SYNC, a
fantastic summer program which I’ve
previously
discussed, paired L.M. Montgomery’s classic “Anne of Green Gables” with Ally
Carter’s contemporary “I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You”
as one of their free audiobook sets this past summer. The SYNC pairs gain an
added depth when read/listened to in concert, so I’ve reviewed them together.
Unfortunately, this is the first pair from this summer that has been
disappointing.
To be honest, I knew approximately nothing about “Anne of
Green Gables” before I started it. The novel is set in Canada, where orphan
Anne is adopted by the Cuthberts, a brother and sister who had actually wanted
a boy to help with the farm. The book is a collection of her adventures and
misadventures, taking a somewhat rambling approach to her various escapades
that are connected by her growing love and admiration for her friends and found
family.
Meanwhile, “I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to
Kill You” takes place at a secret boarding school for teenage girls who are
being trained as spies. There are many references to fictional covert
operations connected to historical events by the girls’ family members and the
school’s alums, plus pop culture references (including at least two Buffy the
Vampire Slayer references, so bonus points there). Cammie is the daughter of
the school’s headmistress and retells the story of meeting her off-campus,
townie boyfriend as if she were debriefing her superiors.
The biggest trait these two audiobooks share are precocious main
characters narrated in increasingly grating voices. In “I’d Tell You,” the
audiobook narrator, Renée Raudman, whines much of the first-person text, and
speaks in a lower-pitched, slower-paced voice for the love interest that makes
the listener assume that he is a complete idiot, even when he says sensible
things. But the worst disservice done by Raudman’s performance is that the
high-pitched gaiety interspersed with a playful severity when things turn
serious makes light of the character’s thoughts and feelings, as if they are
mere trifles spoken by a frivolous girl. This is the opposite of what the
character, a spy in training known for her ability to remain unnoticed, is
supposed to be.
In “Anne,” the audiobook narrator, Colleen Winton, voices
Anne so that she always seems on the verge of hysterics – from breathless
wonder to hopeless depression, it’s all a bit overacted. Anne’s defining
character traits include verbosity and propensity for hyperbole. Every time she
speaks she rambles on about anything that comes to mind. This might be
effective on a page as a block of text, but it’s a lot to take in aurally even
before adding tone and inflection. When Winton trills through these thoughts,
it sounds condescending and belittles the character’s legitimate thoughts and
beliefs, especially in contrast with the extreme earnestness with which the
non-dialogue portions are recited.
I may have liked these books had I read them in print
without the narrators offering their infuriating takes on the characters. Each
book looks at the importance of friendship to a young girl, and how first
romance should inspire a young woman to be their best, rather than shrink in comparison
to the object of her affection. Anne is a female version of Tom Sawyer, always
up to mischief but with her heart in the right place. Her relationships with
the Cuthberts who take her in is charming and well-developed, with each
relationship illuminating the distinct personalities of each of her caretakers.
Cammie is a young Buffy before the weight of saving the world has brought her
down, focused on her friends and her mission, if a bit boy-crazy. Both make
fine role models for young girls, especially if paired with discussions of
their downsides. But the audio of each novel took away from the reading
experience.
Verdict: Dismissed in
audio, Jury’s Out on print. The juvenile plots don’t hold up well for older
readers, though either would make a fine read for a middle school student. If
you choose to explore them, stay far away from the audio.
