LaRynn has the money, but in order to access her trust, she has to be married.ĭeacon has the construction skills but lacks the funds.Īn agreement is reached: marry for as long as it takes to put the property in order, make a profit, and break ties.
The pure, fear-laced, yet steadily maturing relationship they develop is urgent, moving, and, of course, heartbreaking, too.But a decade later, when their grandmothers bequeath them joint ownership of their dilapidated Santa Cruz building, they collide again and must figure out how to keep the pieces together. “You make me feel like a cannibal,” Eleanor says. In rapidly alternating narrative voices, Eleanor and Park try to express their all-consuming love. Eleanor’s fight is much more external, learning to trust her feelings about Park and navigating the sexual threat in Richie’s watchful gaze. Park struggles with the realities of falling for the school outcast in one of the more subtle explorations of race and “the other” in recent YA fiction, he clashes with his father over the definition of manhood. The couple’s personal battles are also dark mirror images.
Meanwhile, Eleanor and her younger siblings live in poverty under the constant threat of Richie, their abusive and controlling stepfather, while their mother inexplicably caters to his whims. Park’s family is idyllic: his Vietnam vet father and Korean immigrant mother are genuinely loving. After a less than auspicious start, the pair quietly builds a relationship while riding the bus to school every day, wordlessly sharing comics and eventually music on the commute. Right from the start of this tender debut, readers can almost hear the clock winding down on Eleanor and Park.
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