Weird Perfection
Right off the bat, imagery is used to convey the narrator’s offbeat sense of what qualifies as perfection. The subtle indicators underlining this imagery is that all sense of perfection is entirely subjection. Nobody’s perfect because perfection does not exist as an objective ideal:
“Brenda didn’t turn heads. She was too skinny, too mousy for most guys to notice. But she had a willowy figure, with long, shapely legs and delicate arms. A soft neck that she wouldn’t let me kiss. Long black hair that I wanted to run my fingers through (but she didn’t like that). And that face … that narrow, beautiful face, behind those glasses that she could never keep clean.”
Protagonist?
The narrator of this novel is the protagonist. This has to be firmly stated because the imagery that recurs throughout may call things into question. Written from almost any other point of view, he would likely be identified as the antagonist:
“I’d call Sage, all right. Tell her I never wanted to see her again. Not even at school. Tell her if she ever told the world what she really was, or if anyone ever found out, then I’d hurt her. I would.”
“Grabbing a handful of snow, I molded it into a ball and hurled it at a tree. It hit with a satisfying splat , leaving a white star on the trunk. I pictured Sage’s head splattering against the tree, her brains spewing everywhere.”
Locker Room Talk
There is a reason why there are no realistic dramas that take place entirely within a male locker room. Keeping it realistic and interesting at the same time would be impossible. Whenever you hear the phrase “locker room talk” just think to yourself it is a synonym for every conversation that should never be heard by anyone else. The “secret” language of male bonding can be profoundly meaningless:
“He probably hadn’t meant anything by it. When you’re a teenage guy, you pepper your conversations with faggot, butt munch, and douche bag . In the strange world of male bonding, questioning someone’s sexuality and hygiene was a way to demonstrate friendship and camaraderie.”
Swimming with Sharks
Sage reaches the point of despondency over the truth concerning her ability to ever fully pass as a woman in a world demanding strict regulations. She engages a heartbreaking metaphor to fuel the imagery of her disconsolation:
“It’s always been bad. I smiled for the world, but I’ve been dead on the inside. Ever since I first tried to be a girl, I’ve felt like I was drowning, like I had to swim with all my might just to live, day to day! I have to get out of the water, Logan. I’ll go under for good, otherwise.”
