68. Life As We Knew It

68. Life As We Knew It. Susan Beth Pfeffer. 2006. 337 pages. [Source: Library] [MG Fiction, YA Fiction] [5 stars]

First sentence: Lisa is pregnant.

Premise/plot: As the world is ending--or seeming to--Miranda, our heroine, keeps readers up to speed with her private journal. It starts several days--perhaps a week?--before an asteroid hits the moon. After the asteroid hits the moon, things change drastically, dramatically, and perhaps permanently. Can the human race survive? Will Miranda and her family? 

My thoughts: This novel is bleakity-bleak. However, it is not as bleak as it could be, or perhaps should be. But if it was more bleak would it have any readers reading and recommending it? It isn't as bleak as it could be because it isn't always realistic. One glaring instance is the magical well water that Miranda and her family rely on for months, long months without any electricity whatsoever. Or generators. Wells depend on electricity. What is sad or perhaps ironic is that one person in her family makes the comment how lucky they are to be on well water since the town's water supply depends on electricity and many are without water. Chances are they depend on electricity in different ways.

Even though some of the scenarios are unrealistic--each reader probably could point out one way that sticks out to him/her--the novel does a great job with its characters. This one is without a doubt a disaster/survival novel. It is premise-driven. But it is also very much about family dynamics. The focus is narrow--very narrow. The immediate family of Miranda. But just because there are few characters doesn't mean it isn't great at developing those characters. And it's rare, when you think about it, for a middle grade novel to focus ON family instead of friends and classmates. 

I have reviewed this one so many times because this is one that I keep rereading. 

My favorite quotes:

“Sometimes when Mom is getting ready to write a book she says she doesn’t know where to start, that the ending is so clear to her that the beginning doesn’t seem important anymore. I feel that way now only I don’t know what the ending is, not even what the ending is tonight” (16).

“For a moment I thought about all the people throughout history who saw Halley’s Comet and didn’t know what it was, just that it was there and frightening and awe inspiring. For the briefest flick of a second, I could have been a 16 year old in the Middle Ages looking up at the sky, marveling at its mysteries, or an Aztec or an Apache. For that tiny instant, I was every 16 year old in history, not knowing what the skies foretold about my future.” (18)

“And then it hit. Even though we knew it was going to, we were still shocked when the asteroid actually made contact with the moon. With our moon. At that second, I think we all realized that it was Our Moon and if it was attacked, then we were attacked.” (18-19)

“What about desserts?” I asked. “If the world comes to an end, I’m going to want cookies.” “We’re all going to want cookies if the world comes to an end,” Mrs. Nesbitt agreed. “And chips and pretzels. If the world is coming to an end, why should I care about my blood pressure?” “Okay, we’ll die fat,” Mom said. “Grab what you can grab and ram it into your wagons. But remember if we actually need this stuff, we’re going to be a lot more grateful for a can of soup than for a box of stale cookies.” “Speak for yourself,” Mrs. Nesbitt said. (34)

 “I guess I always felt even if the world came to an end, McDonald’s would still be open.” (46)

“Lately I’ve been trying not to know what’s going on. At least that’s the excuse I’ve been giving myself for not caring about all the stuff that’s happening outside of my little section of Pennsylvania. Who cares about earthquakes in India or Peru or even Alaska?
Okay that’s not fair. I know who cares. Matt cares and Mom cares and if there were any baseball involved, Jonny would care, too. Knowing Dad, he cares. Mrs. Nesbitt, too.
I’m the one not caring. I’m the one pretending the earth isn’t shattering all around me because I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to know there was an earthquake in Missouri. I don’t want to know the Midwest can die, also, that what’s going on isn’t just tides and tsunamis. I don’t want to have anything more to be afraid of.
I didn’t start this diary for it to be a record of death.” (70-71)

“We have clean sheets to sleep on, a clean house, clean clothes, clean dishes. We spent the evening laughing. It wasn’t 90 degrees in the house when we went to bed. We weren’t hungry. We’re not worried about Dad. I know what it feels like to be kissed by a boy. If I could, I would relive this day over and over. I can’t imagine a more perfect one.” (95-96)

“I can’t decide which is worse, no electricity or unreliable electricity. I wonder if I’ll ever have to decide which is worse, life as we’re living or no life at all.” (119)

“Here’s the funny thing about the world coming to an end. Once it gets going, it doesn’t seem to stop.” (120)

“I told Mom I was doing history (she never would have believed me if I said math) and stayed in bed all morning.” (191)

“I know I’m going to have to be strong for the next couple of weeks. No more whining. No more picking fights. I’ll have to do whatever Mom asks me and not protest and not complain. I know I can do it. But for that one moment I felt so weak, so helpless. I felt nothing but fear and despair and the most awful need to be anyplace else. I told myself it was hunger, but I knew that was a lie.
As long as Mom was all right, I could fool myself into thinking we’d all be all right.” (206)

“It’s funny how sorry I feel for Jon these days. I’m 2 1/2 years older than him and I feel like got those 2 1/2 years to go to school and swim and have friends and he got cheated out of them. And maybe he’ll live 2 1/2 years longer than me, or 20 years or 50, but he’ll still never have those 2 1/2 years of normal life.

Every day when I go to sleep I think what a jerk I was to have felt sorry for myself the day before. My Wednesdays are worse than my Tuesdays, my Tuesdays way worse than my Tuesday of a week before. Which means every tomorrow is going to be worse than every today. Why feel sorry for myself today when tomorrow’s bound to be worse?
It’s a hell of a philosophy, but it’s all I’ve got.” (275)

“But I hope when I get closer to death, however old I might be, that I can face it with courage and good sense the way Mrs. Nesbitt does.” (234)

“A while ago Jonny asked me why I was still keeping a journal, who I was writing it for. I’ve asked myself that a lot, especially in the really bad times.
Sometimes I’ve thought I was keeping it for people 200 years from now, so they can see what our lives were like.
Sometimes I’ve thought I’m keeping it for that day when people no longer exist but butterflies can read.
But today, when I am 17 and warm and well fed, I’m keeping this journal for myself so I can always remember life as we knew it, life as we know it, for a time when I am no longer in the sunroom.” (337)

 

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