Hopeless

Dean Holder is a perceived character; he comes to the reader only through the perception of Sky, who is powerfully in love with him almost from the moment she spies him alone running on the school’s track. He is at once the typical tattooed bad boy, in and out of trouble in school, with his lithe and muscled frame, and, as Sky comes to understand, a wounded and deeply sensitive man-child, given too much to handle emotionally at too young an age. In his studied stoicism and his reluctance to talk about things that most deeply impact him, Holder masks what Sky comes to love: his heart, or more specifically, his refusal to ignore the emotional suffering of those around him. That keen sensitivity, suggested by the pun of his last name, defines Holder as exactly what Sky, another grievously wounded teenager, needs to find her way to hope.

Sky is shaped by the dark experiences with her predatory father; Holder is shaped by his failure to save the little girl next door from being kidnapped, and later by his failure to help his twin. That burden of guilt haunts his memories of his friendship with Sky/Hope. Although helping two such emotionally traumatized girls was clearly beyond the reach of a child, Holder does not see that. In his mind, he is the protector, and he sees only his failure to help those who love him. As he emerges as Sky’s confidant, Holder brings stability to her difficult journey to piece together the reality of her childhood.

In this, Holder discovers his own identity, a process suggested by his tattoo. Initially, he brands himself “Hopeless” out of his dark and negative self-perception as someone capable only of letting down those who need him. In coming to terms with Sky/Hope, and, more importantly, with the cause of his sister’s suicide, the tattoo becomes less an indictment of his failures and more a definition of his identity: He is the product of a fusion of the two most important figures in his young life, the product of Hope (Sky’s birth name) + Les (his twin sister’s name).

For most of the novel, Karen is Sky’s eccentric technophobic adopted mother. A stereotypical Luddite, Karen lovingly raises her adopted daughter in a kind of cute, insulated, anti-modern environment. She makes her living promoting homeopathic herbal medicines at flea markets, homeopathy being another indicator of her resistance to anything modern. Sky, homeschooled, has never experienced television, the Internet, social media, or texting. If that sets up a kind of girl-meets-modern-world premise, that premise is shattered when Sky discovers that her quirky adoptive mother is in fact her kidnapper, and suddenly Karen’s resistance to anything modern reveals a sinister plan to keep Sky from learning the truth.

Karen’s inability to commit to Jack, whom Sky sees as a perfect fit for Karen, reveals the long-term impact of her trauma at the hands of her brother. She is damaged emotionally. Karen only comes into her own as a character in the novel’s closing chapters when Sky confronts her about her criminal activity, only to find out that Karen, as a young woman, was the first survivor of Sky’s father’s emotional terrorism and sexual violence. Unable to find help after her brother’s attack, and unable to give voice to her own pain, Karen retreats into silence. But, desperate to help her niece when she sees signs that the girl is being preyed on by her brother, Karen resorts to the only strategy she hopes might rescue the girl. In that, of course, she breaks the law.

When Sky retreats to the backyard and, under the night sky of stars, comes to understand the implications of her aunt’s actions, Sky learns an important lesson about the difficult definitions of love. Her father, whom she loved and trusted, nearly destroyed her; the woman who violated her trust and kept her hidden for 13 years is, in fact, the one who loves her most deeply.