Riding on the coattails of Stephenie Meyer’s success, novice writer Flynn Meaney (victim of a misfortunate family naming legacy or simply a terrible choice for a pseudonym) unsuccessfully attempts to cash in on the modern supernatural coming-of-age tale in her debut novel. While Meaney displays occasional flashes of brilliance in her concise one-liners worthy of any John Hughes antagonistic outcast, her continual self-referential cleverness and the overly dramatized interior monologue of her teenage boy protagonist, Finbar Frame, renders ineffective both the parody and the pastiche.
What should be a poignant reflection on the social value of adolescent pop-culture and a grand opportunity to defy bandwagon phenomena ends up being a poorly structured plot with lackluster characters. In her attempts to create an endearing portrait of the classic teenage outsider, Meaney ultimately produces a character who is as disappointing to the reader as he is to himself. Bloodthirsty fails to effectively satirize the vampire craze, yet succeeds in burying its reader under purposeless sexual references (think: “haha, she said boob”) and superficial dialogue.
This book is disappointing for several reasons. First, Meaney aims for an admirable goal. Potentially, this book could win over crowds of teenagers who are sick of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan and bring back the “cool” factor that defines loners such as Cullen in the first place. After all, her tale is about an outsider embracing his identity and accepting his inability to “fit in” with a crowd. Where she fails, though, is that Finbar’s complete desire to assimilate overshadows any shred of true rebel spirit. Wading through passages describing awkward teenage lust, the reader finds himself angered that Meaney drops her mission completely. A completely original take on the modern vampire attraction, Meaney intends her protagonist to pretend to be a vampire to get girls. In itself, the plot alone should yield ample opportunity to infuse commentary about the true nature of being an outsider – and the satisfaction that comes with forming an identity independent of social approval or expectation. In fact, her novel could celebrate individualism and uniqueness. Rather, the pages grow cold with jokes about abnormally-sized breasts on several female characters, both young and old, and an unresolved tension between what it means to be one’s self and embracing it rather than rejecting it.
The merits of this novel are few – but Meaney’s punchlines are often genuinely humorous and at times, gut-busters. Finn’s failed date with Celine, a French girl he meets online, is described as “the worst date since Adam and Eve took a stroll in the garden.” Sadly, this allusion is buried amidst several others that are far too recent to be effectively humorous to anyone over the age of 25 who has rejected Potter due to misplaced Christian abjuration or improper classification as a children’s hero.
In short, this book set out to achieve a big goal and missed it by several marks. Its graduate student author may have achieved little more than inspiring other young writers to pursue publishing. Given its overall lack of entertainment and impact, not even Bloodthirsty’s humor can quench the reader’s desire for a true rebel yell through the glamour and the fangs.
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