YA or STFU

Audrey, Wait! by Robin Benway

Benway, Robin (2008). Audrey, Wait!. NY: Razor Bill. 313 pages.

I gotta tell you right now: this is not really going to be a kind review. Based on the recent proliferation and popularity of books of this type (I blame you, Rachel Cohn and David Levithan, with your Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist and Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List), I think I must be in the minority (or, more likely, I’m just getting older and more curmudgeonly), but I can’t stand these new popular novels that try to establish their own “cool creds” by including references to popular music, musicians and rock lyrics. And, yes, Audrey, Wait! is one of these books.

After Audrey breaks up with her boyfriend, Evan, he writes a song called “Audrey, Wait!” and performs it with his band, the Do-Gooders. While this would an embarrassing blip on anyone’s radar screen, in Audrey’s case (1) the song is actually pretty good and (2) the band performs it to acclaim before a local audience and a visiting A and R person. The next thing anyone knows, “Audrey, Wait!” is being played on college radio, then KROC, then on the mainstream stations. Evan’s band is rising in popularity and, to her chagrin, so is Audrey. As the Do-Gooder’s song becomes more and more popular, more and more people want to know about the mysterious Audrey. This leads to an ill advised clinch with a member of another up-and-coming band, who, it turns out, has only kissed Audrey for “luck” and who has ordered his manager to videotape the make-out for publicity. The bulk of the novel is filled with descriptions of paparazzi chases and first-person ruminations about the dark side of popularity.

I admit to liking a good “Hollywood drama” book (see Secrets of My Hollywood Life) and I’ll consider the average contemporary rock-star fantasy (see Rock my World), but I have a pretty hard-and-fast rule about novels that mix the contemporary “rock” world with the world of the “rock book”: namely, I can’t stand them. Audrey, Wait! attempts to set the tone for each chapter by titling each with a quote from an “alternative” song, a move that is supposed to both act as foreshadowing for the hipsters who recognize the song and its context and that is (I presume) supposed to underscore just how cool the narrator (and, by extension, the author) is, too. The narrator’s coolness is also established in her music preferences, to which she alludes and refers throughout. At one point, when she’s called into the principal’s office, Audrey considers the mix CD she’ll make to commemorate the day: “‘Sixteen, clumsy, and shy, that’s the story of my life.’ Word, Morrissey. Total word” (p. 149). Am I the only one who’s totally gagging here (besides, of course, Morrissy, to whom one should never say “Word.”)? There’s also a point where Audrey’s friend compliments her outfit by telling her she looks “Very Kurt Cobain on Unplugged” (p. 249).

I get it, I get it: these little referential gems are supposed to be in service of character, of authenticity. And, yeah, I see how it works to establish both the setting (the very present day) and the music-obsessed nature of the characters. That said, I wonder if maybe the novel is doing so much to establish it’s with-it-ness that it’s excluding the audience who would appreciate the allusions (in any other context) the most. What I mean is that, like, to the average teeny-bopper (Audrey even has a word for these folks; they’re called “Tweenies”), being a serious fan of Fall Out Boy and Taking Back Sunday distinguishes a person as markedly different from said teeny-bopper. That said, to the average serious fan of either of those bands, quoting lyrics from the band’s oeurve is more the marker of a desperado wannabe than a real fan.

What’s an author to do? I say, take a cue from Blake Nelson’s marvelous Girl and invent an alternative rock universe. That way, the spirit of the scene doesn’t suffer for the particularities of the narrative. Word (sic).