Two high school girls put on a tough act to hide deep-seated insecurities in this gripping character-driven novel.
Hunter (Don’t Kiss Me, 2013, etc.) opens in medias res with Baby Girl driving a stolen red Mazda. Perry, riding shotgun, looks at Baby Girl and thinks, “Fake-ass thug.” With this quick insight, it's clear that, despite sharing nights of “thugging,” their bond is very thin. Each girl masks a private pain. Baby Girl’s gun-carrying older brother, Charles, was in a motorcycle accident that left him with irreversible brain damage. She's shaved half her head and stolen cars in an attempt to fill his place. Perry, who lives in a trailer park with her stepfather and alcoholic mother, has relied on her looks to get what she wants since she was 14. The novel's power lies in its depth. The roving third-person narrator dips in and out of five main characters’ minds. In addition to Perry and Baby Girl, there's Perry’s mother, Myra; her stepfather, Jim; and Jamey, a threatening and mysterious figure who seems to be stalking both girls. The depiction of the working-class poor is nuanced and real. Myra is saved from becoming a flat depiction of an absentee mother when we see her internal struggle with alcoholism. Jim is similarly saved from becoming a stereotypical “good guy” when we follow him to his job as a prison guard and watch him beat prisoners for simply mentioning his family life. As the perspectives weave together and move forward, Hunter toys with the reader’s sympathies. Characters we might have written off or hated re-emerge in full and compelling form. Even Jamey, the villain, becomes somewhat sympathetic when we see what life looks like inside his home. As Baby Girl and Perry continue shoplifting and skipping school, unaware of the true danger that approaches them, the action accelerates. The novel moves toward a conclusion that is shocking, sad and inevitable.
In a haunting portrait of longing, Hunter forces the reader to relate to a wide array of human ugliness.