In this installment of Page 69,
we put Magen Cubed's The Crashers up against the test!
Set up page
69 for us (what are we about to read):
This page from the sixth chapter follows Adam Harlow, one of
the main characters, as he tries to get through his daily life with his newly
discovered superhuman strength. However, superpowers aren’t all they’re cracked
up to be, as he’s quickly learning.
What’s the
book about?
The Crashers is a superhuman sci-fi/fantasy novel following
five people who survive an act of domestic terrorism. They are former detective
Kyle Jeong; single mother Norah Aroyan; Afghanistan veteran Adam Harlow; the
genius Clara Reyes; and the dying Bridger Levi. These five strangers emerge
from the incident to discover they’ve gained powers, but have also lost the
ability to die. Dealing with the fall-out of the attack, they must figure out
how to take care of each other in a city that’s quickly spiraling out of
control if they want to save their home from itself.
Do you
think this page gives our readers an accurate sense of what the book is about?
Does it align itself with the books overall theme?
This page deals with the effects of both Adam’s PTSD and his
superhuman strength, and how they manifest in his life. For Adam, strength and
powerlessness feel the same way, in how they alter his ability to interact with
the world around him. Strength can help as well as harm, and Adam’s learning
that in this part of the story.
Trauma and survival are key themes to the book. Each
character is rebounding from a unique series of losses, anxieties, and defeats.
All of their new abilities fit into their respective journeys of healing, and
help them reclaim their lives after the trauma of the attack that left them
superpowered. At this point, Adam hasn’t found that balance, and is still
figuring his powers out.
In that respect, I think page 69 offers an accurate sense of
what the rest of the book is about.
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PAGE 69
THE CRASHERS
Adam killed the toaster first. It was
an accident. He was trying to place his whole wheat into the slots when he
busted the cover off and crushed the flimsy metal inside. The microwave went
next when he ripped the door off without even realizing. The shattered coffee
pot and ripped cabinet hinges followed. He bent a wrench in half at the shop
when a door slammed, and he had to kick it across the floor before anyone else
could notice what he did. He ripped the door from his car after work on Friday
evening and spent his entire Saturday afternoon putting it back on.
Strength wasn’t what it was cracked up
to be. In the movies and the comic books, it was a plot device—a cheap trick to
use at parties. No one ever talked about what it was really like to be so
strong. It poured out of his muscles like steel and snapped his spine straight
when he least expected it to, turning him into an unmovable object without his
consent. Life was fraught with danger now. It was filled with held breaths and
hands kept tucked away. The prospect was a terrifying one, forcing Adam to take
up even less space on the sidewalk and inside crowded elevators. One
miscalculation could crush and maim.
In a way, nothing really changed. His
body wasn’t his; it was still a cage that kept him separated from everyone else
and afraid of what might happen if he let another person get too close. Before,
he would break if touched, but now he could break other people. Nothing about
it was fair, but he had no say in that, either. The only time he didn’t feel so
fragile was when he bent over a car engine. Work at the shop was more than work
to Adam. It paid the bills and kept a roof over his head, but it was his
church. His tiny altar at Bob’s Repair and Restoration was the only safe place
he had left. A sea of noise and grease and grubby, metal parts, it afforded him
a consistent stream of puzzles to take apart, tease out, and put back together
again.
When he didn’t have work, maintaining
Betty occupied his time. Just as before, it made him feel safe. He changed the
oil, tweaked the engine, and gained satisfaction going to the junkyard for
spare parts. The Barracuda was a masterpiece in the making. He’d hauled its
disused shell from his neighbor’s backyard before his sixteenth birthday. Alone
with his car or in the guts of some stranger’s SUV, he could finally breathe.
Strength didn’t matter there; only the silence mattered.
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