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    I Was a Teenage Fairy
    I Was a Teenage Fairy
    I Was a Teenage Fairy
    Ebook136 pages1 hour

    I Was a Teenage Fairy

    By Francesca Lia Block

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Maybe Mab was real. Maybe not. Maybe Mab was the fury. Maybe she was the courage. Maybe later on she was the sex . . .

    A tiny fairy winging her way through the jasmine-scented L.A. night. A little girl caught in a grown-up glitz-and-glitter world of superstars and supermodels. A too beautiful boy with a secret he can never share . . .

    From the author of Weetzie Bat comes a magical, mesmerizing tale of transformation. This is the story of Barbie Marks, who dreams of being the one behind the Cyclops eye of the camera, not the voiceless one in front of it; who longs to run away to New York City where she can be herself, not some barley flesh-and-blood version of the plastic doll she was named after. It is the story of Griffin Tyler, whose androgynous beauty hides the dark pain he holds inside. And finally it is the story of Mab, a pinkie-sized, magenta-haired, straight-talking fairy, who may or may not be real but who helps Barbie and Griffin uncover the strength beneath the pain, and who teaches that love—like a sparkling web of light spinning around our bodies and our souls—is what can heal even the deepest scars.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperTeen
    Release dateMar 17, 2009
    ISBN9780061756757
    I Was a Teenage Fairy
    Author

    Francesca Lia Block

    Francesca Lia Block, winner of the prestigious Margaret A. Edwards Award, is the author of many acclaimed and bestselling books, including Weetzie Bat; the book collections Dangerous Angels: The Weetzie Bat Books and Roses and Bones: Myths, Tales, and Secrets; the illustrated novella House of Dolls; the vampire romance novel Pretty Dead; and the gothic werewolf novel The Frenzy. Her work is published around the world.

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    Reviews for I Was a Teenage Fairy

    3.5/5

    329 ratings16 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I don't know how many times I've started this review only to erase it and begin again. That's because it can be incredibly hard to review a book you loved growing up, especially when grown up you has realized that she doesn't really love the book anymore now that the rose-colored glasses have come off.It's no secret that Francesca Lia Block is an amazing wordsmith. The way she weaves her words are the closest we'll ever come to IRL magic. However, as gorgeous as her prose may be, her storytelling can leave a lot to be desired. This is 100 percent the case with I Was a Teenage Fairy.Francesca Lia Block's books are known for their ethereal quality and the way they grapple with big topics. However, the actual plots of her novels, including I Was a Teenage Fairy can be a bit sparse and confusing to the point where even writing a coherent synopsis would be difficult. And perhaps that is a purposeful stylistic choice that helps to enhance the novel's vague, dream-like world. To me, though, it is frustrating as heck, especially when you have flashbacks with absolutely no setup or changing voices with no indicators as to when the change happened. Everything is abstract and disjointed, and I guess I just need a little more meat on dem bones to feel satisfied.Look, this isn't the worst book, but it really could have done with a "kill your darlings" approach. Saved by Francesca Lia Block's spellbinding writing, I'm giving I Was a Teenage Fairy a 2.5 out of 5.
    • 4/5
      Barbie Marks's mother is a former beauty-queen, obsessed with getting her child a modeling career. She even named her after the plastic doll! Barbie doesn't like the modeling, but does it to keep her slightly-terrifying mother happy, even after she is molested by one of the photographers. Barbie becomes a very withdrawn and depressed child, her only friend is a tiny teenage girl, the size of her pinky, Queen Mab. Part II sees Barbie as a teenager who is too thin, smokes too much and drinks too much. She still hates modeling and the sarcastic, sharp-tongued faerie, Mab, is still her only friend. Barbie meets a young actor, Todd and his friend, the model, Griffin. Griffin is almost a boy-version of Barbie - he is also depressed, hates modeling, does it to please his mother, and was molested by the same photographer that abused Barbie. Griffin is in love with Todd, but Todd is in love with Barbie. Tiny Mab sets out trying to create a happy ending for everyone - but Barbie has to create her own happy ending, by emerging from her shell, coming to terms with her past, and creating her own identity. By the end of the novel, Barbie has reinvented herself on the other side of the camera as the photographer Selena Moon.I Was a Teenage Fairy is a moving and satisfying story about child beauty contests, abuse and the struggle for identity, with a touch of magic and romance.
    • 4/5
      A young woman comes to terms with an horrific event from her childhood, with a little help from a pint-sized pixie named Mab.I remember the first time I read this book. I started it right before bed. I read a big chunk, then tried to sleep. I just couldn't. I needed to finish the story; I needed to see how things would play out for Barbie and Mab, Todd and Griffin. I got up, headed downstairs, and finished it. Then I cried my eyes out.I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am in awe of Francesca Lia Block. In some ways, her writing is very simple. Her work has much in common with poetry; it's brief and concise, and each word is chosen with the utmost care. Her writing is often technically incorrect, but it's never less than evocative. It's a rare FLB novel indeed that doesn't leave me in tears.Many of her books explore darker themes, and I WAS A TEENAGE FAIRY is no exception. It deals with the effects of child sex abuse. The story itself isn't graphic; there's no gratuitous violence here, and Block plays nothing for shock value. Instead, she delves into Barbie's emotional state before and after the abuse occurs. She submerges us in Barbie's world and lets us see her life through her eyes. The result is an intense, emotional read that cuts into your very soul. The story is beautifully layered; each piece adds to what's come before to create a deep, complex story that packs a huge wallop despite its brevity. So often, I'd find that some careful turn of phrase illuminated Barbie's situation in such a way that I was sobbing before I realized it. Barbie starts off in a dark place, yes, but there's still so much beauty in here. So much beauty, and so much hope.I highly recommend this, but please keep in mind that it may be triggering for some readers.(This review also appears on my blog, Stella Matutina, albeit in a slightly different form).
    • 3/5
      Barbie's mom lives vicariously through her fashion model daughter, subjecting Barbie to some dangerous, predatory people and causing her to take refuge in a friendship with a tiny fairy who maybe is or isn't there. The writing here is sparse and ethereal and it's difficult to tell what actually is or isn't happening. Maybe if I'd read this as a teenager myself, I'd have been more enamored of it because in a way it's pretty similar to some books I just adored at that age, including ones by this very author.
    • 1/5
      While there was a lot of really good imagery sprinkled throughout the story, the edgy feel of the writing style did not match the actual content of the story at all. This left the book feeling overly censored, since the style seemed to be attempting to reach a more mature audience then the actual content would appeal to.

      I also felt like the author attempted to encompass to much story for such a short book - especially after the jump in time. The story was also not particularly coherent, and I felt like the ending came out of nowhere. That said, I don't think the ending she was setting up was all that much better, but I'm the silly person who actually finished reading it.

      Overall one of the only redeeming factors to this book was that it was published before Tithe. So it is apparently not just a cheap ripoff.

      Edit: Having now also read a couple of the Bordertowns books I can say this book is a silly redundancy that probably should never have happened. Well, live and learn.
    • 3/5
      This is a very difficult book to describe, both in terms of story and writing style. The language is vivid and engaging. But the writing also suffers from odd transitions and poorly explains the passage of time. The main character, Barbie is very shallow and I think it's difficult for the reader to feel empathy in anything more than a vague generality.
    • 2/5
      I didn't love this book at all. that being said i read it in two days and was 15 minutes late to work because i was sitting in my car reading the end of it. i felt the story was there, but the story telling didn't do it for me. i don't regret the time i spent reading it, but certainly will not pick it up again.
    • 4/5
      I really don't know how to most accurately describe Block's writing, so I'll write from my gut. Block's writing is like cocaine. Initially, all reasonable instincts tell me that the writing is not good. Once that reaction has passed, my brain says "Hmmm...let's just see where this goes." Pretty soon, the little voices tell me I have to keep going, I could never forgive myself if I stopped...I... NEED...MORE!!! After I'm done with that, I keep going back to the library, for more...and more...and MORE!!! Four years after I have kicked the Block habit, I still don't know what possessed me to read everything of Block's I could get my hands on. I don't remember particularly enjoying it, but I do remember that Block single-handedly helped get me through the roughest portions of high school. Now, I know that my review is something of a back-handed compliment, but I will say this for Block; she is exceptionally imaginative and a vibrantly visual artist.
    • 4/5
      Getting into I Was a Teenage Fairy was a hard task. At the very beginning, the reader is suffocated by a mass of description and plunged right into a confusing, out-of-focus, plot. Soon, though, the haze clears out and a message begins to form. You'll find yourself wondering pretty existential questions throughout this read. Who--or what--is Mab? Is she a figment of Barbie's imagination? Is she Barbie herself? Is she supposed to symbolize all or none of us at all? While there doesn't seem to be much other than a rough outline of a plot in this book, it's still an enjoyable read--far better than Block's Weetzie Bat series. It's still filled with the same kind of hazy wording, but there appears to actually have a point, while Weetzie really didn't. There is a point to the stories that are being told, and it is a hauntingly poignant one.Rating: 4/5
    • 4/5
      Have you ever read a book that made you feel simultaneously both happy and sad at the end? This may be the first that accomplished it for me. This story is one told on different levels; one very true and traumatic and the other, supernatural, dreamlike and hopeful. Not many stories could pull it off but this one does it.On the surface this is a story about a girl named Barbie (yes, after the doll) whose mother's only dream is for her daughter to become the successful model she had failed to be. Just as Barbie's childhood feelings of aloneness become overwhelming, she discovers a new, if diminutive, fairy friend named Mab. This is not your average innocent fairy tale. What has happened to the characters is unsettling and the repercussions are dealt with in a realistic manner, especially considering the vocations of the primary characters and the atmosphere they are in. These scenes are not presented gratuitously and really have meaning in the plot of the book.I didn't really get the parts describing the cities as various types of women...well, I did in the beginning, but not so much closer to the end of the book. I did like all the characters from the melancholy Barbie and Griffin to the wisecracking Mab and even Todd whose sincerity I sometimes had to question. However, even though I liked them I still felt a little distanced from them. This could have been in part due to the dreamy and rather disconnected feeling that prevails throughout the book. Although I usually like to feel more personally involved with a book's characters, in this case it was kind of a relief considering the type of trauma the book deals with. I'm not really sure I would have felt comfortable with having any stronger feelings drawn from me. As one last thought on the book I would have to say that I know that this is a fantasy, but it is a rather comforting thought that there could be Mabs available for all those children that need them. Not a book I’d suggest for tweens but a good one for mature and older teens.
    • 4/5
      This is the story of Barbie, named after the doll and forced to live in her image by her overbearing, over tanned stage-mother. Barbie, after wishing on a picture of the girls who photograph a fairy to see one herself, meets Mab, a spunky, crabby, opionated fairy who flits around Barbie throughout the novel. Mab is the only thing Barbie has to give her her stength, as her father is nonexistant even when he was around, and her mother just tells her that 'bad things sometimes happen' when she is molested by her headshot photographer. This book is heavy and harsh but there is a layer of fairydust sparkling on top of all of the city grime. In this fairytale ending, Barbie gets a new name and no longer lives as her mother's doll.
    • 3/5
      Yr. 9 - Yr. 10. Maybe Mab was real. Maybe not. Maybe Mab was the fury. Maybe she was the courage. A tiny fairy winging her way through the jasmine-scented L.A. night. A little girl caught in a grown-up glitz-and-glitter world of superstars and supermodels. A too beautiful boy with a secret he can never share... This is the story of Barbie Marks, who dreams of being the one behind the Cyclops eye of the camera, not the voiceless one in front of it; who longs to run away to New York City where she can be herself, not some barley flesh-and-blood version of the plastic doll she was named after. It is the story of Griffin Tyler, whose androgynous beauty hides the dark pain he holds inside. And finally it is the story of Mab, a pinkie-sized, magenta-haired, straight-talking fairy, who may or may not be real but who helps Barbie and Griffin uncover the strength beneath the pain, and who teaches that love--like a sparkling web of light spinning around our bodies and our souls--is what can heal even the deepest scars.
    • 3/5
      A very interesting story about being sexually assaulted as a child. This book didn't have quite the same writing style as wasteland, but it was still very interesting.
    • 5/5
      This is the first book by Block that I read, and it caught my eye because of the beautiful cover. I'm so glad I did! This certainly wasn't the type of YA fiction I read when I was at that age, and I'm sorry I never read books like this. However, I'm really happy to discover Block's fiction, since they paint a different and truer world of young adults, even as she indulges in the fantastic. Wonderful!
    • 4/5
      Barbie, a young girl, has a mother hell bent on Barbie being a model. Barbie doesn’t have much interest in it and a fairy named Mab helps her cope with her mother and the bad things that happen. Heartbreaking.
    • 5/5
      This not only deals with sexuality, but body image, sexual abuse, and survival. Again, Block outdoes herself.

    Book preview

    I Was a Teenage Fairy - Francesca Lia Block

    PART I

    Barbie & Mab

    If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model with collagen-puffed lips and silicone-inflated breasts, a woman in a magenta convertible with heart-shaped sunglasses and cotton candy hair; if Los Angeles is this woman, then the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister. The teenybopper sister snaps big stretchy pink bubbles over her tongue and checks her lip gloss in the rearview mirror, causing Sis to scream. Teeny plays the radio too loud and bites her nails, wondering if the glitter polish will poison her. She puts her bare feet up on the dash to admire her tan legs and the blond hair that is so pale and soft she doesn’t have to shave. She wears a Val Surf T-shirt and boys’ boxer shorts and she has a boy’s phone number scrawled on her hand. Part of her wants to spit on it and rub it off, and part of her wishes it was written in huge numbers across her belly, his name in gang letters, like a tattoo. The citrus fruits bouncing off the sidewalk remind her of boys; the burning oil and chlorine, the gold light smoldering on the windy leaves. Boys are shooting baskets on the tarry playground and she thinks she can smell them on the air. And in her pocket, whispering secrets about them, is a Mab.

    Maybe Mab was real. Maybe there really are girls the size of pinkies with hair the color of the darkest red oleander blossoms and skin like the greenish-white underbellies of calla lilies.

    Maybe not. Maybe Mab was the fury. Maybe she was the courage. Maybe later on she was the sex. But it doesn’t matter if Mab is real or imagined, Barbie thought, as long as I can see her. As long as I can feel her sitting on my palm, ticklish as a spider, as long as I can hear the cricket of her voice. Because without her then how would I be able to ever go inside?

    Inside was carpeted in shag—lime green and baby blue, scratchy and synthetic, creeping insidiously over the floors and even up onto the sink counters and toilet seats in the bathroom. It was a kitchen with cows stenciled on the walls and real cows roasting in the oven. It was pictures of Barbie’s mother when she was a young beauty queen contestant and model, flashing big teeth like porcelain bullets. It was Barbie’s mother now, jingling with gold chains and charms, big-haired, frosted, loud enough to scare away even the bravest pinkie-sized girls.

    Sometimes Barbie’s mother came outside, too, to yank her daughter by one skinny arm from under a bush and pull leaves out of hair that was green from swimming too long in the chlorinated pool.

    That day, Barbie had been lying there calling for Mab who was being especially obstinate and refusing to make an appearance.

    Barbie! We’re going to be late! What are you doing?

    Barbie’s mother was wearing her oversized white plastic designer sunglasses and a gold and white outfit. Her perfume made Barbie’s head spin in a different and more nauseating way than when she and Mab attempted to get a buzz from sniffing flowers or when they spun in circles to make themselves dizzy.

    Oh my God! You’re a mess! And we have to be there in forty-five minutes.

    Where? Barbie asked her mother’s tanned cleavage as she was dragged into the avocado-colored stucco house for grooming.

    The agency was over the canyon in Beverly Hills. It had high ceilings, vast glass walls and enormous artwork depicting lipsticks and weapons. To Barbie, it seemed like a palace for the Giants. The Giants were the ones she had nightmares about. It was not that she was so afraid of them hurting her. The thing that made her wake sweating and biting herself with terror was that in the dream she was huge and heavy and bloated and tingling and thick.

    She was one of them.

    The agency was where the Giants would live.

    Barbie wished Mab had come with her. But Mab never left the backyard. She said she was afraid of getting squashed. Barbie assumed that the fact Mab never went anywhere with her was proof that Mab was probably real. Otherwise, Barbie would definitely have imagined her here now.

    The agent had a stretched, tanned face, like a saddle.

    Well, you certainly are pretty, Barbie, he said.

    Thank you, said Barbie’s mother.

    What do you think of a career in modeling?

    She’s thrilled. She wants to be just like Mommy.

    Barbie had noticed the plant when she walked in. It was the only thing in the glass and metal room that she wanted to touch. She got up and went over to it; she always examined plants. You never knew—maybe there were more girls like Mab waiting to be discovered, and in this case, rescued.

    You know I won Miss San Fernando Valley in 19…well let’s just say, I was a winner! Not that you’d guess it now! Barbie’s mother patted her hairdo and eyed the agent hopefully.

    Barbie patted the agent’s plant. There were no Mabs on it. But even Mabless, it was the most friendly thing in the room.

    Well, you certainly have a very lovely daughter, Mrs. Markowitz.

    Marks, said Barbie’s mother.

    Barbie, still stroking a leaf, turned to look at her.

    What’s that? asked the agent.

    Mrs. Marks.

    I thought it said… The agent spryly shuffled some papers on his desk. He had long, tan, hairy arms and surprisingly small wrists for a medium-sized man.

    That was a typo, Mrs. Marks said. She noticed Barbie and her plant. What are you doing over there! Come sit back down.

    Barbie obediently left her Mabless plant friend and went back to her chair. Mrs. Marks (Marks? Barbie thought) folded her hands tightly in her lap, wiggled her rear end into the chair and glared at her daughter. Barbie folded her hands and wiggled her rear. Mrs. Marks smiled at the agent. Barbie smiled.

    The plant, which had never seen a Mab, let alone been examined for one or housed one in its leaves, might have sighed silently from its corner when Barbie Markowitz-now-Marks left.

    Why’d you tell him our last name was Marks?

    They were driving home through the canyon in the baby-blue Cadillac. Even without Mab’s prompting, Barbie occasionally felt brave enough to speak up. Not that Mab would have considered that question speaking up.

    Because it is, now, said Mrs. Marks. We need a proper stage name. I knew when I married your father—she always said your father like it was some form of misbehavior Barbie had visited on her—I should have kept my maiden name. I think that Markowitz business ruined my career.

    Barbie leaned out the window of the car, staring at the ornately flowering trees. They seemed almost artificial, like her mother’s flower arrangements, but she knew they were real.

    Just don’t mention this name thing to him yet.

    Barbie was still thinking about the trees. That was another reason she believed in Mab. Purple flowering trees seemed impossibly beautiful, too.

    Now all we need is to get you some nice head shots. Won’t that be fun.

    Barbie didn’t say anything. She was wishing for one of the blossoms to bring home to Mab.

    We’re going to go to a very famous photographer. Are you listening? Barbie!

    Barbie looked back at her mother. Why was it called a head shot, she wondered.

    Mrs. Marks stopped at a light. Barbie slipped out of her seat belt, got onto her knees, and reached toward one of the trees that was dangling its flowers down to her. Her mother pulled her back.

    What are you doing? Get in here!

    But Barbie had managed to snag a purple flower. She hid it in her pocket. It might make a nice hat for Mab. Barbie wished she could take photos of Mab instead of having to have them taken of her. Mab was the natural born star.

    Dr. Markowitz left for work early every morning and came back late in the evening. Sometimes he ate dinner with Barbie and her mother, but mostly he ate alone in the kitchen after she was supposed to be in bed. Barbie would sneak downstairs and watch him through the crack in the door. He had probably been a handsome man at one time. Now he was losing his hair and he had a worried look under his glasses. Barbie had memories of him taking her into his office and reading her stories from his books of myths. But that was before. Now he hardly noticed her.

    That night he was home early. Barbie arranged her food into a miniature landscape with salad trees and mashed potato mountains, hoping he would notice, if not her artistic abilities, then at least her poor table manners.

    Mrs. Marks had not even noticed about the table manners. She was always in a better mood when Barbie’s father was home—at first, anyway. You should have seen our little miss today, she said to him.

    Barbie’s father did not respond. He was carefully chewing his food. Each chew was almost like a wince.

    I think we’re going to have a little model on our hands.

    No response still.

    Aren’t you going to say anything?

    That’s very nice, said Barbie’s father.

    Barbie wondered what he was thinking about. One of his patients? Another little girl who played with her food and imagined grasshopper-sized playmates in the garden?

    Daddy, are you going to change your name now too?

    What’s that?

    Mrs. Marks tinkled gold charms like scales and looked as if she was going to breathe fire—some kind of dragon. Oh, nothing.

    Don’t tell me you’re starting that again.

    Have you ever heard of a supermodel with the last name Markowitz? There’s Shalom Harlow, but she’s not Jewish. It was some hippie thing her parents did.

    "You’re going to give your daughter

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