The Friends of the Princeton Public Library Book Club is reading White Oleander by Janet Fitch. Join them on Thursday, July 12 at 4:00 pm to be part of the discussion.
The full Publisher’s Weekly review is as follows: Thirteen-year-old Astrid Magnussen, the sensitive and heart-wrenching narrator of this impressive debut, is burdened with an impossible mother in Ingrid, a beautiful, gifted poet whose scattered life is governed by an enormous ego. When Ingrid goes to prison for murdering her ex-lover, Astrid enters the Los Angeles foster care program and is placed with a series of brilliantly characterized families. Astrid’s first home is with Starr, a born-again former druggie, whose boyfriend, middle-aged Ray, encourages Astrid to paint (Astrid’s absent father is an artist) and soon becomes her first lover, but who disappears when Starr’s jealousy becomes violent. Astrid finds herself next at the mercy of a new, tyrannical foster mom, Marvel Turlock, who grows wrathful at the girl’s envy of a sympathetic next-door prostitute’s luxurious life. “Never hope to find people who will understand you,” Ingrid archly advises as her daughter’s Dickensian descent continues in the household of sadistic Amelia Ramos, where Astrid is reduced to pilfering food from garbage cans. Then she’s off to the dream home of childless yuppies Claire and Ron Richards, who shower her with gifts, art lessons and the warmth she’s been craving. But this new development piques Ingrid’s jealousy, and Astrid, now 17 and a high school senior, falls into the clutches of the entrepreneurial Rena Grushenka. Amid Rena’s flea-market wares, Astrid learns to fabricate junk art and blossoms as a sculptor. Meanwhile, Ingrid, poet-in-prison, becomes a feminist icon who now has a chance at freedom if Astrid will agree to testify untruthfully at the trial. Astrid’s difficult choice yields unexpected truths about her hidden past, and propels her already epic story forward, with genuinely surprising and wrenching twists. Fitch is a splendid stylist; her prose is graceful and witty; the dialogue, especially Astrid’s distinctive utterances and loopy adages, has a seductive pull. This sensitive exploration of the mother-daughter terrain (sure to be compared to Mona Simpson’s Anywhere but Here) offers a convincing look at what Adrienne Rich has called “this womanly splitting of self,” in a poignant, virtuosic, utterly captivating narrative.