Named a "Best Book of 2015" by Bustle, Book Riot, Chicago Public Library, Quill and Quire, and the B&N Teen Blog!
The sheriff's son, Kellan Turner, is not the golden boy everyone thinks he is, and Romy Grey knows that for a fact. Because no one wants to believe a girl from the wrong side of town, the truth about him has cost her everythingfriends, family, and her community. Branded a liar and bullied relentlessly by a group of kids she used to hang out with, Romy's only refuge is the diner where she works outside of town. No one knows her name or her past there; she can finally be anonymous. But when a girl with ties to both Romy and Kellan goes missing after a party, and news of him assaulting another girl in a town close by gets out, Romy must decide whether she wants to fight or carry the burden of knowing more girls could get hurt if she doesn't speak up. Nobody believed her the first timeand they certainly won't nowbut the cost of her silence might be more than she can bear.
With a shocking conclusion and writing that will absolutely knock you out, Courtney Summers' new novel All the Rage examines the shame and silence inflicted upon young women in a culture that refuses to protect them.
|Publisher:||St. Martin's Press|
|Product dimensions:||5.46(w) x 8.13(h) x 0.84(d)|
|Age Range:||14 - 17 Years|
About the Author
COURTNEY SUMMERS lives and writes in Canada. She is the author of What Goes Around, This is Not a Test, Fall for Anything, Some Girls Are, Cracked Up to Be, Please Remain Calm, and All the Rage.
Read an Excerpt
All the Rage
By Courtney Summers
St. Martin's PressCopyright © 2015 Courtney Summers
All rights reserved.
the boy is beautiful.
She wants him to look at her.
Look at me, look at me, look at me.
Look at her. She's young, she's vital, she's a star in the sky. She's agonized over this night, agonized over every second of getting ready, like the perfect combination of clothes and makeup will unlock the secrets of the universe. Sometimes it feels like that much is at stake.
She has never been hungrier in her life.
You look perfect, her best friend, Penny, says, and that's all she needs to hear to feel worthy of the six-letter name she's tattooed on her heart. Penny would know about perfect. Penny's got the kind of face and body that stops traffic, turns heads, leaves people open-mouthed, in awe. The kind of pretty that makes you prettier just by being close to it and she's always close to it, because they're close. Secret-keeping close.
Thank you, she says. She's never had a best friend before, let alone been one. It's a strange feeling, to have a place. Like there was an empty spot beside another (perfect) girl, just waiting for her. She pulls at her skirt, adjusts the thin straps of her top. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
Do you really think he'll like it?
Yeah. Now don't do anything stupid.
Is this stupid? It's so much later now and beautiful, beautiful, she's saying to the boy because she can't seem to shut up. She has had one, no, two, no, three-four shots and this is what happens when that much drinking happens. She says things like, you are so beautiful. I just really wanted to tell you that.
The boy is beautiful.
Thank you, he says. She reaches clumsily across the table and threads her fingers through his hair, enjoying the feel of his dark curls. Penny sees this happen somehow, sees through the wall of an entirely different room where she's been wrapped around her boyfriend because suddenly, she's there, saying, don't let her drink anymore.
I won't, the boy promises.
It makes her feel warm, being looked out for. She tries to articulate this with her numb tongue, but all that comes out: is this stupid? Am I stupid?
You're one drink away,Penny says, and laughs at the stricken expression this news inspires. Penny hugs her, tells her not to worry about it, whispers in her ear before disappearing back behind her wall, but he's looking at you.
Look at her.
Six-seven-eight-nine shots later and she's thinking oh nobecause she is going to puke. He walks her through his house, guides her away from the party.
You want to get some air? You want to lie down?
No, she wants her best friend because she worries she is so many drinks past stupid now and she doesn't know what to do about that.
It's okay. I'll get her. But first you should lie down.
There's a truck, a classic pickup pride and joy. There's the truck's bed, and the cold shock of it against her back makes her shiver. The stars above move or maybe it's the earth, that slow and sure turning of the earth. No. It's the sky and it's speaking to her.
Close your eyes.
He waits. He waits because he's a nice boy. A blessed boy. He's on the football team. His father is the sheriff and his mother sits at the top of a national auto supply chain and they are both so proud.
He waits until he can't wait anymore.
She thinks he's beautiful. That's enough.
The hard ridges of the truck bed never warm under her body but her body is warm. He feels everything under her shirt before he takes it off.
Look at me, look at me, hey, look at me.
He wants her to look at him.
Her eyes open slowly. His tongue parts her lips. She's never felt so sick. He explores the terrain of her body while he pretends to negotiate the terms.
You want this, you've always wanted this and we're not going that far, I promise.
Really? His hands are everywhere and he's a vicious weight on top of her that she can't breathe against so she cries instead, and how do you get a girl to stop crying?
You cover her mouth.
No, I'm not there ... I'm not there anymore. That was a long time ago, a year ago, and that girl—I'm not her again. I can't be.
I'm in the dirt. I'm on my hands and my knees and I'm crawling in it, what I came from. I don't remember standing, don't remember ever being a thing that could stand. Just this dirt, this road. I opened my mouth to it, tasted it. It's under my fingernails. A night passed from the ground. Now it's early morning and I'm thirsty.
A dry wind moves through the trees off the road beside me, stirring their leaves. I dredge up spit to wet my swollen lips and lick my bloodstained teeth. It's hot out, the kind of heat that creeps up on you and makes mirages on the road. The kind that shrivels the elderly and carries them into the waiting, open arms of death.
I roll onto my back. My skirt rides up my legs. I pull at my shirt and find it open, feel my bra unclasped. I fumble buttons through holes, covering myself even though it is so. Hot. I can't. I touch my fingertips to my throat. Breathe.
My bones ache, have aged somehow in the last twenty-four hours. I press my palms against the grit and the bitter hurt of it startles me into semiawareness. They're scraped, raw and pink, what happens when you crawl.
A distant rumbling reaches my ears. A car. It passes and then slows, backs up, comes to a halt beside me. Its door opens and slams shut. I close my eyes and listen to the soft crunch of soft soles on rough gravel.
Birds are singing.
The footsteps stop but the birds are still singing, singing about a girl who wakes up on a dirt road and doesn't know what happened to her the night before, and the person standing over her, a shadow across her body that blocks out the sun. Maybe it's someone nice. Or maybe someone come to finish whatever it is that's been started. About a girl.
Don't look at her.
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
before i tore the labels off, one was called Paradise and the other, Hit and Run. It doesn't matter which is which. They're both blood red.
Proper application of nail polish is a process. You can't paint it on like it's nothing and expect it to last. First, prep. I start with a four-way buffer. It gets rid of the ridges and gives the polish a smooth surface to adhere to. Next, I use a nail dehydrator and cleanser because it's best to work with a nail plate that's dry and clean. Once it's evaporated, a thin layer of base coat goes on. The base coat protects the nails and prevents staining.
I like the first coat of polish to be thin enough to dry by the time I've finished the last nail on the same hand. I keep my touch steady and light. I never drag the brush, I never go back into the bottle more than once per nail if I can help it. Over time and with practice, I've learned how to tell if what's on the brush will be enough.
Some people are lazy. They think if you're using a highly pigmented polish, a second coat is unnecessary, but that's not true. The second coat asserts the color and arms you against the everyday use of your hands, all the ways you can cause damage without thinking. When the second coat is dry, I take a Q-tip dipped in nail polish remover to clean up any polish that might have bled onto my skin. The final step is the top coat. The top coat is what seals in the color and protects the manicure.
The application of lipstick has similar demands. A smooth canvas is always best and dead skin must be removed. Sometimes that takes as little as a damp washcloth, but other times I scrub a toothbrush across my mouth just to be sure. When that's done, I add the tiniest amount of balm, so my lips don't dry out. It also gives the color something to hold on to.
I run the fine fibers of my lip brush across the slanted top of my lipstick until my lips are coated and work the brush from the center of my lips out. After the first layer, I blot on a tissue and add another layer, carefully following the outline of my small mouth before smudging the color out so it looks a little fuller. Like with the nail polish, layering always helps it to last.
And then I'm ready.
cat kiley is the first one down.
Today, anyway. I don't see it happen. I'm ahead, my feet kicking up track while the others pant behind me. The sun is in my throat. I woke up choking on it, my skin slimy with sweat and stuck to the sheets. It's a dry, stale summer that doesn't know it's supposed to be over. It breathes itself out slowly, wants us to forget other seasons. It's a sick heat. Makes you sick.
I glance behind me, see her sprawled out on the track and keep moving. I focus on the steady rhythm of my pulse and by the time I've circled, she's coming around, less the girl she was before she fell. Pale and monosyllabic. Sun-jacked. That's what the boys are calling it.
Coach Prewitt is on her knees, gently pouring a bottle of water over Cat's forehead while barking out questions. You eat, Kiley? You eat breakfast today? Drink anything? You on your period? The boys shift uncomfortably because oh God, what if she's bleeding.
"Does it matter? We shouldn't be out in this anyway," Sarah Trainer mutters.
Prewitt looks up and squints. "This heat ain't news, Trainer. You come to my class, you come prepared. Kiley, you eat today? Breakfast?"
"No," Cat finally manages.
Prewitt stands, her has-been athlete joints crackling and popping. This small act, this kneeling and rising, blossoms beads of sweat across her forehead. Cat struggles to her feet and sways. Her face is going to meet that track again if nobody gets ahold of her.
"Garrett, carry her to the nurse's office."
The lineman steps forward. Number 63. Broad shoulders, all muscled and firm. Never trust a blond boy, that's what my mom always says, and Brock Garrett is so blond his eyebrows are nearly invisible. The light above catches the fine hairs on his arms and makes them shimmer. He lifts Cat easily. Her head lolls against his chest.
Prewitt spits. It dries before it hits the ground. "Get back to it!" And we scatter, we run. There are thirty minutes of this period left and we can't all still be standing at the end of it.
"Think she's okay?" Yumi Suzuki gasps out ahead of me. Her long hair flies behind her and she makes a frustrated noise as she tries to hold it back with one hand before quickly giving up. Her elastic band snapped earlier. Prewitt wouldn't let her go in for another because nothing short of collapsing gets you out of her class and even that gets taken out of your grade.
"She's faking," Tina Ortiz says. She's tiny, just slightly over five feet. The boys used to call her an ankle-biting bitch until puberty hit and breasts happened. Now they just call her. "She wants to be carried."
When Prewitt's whistle finally blows and we're dragging ourselves back inside, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me aside because she thinks I can run, she thinks I could get trophies or ribbons—whatever they give you for it.
"It's your last year, Grey," she says. "Make a difference for your school."
I'd burn this place to the ground before I'd ever willingly make a difference for it, but I'm smarter than saying that out loud and she should be smarter than tempting me. I shake my head, wave her off. Her thin lips twitch with disappointment before melting into all the other lines on her worn face. I don't much like Coach Prewitt, but I like her lines. No one fucks with her.
I fall in with the rest of my classmates and we stumble through the back entrance of Grebe High on spent legs, quietly moving past classes still in session. At the fork in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, Brock reappears, looking awfully satisfied with himself.
"Cat okay?" Tina asks.
"She'll live." He runs his hand over his head, flattening hair that's barely there. "Why you want to know?"
"Did you even take her to the nurse's office?"
He peers cautiously down the hall but Prewitt never follows us in, never sticks with us a second longer than she has to. We screw around in the halls, she hears about it. Makes us pay for it later.
"Eventually," he says.
"That's what I thought."
"You jealous, Tina? Fall tomorrow. I'll pick you up."
She rolls her eyes and heads for the girls' locker room, down the hall's right tine. Not being outright rejected makes Brock man of the hour, so slap him on the back and tell him, I bet she will. I bet tomorrow she'll be riding your dick. Do it; you're so cool.
Brock punches Trey Marcus in the arm. "See that? That's how it's done." Then he catches my eye. "What, Grey? You want to ride it?"
I follow the other girls to the locker room, where I get undressed. My fingers curl around the edge of my limp and dusty shirt. I bring it over my head and then I'm in my bra, sneaking looks at the other girls' ribs, ridges, innies, outies, A, B, C, D and—Tina—E cups. Yesterday, Norah Landers learned something new about nipples. They're not all the same, you know. We did, but the types apparently have different names. She ran us through them. It's not like that in here all the time. Norah just couldn't keep it to herself, I guess. So after we listened, entranced by this unexpected piece of information, and after we all glanced down and cataloged ourselves, we told her to shut the fuck up so we could go back to pretending we didn't exist in this space together while being all too aware that we do.
"So she was faking," Tina says to no one. Everyone.
I take my bra off. "If Brock Garrett said it, it must be true."
Tina faces me and the faint tan lines on her light brown skin is all she's wearing. She's always first undressed. Confrontational nudity. I don't know. Everything with Tina is a confrontation.
"What would you know about the truth?"
"Fuck you, Tina. That's what I know."
"Give it a rest," Penny Young says.
"Why would I want to do a thing like that?" Tina asks.
Penny shimmies out of her shorts.
"Because I said so and you're supposed to listen to your elders."
"Well, my birthday's next, so watch out. And how was Godwit, anyway? You didn't call me back like you promised." Tina arches her eyebrow. "Good weekend?"
Penny doesn't answer, busying herself with the buttons of her collar. Tina stalks into the showers and I hear her muttering about what a whore I am before she slips into one of the curtained stalls because Tina always gets the last word, one way or another. The rest of the girls trail in after her and then it's me and Penny, alone. She clutches a towel to herself but she doesn't look like she needs a shower. No trace of Phys Ed on her, her hair no worse for wear, her skin sun-kissed instead of sun-killed. Penny Young is the most perfect girl you know and those kinds of girls, they're put on this earth to break you. Peel back her skin and you can see her poison. Peel back mine, you can still see traces of where her poison's been.
"Moving day," she says.
She's talking to me except we don't talk. Sometimes a word or two will slip through, but only out of necessity. This is not that. I never told anyone about the move, but nothing stays secret long in Grebe. Word travels. Slurred in bars, murmured over fences between neighbors, muttered in the produce section of the grocery store and again at checkout because the cashier always has something to add. Cell phones don't run as fast as the mouths in this town.
"What did you say?" I ask.
But she's not looking at me and I wonder if I imagined it, if she said anything at all. I leave her there and find a shower stall for myself where I run the water hot as the sun. It stings my skin. I imagine it eroding lines into me, all over my pale body, my arms, my legs, and especially my face until I look like one of those women. The kind no one fucks with.
I'm last out, I make sure of it. I turn the water off and stand there a minute, my wet hair clinging to my neck, drying fast and frizzing. When I get back to the change room, my locker is open and my clothes are on the floor.
My bra and underwear are gone.
My bra, one of the two I own, is an embarrassment. That's what Tina called it, once. It's a thin strip of material with skinny straps because there's nothing on me that really needs to be supported. I wore black bikini-cut underwear, nothing special. I grab the rest of my clothes. Today was cutoffs and a flimsy black shirt that needs something underneath it, but I try not to think about that. The others silently watch me dress. They watch me take out my lipstick and press it into my lips. They watch me check my nails for chips. As soon as I'm gone, their excited voices drift from behind the door.
Was it you? Did you do it? You're so cool.
I think of myself naked in that shower, think of the water running over me while someone moved around the next room and took the things that touched the most intimate parts of my body. I make my way down the hall with my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
Excerpted from All the Rage by Courtney Summers. Copyright © 2015 Courtney Summers. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Two Weeks Earlier,
About the Author,
Also by Courtney Summers,
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
4.5 stars. I’m surprised my Kindle made it after this book for I slammed it closed so many times during this read: frustrated, angry and just emotional about the whole read but I totally enjoyed this book. It stirred up and aroused feelings in me and to me that is what good books do. The pieces in this book were like a puzzle and they all don’t fit together till the end but as you read, you slowly start to understand how some of them are connected. Romy is the main character and waitresses at a diner and she is a loner. I really didn’t understand why she didn’t have any friends as she came across as a person that seemed normal. She used to have friends and now, she’s bullied at school. After exchanging words with a previous friend, she unexpectedly leaves work and heads to a beach party, a place she should avoid considering her history. In the morning, the friend has disappeared without a trace and Romy was found on the road, her appearance less than desirable. So much speculation and finger pointing. Romy thought her life was bad before that evening at the beach and now, it’s horrific. This book will keep you guessing and glued as the words fly off the page as you try to unravel what happened and how all the pieces fall into place. I found myself admiring Romy throughout the book for being a strong and determined character. She tried to keep things bottled up inside and she wasn’t externally spiteful for events that played out in her life. As she walks out of the diner without warning after talking to her x-friend, I wanted to scream. What was she thinking!! No good can come out of this activity. As she was walking down the road, I cringed at what would transpire for I knew where she was headed before the words popped out on the page. Although she has every good reason to head down to the party, alcohol, irrational behavior and being one of the least popular people at school, this cannot be good. Come on, Romy! I received a copy of this book from NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press in exchange for an honest opinion.
I love the way this book is written but I couldn't help wanting more. There were raw moments but not much lead up. Just felt plain
3 ways you know you just read a 5 star book. 1-you can't stop thinking about the characters after "the end". 2-you already can't wait until you read the book again. Cause now you know how you'll remember the way it affected you the first time and what details you want to absorb more the second time. 3-you purchase another book by the author immediately. I had this happen to me after I finished All The Rage by Courtney Summers. Romy's story sucked me in and didn't spit me out when it was over. I was hooked from the nail polish routine-of course!-but it's more than that. I felt connected to Romy. I understood why she needed to identify with the old version of herself. All The Rage is dark, gripping, and holds a big purpose. The story really should be read by teenage girls, even if it helps just one speak up for herself. I'm not one to give out spoilers so I'll leave it at that. But this is a book I would suggest to book clubs to get the conversation started and going. I can't say enough good things about the author's writing style. She tells the story in a way that forces you to pay complete attention and read every word. All The Rage is really a 6 star book, but 5 is all you can give on B&N! polishedandbubbly.blogspot.com
All the Rage is first-rate story-telling with first-rate writing, dealing with a very tough subject. Romy is a complex and interesting character, who despite everything that has happened to her, fights to keep her head up. She's been changed and she's been scarred, but her inner will refuses to let her be oppressed. She knows there is life outside of the small-town she lives in - a town that clearly believes in the "haves" over the "have-nots" - and a life away from people who are small-minded they want to ruin other people rather than admit their own guilt and faults. My heart was breaking for Romy and cheering her on at the same time. If it was up to me, this novel would be in every high school library, and the teen section of every public library.
This is one of those books that should be recommended reading for every middle school, high school, and college in the country. Not because it's a good coming of age story, or a story that will make you feel hopeful when you finish it. If anything, you'll feel sick to your stomach and downright disgusted, and that's why you should read it. Because stories like Romy's--fictional details aside--are true. They happen all over the country, in schools and small towns just like Grebe. There are girls like Romy at the center of many of these stories, suffering in silence because they know they won't be believed. ALL THE RAGE punches right through that silence and shame, and that's why you should read it. That's why everyone over the age of thirteen should read it. Because Romy's hurt and horror and heartbreak are forgone conclusions in a society that treats girls and women like their experiences are invalid. Like their opinions don't matter. Five huge stars for one of the most important books of the year. Read this book. Read it and share it and learn from it.
I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. A devastatingly real portrait of the brutality faced by teenage girls, All the Rage will haunt you. Summers has a talent for relating horrifying events and their aftermath succinctly and with precision. Her writing style is flawless and her plots are never as straightforward as they seem. Despite the fact that she writes stories that are hard to wrap the head around, I am always left with a sense of hope that sentimental books fail to deliver. All the Rage is beautifully narrated and is not to miss.
Never has a book made me feel so much. Beautifully written and extremely powerful, highly recommended.
The only way that I can start this review is by saying that All The Rage by author Courtney Summers is haunting. It’s the kind of novel that I read and shook my head at and felt completely and totally unsettled. This is a novel that shocks you and disgusts you and keeps you fearful for the truth of just what is going on in the plot. This is an unforgettable read that I think everyone should pick up at least once. It is mysterious and eye-opening, showing readers the life of a girl who is shamed for being assaulted and her struggle to survive past it. Romy Grey has lived being ridiculed by her peers. Talking about what happened to her at the hands of Kellan Turner has cost her friendships, family, and her happiness. But the Turners are an influential family in town and to be speak out against them is to sign your own death certificate. Nobody can look at Romy without thinking of her as a liar. A girl seeking attention. When news reaches Romy about Kellan assaulting another woman, the idea of speaking up and fighting back against him rises to the surface. But how can she? Running off to a party, Romy finds herself caught inside of a web, one where any wrong movement could mean facing a truth darker than anything she could imagine. All The Rage begins with beautiful writing describing an ugly scene. We are introduced to the novel’s subject matter firsthand and are left to wonder what’s supposed to come next. Summers does not shy away from how gritty the situation that Romy is put in is. She is a character who is surrounded by hatred in a town fueled by animosity. The people around Romy are cruel and judgemental and are portrayed in a way that feels incredibly real. Summers does an amazing job at showing us a place where victim blaming is alive and well, through the eyes of the victim. The story inside of All The Rage is one that is heartbreaking and heart pounding. The first chapter we are introduced to shows us the night of a party. The first half of the novel is set before said party, showing us the build-up and giving us the ‘how’ and ‘why’ of Romy being there. The second half of the novel is all mystery. The entire town searching for a missing girl who everyone wishes was Romy instead. Romy suffers through the second half of the novel. Trying to connect back to memories that have been supressed while also trying to come to terms with what has happened to her. Every single moment of All The Rage is emotional and hard to stomach and forces readers to cheer on our protagonist, hoping for the best in a bad situation. I was brought to tears more than once and constantly wondered what the big reveal at the end of the novel would be. I will admit that I was a bit underwhelmed by it considering the build-up and that the conclusion wasn’t at all what I expected it to be, but the exposition and slow-build was enough to keep me satisfied. This is definitely a novel that is unforgettable in its realism and will give readers some food for thought, as well insight into the life of a victim of sexual assault. I would recommend All The Rage to readers who are looking for a novel that is exhilterating. Any readers who are looking for a novel that is a mystery with bits of romance and action thrown in should also give it a read. Readers who want a novel that is well-written with beautiful prose should also give All The Rage a shot.
to dig into the raw subject matter of this book. Amazingly written and very accurate. Excellent book.
I have said this before, but I do not even know what to say. This story was so raw, real, and harsh. It deals with a subject that is tender, and needs more attention than it gets, so that girls are not ashamed or scared to come forward. I have a dear friend that grew up in a small town, and the stories in this book are so real. I spent a LOT of time in that small town with her, and I am telling you right now, I witnessed first hand how a small town reacts to things that make the "town" look bad. It's a horrible world. It is the reason why I told my husband I would never live in a small town. Ever. Romy's life is so very sad. She has been dealt a raw deal. The whole town thinks she is the "girl that cried rape" that it didn't actually happen. Reading Romy's story was so heart wrenching. Her whole family is looked down on because of what she "claimed" the Sheriff's son did to her. I don't know why this story touched me the way it did, but it did. There was such real emotion in this book, and the author did a great job of grabbing my attention. I was drawn to Romy. Her life, her inability to have "real" relationships because of what had happened to her. The fact that people don't believe her is the most heart wrenching thing about this book. I know that there are women out there who are afraid to step forward because of this reason. It's heart breaking. The book shows how raw, and real Romy's life is in the aftermath of a rape, and maybe another one. When another girl goes missing from the school only then does Romy seem to find her voice. The whole time I was reading I was screaming in my head. I know, silly, but I was. I wanted to smack the whole town upside the head. People willing to lie to protect the "elite" of town, and dig Romy's grave a little deeper. Not until the town finds out what really happens with the missing girl, do people actually take a minute to listen to Romy. This book was so good. This subject is hard. I have two girls and this is one of my biggest fears. Rape is such a life altering event. Even with help it can be damaging to a persons soul. Girls need to stand up for themselves regardless of the threats against them. Summers thanks for this powerful read. Your writing is amazing, and I was touched in more ways then one. I was moved by this book. The love Romy's mother had for her and her support. I loved this book.
I do not really know where to begin. This book left me screwed up emotionally and I had to take a few days before I could start another book. ALL THE RAGE is just…amazing. It is about Romy Grey as she struggles socially and emotionally after being raped. It goes into the sad truth about rape culture and stays with you long after you have put it down. This book will leave you deep in thought about how young women are treated after acts of sexual violence and hopefully it will leave a mark on you for the better. ALL THE RAGE is heartbreaking and I recommend it to EVERYONE..... Thank you to Griffin Teen for sending me an ARC.
All the Rage is an indictment of “modern” society as a whole when tomorrow’s leaders and “adults” become today’s monsters and unprotected victims. Courtney Summers has the juice to write it as she feels it, sparing nothing in this dark tale of murder, rape and the power in a name or financial status a sit bulldozes over a girl from the “wrong side of the tracks.” Romy has a secret, and wrongfully will not share it because she has become the victim of lies, taunts and bullying. She lacks the strength to go toe to toe with the town’s darling, the sheriff’s son and his friends. She has become a victim, emotionally and physically brutalized and left face down in the dirt exposing her humiliation to the world. Romy isn’t the only victim that night as another girl goes missing from a teenage bonfire and cannot be found. Through her tortured and slowly emerging memories, Romy knows what happened that night, but the collective cruelty and doubt of a small-minded community offers her no support, no safe haven as she is victimized over and over again by teens without conscience. Her own efforts to find the missing girl could get her killed, but the town needs answers, the real ones, and she can only hope the truth will set her free from the pain within. Courtney Summers’ approach to this tale is harsh, chaotic and cuts like a knife. The mental anguish of a teen caught between wanting desperately to be accepted or wanting to be completely ignored is brutal reading. The callous group mentality of her peers is a sad yet honest portrayal of the desensitizing of a generation more concerned with popularity and power than building a strong inner character. Romy’s mind is a black maze of her inner feelings, her fears and her undeserved guilt. Ms. Summers leaves no stone unturned, evil is revealed, the consequences of that evil and makes the road to personal redemption a hard climb for Romy. By far, one of the most powerful YA stories I have read in a long time, expect it to haunt you for days after you finish that last page and the final revelations are revealed.
Was expecting better. Felt it dragged on and on. Had strong promise but felt kind if like a dud.
Name:Gokunai Suturi, Gokun Steele. Due to the fusion of Gokun and Kirito he'll sometimes address himself as Goki or Kirikun out of habit. Age: He's 18. Godly Parent: Poseidon, God of Sea and freshwater. Appearance: Kirigokun is a mixture of Gokun's and Kirito's characteristics. Heading is about Gokun's height, while his hair is more inclined towards Kirito; it firmly stands upwards and the front being black like those of Gokun's and the sides and back purple as Kirito's, however, he has two bangs sticking out like a downward 'V' a trait from Gokun. When he transforms into Super Saiyan he looks exactly like Gokun. Kirikun also wears the Potara earrings an result of the Potara Fusion. Personality: He exhibits Gokun's cockiness and inclination to taunt others in a fight, having inherited Kirito's serious, easygoing, and cheerful nature. He possesses both Kirito's strategic mind and Gokun's combat intelligence that much more efficient. Being a whole new entity he refers to his counterparts as they would address each other separately. However he still retains the memories of each individual. Attire: His wardrobe consists of of graphic shirts and jackets complete with Converse All-Stars and black combat jeans. Occasionally he'll wear studded wristbands. Abilities: He can transform to a Super Saiyan, Manipulate ki, which enables him to fly and launch destructive energy. Other:He tends to be alone a lot and ask random people to spare.
Name:Gokun Steele, Gokunai Steele or Gokun Suturi, Gokunai Suturi. It really doesn't matter how you say it.His full name,Gokunai, is pronounced like Go-koo-nee, Not Go-koo-nai. It's a weird name. Age:He's 18. Godly Parent:Poseidon, he was raised by random ninjas and saiyans. Abilities:Due to his Saiyan Heritage or something, he's stronger than the average human with increased speed , agility and endurance. Powers:Water Manipulation, Ki Manipulation, which enables him to fly, which he rarely does. The Super Saiyan transformations. He can only access two stages, due to him slacking off on training.*sigh* Super Saiyan:His hair and eyebrows change golden, a golden aura surrounds his body and his hair sticks up. Super Saiyan 2: Same thing, except that his hair gains more depth and lightning surges around his body. Appearance:He's has a tall, lanky figure. Fair skin and light splashes of freckles on his cheeks. His hair is a jet-black color, the blue dye streaks gone now. It usually goes into bangs that covers his electric blue eyes. And depending on his mood he might wear it in a spiked ponytail, resulting in some of his bangs tucked behind his ear. Attire:He usually wears a black t-shirt, with black combat jeans or camouflage shorts. He also wears the typical black and white Converse All-Stars or black Goth boots. His ears are also pierced, sporting silver stud earrings. Personality:He usually described to be mentally insane and cocky. Status: I dunno... Sh<_>it's really complicated. Traits:He tends to wander away from people and ask random people to fight. Uh, well I think that's it.. So like, you can stop reading...