this book is very weird and sad. like, weird in a sad way. from beginning to end, sonny is between worlds. there's a disassociated element to this book, from the use of the second person 'you', to the repeated imagery of mirrors and sonny's evaluations of his reflections (what stuck to me was the way he made faces to see how they looked, leaning in to kiss the glass, seeing the way he frowned), to the way he interacts with the world, when even a bike he spent so long putting together doesn't even feel like his, but 'evidence' of something. the only thing he seems to wish to possess is vera, an older woman with whom he is infatuated, and no matter how much we are told she is 'your vera', it is clear that maybe such attachment comes from the fact sonny knows that vera will never be his. she is unattainable, a gulf between them from the moment they meet -- age, nationality, class, and, later on, her suicidal tendencies, her deteriorating health -- a gulf which seems to make him more desperate for her, to fight to have somewhere to belong. it is in the rare moments with his childhood friend Sharon that we catch glimpses of security, security which he seems unable to cling onto. sonny's story reflects a very 16-18 year old teenage experience, which I think is what makes it sadder. everyone comes of age. some people just have better luck than others.

on the other hand, if we're going to be *sparkle*symbolic*sparkle*, maybe the ending does not have to be as depressing as it appears at face value.

by assisting Vera in her death, by allowing her to die -- as opposed to the way he fought to keep her alive at the beginning -- perhaps sonny is killing the feeling of unattainability. perhaps the end, implying his own suicide, implies the death of his current state of being, the inevitable result of every 'coming of age'.

looking at it like this, I suppose the question would be why such symbolism was used instead of something a little more optimistic. perhaps because growing up doesn't necessarily mean you'll have a happy ending at the end of it. sometimes growing up is just the end itself.