Review: How to Ditch Your Fairy by Justine Larbalestier
Charlie is more than a little obsessed with New Avalon Sport High, a school with a strict regime and little patience for infractions. Every student at New Avalon is or has proven to be a stellar athlete on their way to fame (at least New Avalon fame) and life in the public eye. They’re exceptional competitors, but there’s something even more curious about New Avalonians that separates them from the rest of society-even those living on the other side of the coast: they have personal fairies.
Fairies can do anything from keeping you from getting lost, making sure you never have a bad hair day, or, if you’re Charlie, will guarantee a great parking spot. Charlie doesn’t drive, nor does she have to be the one driving for her fairy to work. She is frequently exploited for her fairy not just by friends, but by her own mother. Charlie hates cars. Charlie hates her fairy and is willing to do whatever it takes to get rid of it. Call it her new obsession.
How to Ditch Your Fairy is a clever and sarcastic experiment combining the awkward horrors of adolescence with the magic of fairies. And it works. Charlie has enough trouble dealing with her own mediocrity in the sports arena-her fairy only makes things worse. This “everything goes wrong” tale is vaguely reminiscent of a teenage version of “Bridget Jones’ Diary” (sans Darcy). Danders Anders may not be Hugh Grant (the wicked and alluring Bad Boy who plays with Bridget’s emotions and then tramples them), but he’s certainly as vile and selfish, if in an incredulously unbelievable whack-a-doo way. His random kidnappings may be frightening when given more than a cursory thought, but Larbalestier’s sharp wit and command over the humor brings a desperate, yet resigned perspective to the situation. What else is Charlie to do when the authorities are notorious for favoring promising athletes like Danders Anders?
Larbalestier uses Charlie’s frustration to examine the grass on the other side-which, as I’m sure we all know, is always greener. There’s Fiorenze, the misunderstood girl who’s popular with the boys, but only because of her fairy and Charlie who can’t even get the friendly neighbor boy to notice her. Naturally Charlie loathes Fiorenze and her luck without realizing the poor girl might have problems of her own. It’s a touching comedy about overcoming prejudice, finding common ground, and doing the very thing teenagers struggle to do every day: make friends and realize the world is infinitely more complicated than might appear at first glance. Above and beyond all of that, it’s a hilarious take on one teen’s struggle to discover what she really wants.
The characters are equably entertaining, with humorous scenarios built to encourage Charlie’s antics while reminding us of how desperate she really is. The dynamic between her, best friend Rochelle, and later with Fiorenze gives the narrative a biting, polished appeal. Their dialogue is punctuated with enough Australian and New Avalonian slang to immerse readers into Larbalstier’s part-Australian, part-American world that’s every bit as fast-paced, mercurial, and confusing as any teenage domain. Although she doesn’t just leave these strange new words to context. The story benefits from a glossary that aptly describes Charlie’s language (charming words like “doos” or “pulchritudinous.”).
I was very impressed with Larbalestier’s command of the language-it’s difficult to capture dialogue and colloquialisms, let alone retain a touch of accent without throwing in absurdities like a Getting Out Of Trouble Fairy or impromptu bobsled endeavors and keep a sense of momentum and comedic timing. The laugh factor was fairly high in an endearing sort of way as Charlie never seems to get a break. I began to wonder if she didn’t have a Bad Luck Fairy for all the lousy situations she stumbled into. She didn’t even let her parents (obtuse and oblivious as they can be at this stage in a girl’s life) get in the way. Her determination is admirable as she plods on with her ludicrous schemes amidst what only adults could call outrageous solutions to minor, inconsequential problems. For Charlie it isn’t a matter of what, bur rather a facetious question of why her parents clearly don’t see the direness of the situation and switch their priorities accordingly.
The book is not without some fault. The idea of personal fairies isn’t developed further than what is required to navigate Charlie’s immediate world. Not everyone has one (there is little to no explanation for this, only theories), nor does it seem that the world outside of New Avalon is even aware of them. Their existence was sudden and unexplained, albeit an interesting take on the abstraction of “luck.” And the inward, obsessive eye of New Avalon disallows for any contextual world-building beyond the city limits. This, at least, makes sense and works well with the eventual conflict between Charlie and Steffi. A little more perspective would have been nice, but I’m perfectly fine believing Charlie’s little pocket of the world is every bit as weird and isolated in their self-obsession that Steffi states it is.
What if some kids had one thing that made them stand out compared to everyone else? What if others excelled at life’s little oddities (finding loose change, always being on time) and the rest believed in making their own luck? How to Ditch Your Fairy is all of this and more. It’s a light-hearted book about discovering one’s niche despite some of the most troubling aspects of adolescence with a seductively droll appeal sure to entice Louise Rennison fans (Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging and other Georgia Nicolson books) and new readers alike. Liar, Justine Larbalestier’s latest release, has the ambiance of a more serious story. Not having read it yet, I can’t compare the writing, but encourage trying this book for a change of pace.
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