4 Stars

This is a short and quick read about Arnold Junior, a young boy from the Reservation. I picked it for the banned book prompt for a reading challenge.

The writing style is matter of fact, crude, silly, dry and dark. I don’t think this kind of humor was meant for young ones. It’s brutal in a satirical and ironic way. Hard to describe it exactly, but it’s not for everyone.

I can see why some people loved it while others hated it with every living cell in their body. I fall something in between, closer towards the loving side, of course. It’s the kind of book I needed after two not-so-great reads.

There’s no preaching, heavy prose, or even any ‘show’. It’s pretty much ‘tell’ the story and repeat them throughout. Yet, it worked for the book because, hey, our narrator is a thirteen-year-old boy from Reservation, and this is his ‘diary’. He also happens to have health issues (water in the brain) that make him different from others. I like tough topics to be dealt with sarcasm and dark humor rather than heavy preaching. This one scores points here.

There are several references to sex (obviously), and it did remind me of Norwegian Wood at times. I somehow expected the tone to be crude and blunt, so it didn’t really put me off. But I didn’t like how women were objectified. Understandable in a way. Still, it doesn’t mean I have to like it, and I don’t.

What I enjoyed the most were the illustrations done in three different styles. They are simple sketches but are so full of life and emotions. Too good!

I remember adding this book to my TBR sometime last year. It was a recco based on sun signs (this was for Taureans). I can see why. The writing style, especially the dry humor and the careless tone, is so in sync with our likes (at least mine).

Leaving you with an excerpt I loved:

It was a snowless Thanksgiving. We had a turkey, and Mom cooked it perfectly. We also had mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, corn, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. It was a feast.

I always think it's funny when Indians celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, sure, the Indians and Pilgrims were best friends during that first Thanksgiving, but a few years later, the Pilgrims were shooting Indians.

So I'm never quite sure why we eat turkey like everybody else.

"Hey, Dad," I said. "What do Indians have to be so thankful for?"

"We should give thanks that they didn't kill all of us."

We laughed like crazy. It was a good day. Dad was sober. Mom was getting ready to nap.