply cannot.