Book Review: Every Last Word, Tamara Ireland Stone (2015)

Friday, June 19th, 2015

Crazy Again Today

five out of five stars

(Full disclosure: I received a free electronic ARC for review through NetGalley. Trigger warning for depression, anxiety, self-harming behaviors, and suicide.

Review title pulled from the lyrics of Fiona Apple’s “Paper Bag,” which was a staple on my college-era depression playlists. It’ll click once you read the book, okay.)

Then I see the walls.

I spin a slow three-sixty in place, taking it all in. All four walls are covered with scraps of paper in different colors and shapes and textures, all jutting out at various angles. Lined paper ripped from spiral-bound notebooks. Plain paper, threehole punched. Graph paper, torn at the edges. Pages that have yellowed with age, along with napkins and Post-its and brown paper lunch bags and even a few candy wrappers.

Caroline’s watching me, and I take a few cautious steps closer to get a better look. I reach for one of the pages, running the corner between my thumb and forefinger, and that’s when I notice handwriting on each one, as distinctive as the paper itself. Loopy, flowing cursive. Tight, angular letters. Precise, blocky printing.

Wow.

Sixteen-year-old Samantha McAllister is dreading the start of junior year – and with it, the disappearance of “Summer Sam,” the better, braver, happier version of herself. It’s not that she’s ostracized or unpopular; just the opposite, in fact. She’s been best friends with Kaitlyn, Alexis, Olivia, and Hailey since kindergarten; collectively, they are known as the Crazy Eights (they’ve lost a few members over the years), THE “it girls” in school.

While these lifelong friends should provide Sam with some measure of support and stability, they’re just as likely to send her into an “Eights-induced thought spiral.” Led by head “Mean Girl” Kaitlyn, the clique is quick to pick apart each other’s hair, makeup, cloths, nicknames, taste in guys, you name it. So it’s no wonder that Sam hides her “crazy” from them. Imagine what they’d say if they knew that she’s suffered from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) her whole life, and that her level of dysfunction is such that she’s been taking anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills and seeing a psychiatrist once a week for the past five years? No thanks.

(More below the fold…)