The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant Read Online

Why doesn't Goodreads allow me to requite negative stars?

"Considering y'all're different from the rest of u.s.," he says.
"Yep, well, I was different from everyone dorsum home, besides, but."
"At that place are different ways to exist different, Anne."
"I don't suppose yous know all that much well-nigh existence different, Ben," I say, careful to audio every bit indifferent.
"I'd say I know a lot about a lot, including being dissimilar," he replies.

Impale. Me. At present.

This book is incomprehensibly, horrifyingly, fantastically bad. This might be

Why doesn't Goodreads allow me to give negative stars?

"Because you're different from the rest of us," he says.
"Yeah, well, I was different from everyone dorsum habitation, too, just."
"At that place are different ways to be different, Anne."
"I don't suppose you know all that much virtually being different, Ben," I say, careful to audio as indifferent.
"I'd say I know a lot about a lot, including being different," he replies.

Kill. Me. At present.

This book is incomprehensibly, horrifyingly, fantastically bad. This might be one of the worst books I have ever read in my life. This is and so terrible that it might fit into the category of "so bad that it's good."

This volume is almost the race for "The Big V." When I hear "The Big Five," I call back Virginity. I was incorrect. The V is for Valedictorian. It is a race to be Valedictorian. In most schools, to be Valedictorian, you simply have to have the best grades, not so in The Education of Anne Merchant. You encounter, in this very specialized, prestigious, ultra-selective school, being Valedictorian could depend on something else...something within a person'southward aureola...something like...

"I have seen your PT. You have in your aureola a trend toward—" Teddy hesitates, standing in the midst of a great, long, exaggerated pause "—seduction."

I am not fucking kidding.The Summary: Anne Merchant has ever been different from everyone else. She is five'ten, "hardly a Hobbit," a kleptomaniacal tooth, and hair that is so frizzy and blonde that it is practically an Afro.

Yes, y'all heard me, a blond Afro. The cover of the volume and then perfectly depicts Anne'southward hair.

Because clearly, that is what a blonde Afro looks like.

Her female parent is expressionless, her father is a mortician, and Anne has long since been the outcast at her school, because she is the only poor kid in her school. For some fucking reason, nosotros run into Anne as she is starting her new year's day at the new school of Cania Christy. Damned if we know how some poor kid ended upward there in the showtime place.

It is a super, super selective schoolhouse. To exist Valedictorian is to win the ultimate prize. Despite the fact that everyone there is supposed to be education-oriented, there are still slutty chicks at school whoring it around all over the fucking identify. The very outset time Anne sees the Hateful Girl clique, she brands them as skanks.

Like 4 slightly oversexed dolls, they stand at arm's length from me, thrusting out their cleavage, tossing their straightened silky hair over their shoulders, and pursing their pouty, glossy lips.

Then much for being accepting of others, since you were an outcast herserlf, right, Anne?

Anne learns that The Big V race is very competitive, EEEEEEEEE'RYONE in school wants the prestige of being the valedictorian. This prestigious, highly educational schoolhouse's curriculum is then hard, so competitive that we hardly see the inside of a classroom besides that of art. I mean, fuck English, Social Studies, Math, Science, all that skilful shit correct? Because Art class is all that's needed to exist Valedictorian.

Anne attends fine art class. Anne attends more fine art classes. She draws a professor in the nude.

"Banquet your eyes," our model Trey exclaims, drawing his hand down his body. He's a member of the kinesthesia, though yous wouldn't know information technology to look at him. He's nowhere most as difficult on the eyes as virtually of the teachers hither. "I am man. Hear me roar."

There is something foreign going on in the island. The students are forbidden to talk to the villagers...the villagers themselves are tribalistic! They worship idols! They cremate figures! They accept strange rituals!

"This is the final ceremony in the Festival of Burn and Life," Mr. Watso bellows, "a tradition unique to the Abenaki of this island they phone call Wormwood, this island that is Ndakinna to our slap-up ancestors. It is a tradition that is just decades erstwhile but more meaningful than any ritual nosotros have always performed."

Right. Very meaningful.

Since the race to be Valedictorian is so crucial to Anne, she snoops around, she gets involved in a dear triangle, she dances her center out! Anne gets her twerkin' on!

I pull out my California street-dancing swagger, which is insanely tough in this dress and heels, but I tin can't assistance myself. This song is begging for some boom-pop, and I am all over that.

But damn, girl, no, that ain't all.

"You prepare to accept this on?" she asks. Non asks. Demands.
"Take what on?"
"This!" She runs her hands upward and downwards her body. "Correct here. Right now."
"Wait. Are you maxim what I think you're saying?"
She wants to battle. She wants a dance-off.

Oh snap!!!! Do you experience that? THAT'S RIGHT. It'Due south A DANCE-OFF! Shit'southward gettin' Existent, yo!

I start information technology off, starting time past sliding into and out of an exaggerated S-shape formed by sitting deep in my right hip, rolling up to my left, arching my dorsum, and smoothly busting out my breast. To warm things upward. I pause for good measure, making deep eye contact with guys in the crowd, who handclapping when I practice.
Finally, I wave my paw like you lot stink—steeped in swagger.

Impale. Me. At present.

The Large V: In virtually schools, it'due south elementary to be valedictorian. It takes a lot of difficult work, certain, just all information technology takes is the top grade in schoolhouse, and that's it! Non so at Cania Christy. At that place are iii steps involved in the procedure, one of which is completely fucking random. You see, y'all get to cull the standards that you wish to set for yourself.

"Suppose," Teddy offers, "your PT is to…be selfish to succeed in life."
"I would grade your actions over the course of the next ii years against that PT. I would expect yous to skip to the front of every line, neglect to share, sabotage the efforts of your peers, particularly those who are most drastic, and—"
"Steal money from a beggar'southward bowl," I suggest.
"Precisely!" Villicus and Teddy exclaim.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

And then if yous cull to slut around for the next two years and practice it well, you lot could be Valedictorian?! I was kidding. This volume wasn't.

Dropping my arms to my side and letting my mitt hover at the hem of my pajama shirt. Holding my breath, I lift it slowly. Take information technology off. And blush at my reflection. Considering my body is so unrecognizable to me, it's nigh pornographic.
"Not bad," I whisper, looking at myself equally I never actually have before. Something inside me stirs—not because I'1000 attracted to myself. It'south something else. Information technology'due south realizing, for the first time ever, that I may possess a teensy tiny chip of sexual power.

The premise isn't even well-executed. Everyone gets a Guardian to grade him or her based on this premise, merely Anne'southward skeevy Guardian is pretty much the only one ever around. The idea is stupid, ludicrous, utterly laughable.

I Know You're From Uzbekistan Merely By Looking At You: A person's nationality shouldn't be obvious from the very first glance. Somehow that just totally skips over Anne. She automatically labels a person with their nationality just by looking at them. They don't even need to open their mouth.

Her followers—a Thai girl, an Indian girl, and a stark blonde—glare at me.

A woman is "Japanese," a dark-skinned man is "Indian," somehow she knows a woman is from Quebec just by looking at her. And so at that place's the Mandarin. Await, what?

Backside me, a Mandarin guy...

Wait, WHAT? Ok, let's get one thing straight. Mandarin is a language. Mandarin is an orangish. Y'all practise NOT refer to a Chinese guy as a Mandarin unless he is a time traveler from 18th century who is a Chinese official. Fuck me.Slut Shaming: This book not only takes the Mean Girl high school trope and make horrible missionary-style sex to it, information technology ramps upwardly the ante on slut shaming a thousandfold. The very first moment Anne meets the Hateful Daughter clique (oh, so very fucking original---not) at her new school, she labels them as tramps based on the way they clothes. And and then proceeds to charge them of being whores.

"Simply I'm sure you know all virtually getting around."

"Gang o' skanks," "skanky cows," "coiffed skanks," "skanky awards." FUCK YOU, ANNE. FUCK Yous!!!!!

Anne goes out of her way to highlight the slutty clothes that the girls wearable.

Their matching ruby bras busting out of their cleavage. Their sexual practice-kitten hair. Every twenty-four hours, they replace their standard-issue boots with whatever ultra-expensive, ultra-hooker shoes they have; today, it's Manolo Blahnik spiky boots.

She accuses them of going down on faculty in order to earn their grades. Anne implies that they walk like they belong in the "cherry-red-low-cal commune." Fuck slut shaming, fuck Anne, fuck this book.You Want A Piece Of Me?: Anybody finds Anne attractive. Everyone wants to get into her pants. There is a dearest triangle between Anne and two guys her own age, but from adult men, also. They leer at her, they brand lascivious gestures at her. Everything is hyper-sexualized in this book. From the lecherous Headmaster (German, naturally, fuck you, stereotypes) who calls her a nubile fraulein. To a skeevy quondam Senator with a school uniform fetish. To her Guardian (who is hideously ugly).

"I could rate you lot very favorably," he says, his soft voice sending shivers upwards my spine, "if you could be so obliging." And then he lowers his hands to his pants and undoes the top button.
My rima oris drops open, only not in the way he wants it to. "You're disgusting."
"I'm your repast ticket."

The Writing: Awful. Clothing is "as wrinkled as the cloak of a dead Franciscan friar." A French accent sounds like "eating peanut butter while fighting a head cold."

A thought is drawn out into a paragraph.

The one thought I have hasn't quite reached me still. Information technology moves through the darkness of my room slowly, deliberately, similar the Grim Reaper wading through a sludgy swimming to reach me, like he's been wading toward me for days, has jerked his way upwardly the stairs, and is finally hither, his slender, long arms extending toward me. I desire to back away from him, from my one unavoidable thought, but he keeps approaching, nearer and nearer until I'm in his cold, wet grasp.

If you still insist on reading this book, I take some recommended prerequisites. 1 simply does non walk into Mordor read this book unprepared. Gear up? Here'south what you lot need to exercise.

ane. Get a grouping of friends together
2. Purchase a lot of alcohol
3. Read this book out loud

All done? Good. Sit downwards, pour yourself a potable (or v), and get ready to have the laugh of your life.

I had the misfortune of reading this volume alone, without alcohol. Fuck this book.

...more than

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Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17675434-the-unseemly-education-of-anne-merchant

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