I wasn’t looking for The Perfect Book when I picked up this novel, which just goes to show that the most likely time to find something is when you are not looking for it.
This is the perfect book. There is, quite simply, nothing missing from this book. Name something great that could be in a book, and it’s in there. Humor? Check. Mystery? Check. Deep thoughts? Check? Poetry, road trips, jokes about farting? Check, check, check. At one point I actually thought ‘well, there could be a musical number’ (I had been watching too much Glee) and then poof, an impromptu sing-along occurs. I could go on and on and on about all of the fabulous things this inconspicuous novel contains, but really, you should stop reading this entry and go get the book. Do it. Now!
The description on the back of this book leave a lot to be desired. One learns, upon reading the jacket blurb, that it is a story about solving a riddle–the riddle written in the song Scarborough Fair, made famous by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkle. This plot description did not thrill me, but I needed something to read during a Friday SSR period, so I picked it up. I’m so glad I did, and in fact, this was one book that made me break my own rule about not taking a school reading book home for the weekend (I don’t know why I have this rule–probably so that my house gets cleaned every so often, and my husband fed.)
Seventeen year old Lucy is enjoying the end of her junior year of high school when something unthinkable happens–something very real and unthinkable–and she is then thrust into a world of magic that she never knew existed. She must break a generations-long family curse, or lose herself and her unborn child to madness.
Impossible achieved the difficult goal of combining fantasy with reality without making the reader, well, for lack of a better term, annoyed. I’m often annoyed by fantasy/reality pairings, but this book pulls it off flawlessly.
To be honest, I really don’t like books told in the third-person point of view. I also do not care for books with unnecessarily long titles. A book title should be no more than four words long, and it should not, at any point, involve a hyphenated last name. But despite all of these un-preferences of mine, I loved this book–a book with an unnecessarily long title, told in third person.
Frankie Landau-Banks is the daughter of rather average parents, but her father happens to make a bit more money than most dads. So she goes to Alabaster Prep, a very prestigious private boarding school which is located, as all prestigious private boarding schools are, just north of Boston. And at this prestigious private boarding school there is, of course, a secret society. Because what would a prestigious private boarding school be without one? And, of course, this secret society is all-male.
Until Frankie Landau-Banks comes along, that is.