A long-time columnist and reporter in Spokane, Washington, Shawn Vestal has (mostly, over the last few years) begun to make a name for himself as an author of fiction, first with his Pen Bingham Prize winner, the story collection Godforsaken Idaho, now with his debut novel, the Mormon coming-of-age/road novel (words I thought could never possibly go together), Daredevils.

The focal point of Vestal’s story is Loretta, a rebellious teenager from a fundamentalist Mormon family. As a proposed curative for her bad behavior, Loretta is married off as second sister-wife to fellow fundamentalist, Dean Harder (a name worthy, indeed, of masters like Hawthorne and Dickens).

Soon, Dean moves his entire clan, including Loretta, to his family’s land in Idaho, far from her parents’ home. Once in Idaho, Loretta finds common ground with Dean’s teen nephew Jason; that common ground being escape from the oppression of family and religion, escape to an outside world that may seem freer than it is.

Daredevils is a trip through time and space, a portrait of a mid-century America (the 1950’s through the 1970’s) that’s breathtaking in scope. But perhaps the most winning part of the book is the way this lost history comes to feel at once familiar and deeply engrossing. From Tolkien to Zeppelin to narration from Jason’s hero, Evel Knievel, pop culture references abound, presenting a counterpoint to the constrictive fundamentalism at the story’s core. This is the good and bad of our American mythology—even more so that of the American West—a land where freedom and madness seem so often to run hand in hand.

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/kbaumeister/2016/07/the-nervous-breakdowns-re...
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The topic of this book really intrigued me. It takes place in the 1970's in a Mormon sect that is involved in plural marriage. There is a cast of characters, but mainly the book centers on 15 year old Loretta who is forced into becoming a sister wife. There is also 3 teenage boys, one of whom is also Mormon.

It was interesting that Evel Knieval is featured in the book. The time period and location of Arizona and Idaho is at the time that the great daredevil Evel was doing his famous motorcycle jumps.

Loretta, along with two other boys, long to do something meaningful and break out of the monotony of their life, but along with that comes consequences.

Each chapter portrays a different character. Sometimes it was not enough to explain why they acted the way they did though. The mood of the book was depressing for me. It was sad to see these teenagers feel so hopeless and already tired of life. I was a bit disappointed the end did not elaborate more on what happened to these young characters. It left me wanting a bit more. ( )

Here we have another story about a teen sister wife in the FLDS community who wants to escape. Been done before, and been done better. The only thing that sets this book apart is Evel Knievel. Although I was never a fan of his, this book manages to even make him boring.

The bunny bash was not boring - it was disgusting

The story manages to cover all the significant FLDS cliches. What it does not manage to do is interest me in a single character in the story. I just didn't care about any of them. I kept on reading to the end, hoping it would get more interesting, would engage me, but no, that just didn't happen. Hu-hum, I'm glad that's over. ( )

Could NOT. PUT. IT. DOWN.

(Full disclosure: I received a free e-ARC for review through NetGalley. Trigger warning for rape and child abuse.)

"She thinks of the thick dowel that had been lodged against the sliding window in her bedroom. Dean had cut the wood to size, and climbed a ladder to her second-story window and put it there, so even on the hottest days she cannot slide it open. She thinks of the gold. A bag of gold like in a fairy tale. She thinks of taking that gold away from him, and keeping it for herself."

"Loretta will never call Ruth 'Sister,' but she sees in her the way to do this: be stronger than the thing against you."

"This thing Loretta thought would be impossible has turned out to be simple, just as living this life has turned out to be simple. She remembers wondering how she would hide her true self from them, and then discovering how easy it was, because no one ever asked her anything about herself."

It's difficult for me to oversell this book. Daredevils is everything I'd hoped for - and more: a coming of age story, a cult escape story, a feminist fable. A portrait of the American Southwest in the far out 1970s. A story about the making - and unmaking - of our cultural heroes and icons. A road trip. A deconstruction of toxic masculinity and rape culture. A love story (but not in the way you think).

At its core is a fifteen-year-old girl named Loretta who yearns to start her life in the "real," outside world. A world she tasted, all too briefly. The youngest of eight children, Loretta's birth was unexpected. She came into the world a "wordly" Mormon in Cedar City, Arizona; but at the age of eight, her father abruptly decided that he wanted to rejoin the fundamentalist Mormon community in which he was raised. And so he moved Loretta and her mother back to Sutter Creek - without their input, natch. Just that like, Loretta's world - and her future - narrowed. Constricted until it fit one person's - another person's - will and desires.

Loretta is a means to an end for her father: an inroad to the "pocket of polygamists" he drifted away from so long ago. Though he cannot practice the virtue of celestial marriage himself (his standing in the community isn't enough to merit a second wife, or so I assume), Mr. Buckton can ensure that Loretta becomes a sister wife - whether she likes it or not. When he catches Loretta sneaking out to meet a guy one night, he beats Loretta, imprisons her in her room (bolting shut both the door and window), and "places" her with Dean Harder - who already has one wife and seven children, the oldest of which is only a few years younger than Loretta herself.

Reading Daredevils, I was constantly reminded of Joshua Gaylord's When We Were Animals: not because of any similarities in substance or style, but for the simple fact that both men give voice to teenage girls with such compassion, clarity, and nuance. Such humanity. At the time, I wrote:

"Every male author who laments that women are too strange and unknowable – too alien – to write convincingly needs to read When We Were Animals. Like yesterday. This is how it’s done, people."

The same goes for Daredevils. While all the characters are multifaceted, Loretta in particular shines. It would be all too easy to make her into a victim. And while she is indeed victimized - by her birth father; by her new "Father," husband/rapist Dean; and by the equally dangerous Bradshaw - she's also a survivor. Loretta suffers the abuse because she must, but she also finds ways to transcend it: through plotting and scheming; taking control of her body when she can (e.g., she douches with vinegar and ammonia to prevent pregnancy); and holding her secrets, pieces of her, close. Loretta is manipulative and sly, and I love her for it.

Loretta's unusual upbringing also makes it all too easy to relate to her. Hers is in many ways a classic fish out of water tale: She wasn't raised into this lifestyle, but rather thrust into it as a child; and at an old enough age to remember a different way. A better way - for girls and women and expendable adolescent boys.

While the first half of the story primarily focuses on Loretta and Jason and their converging paths, once the trio hits the road, we're treated to brief passages from the other characters' POVs. This is pure genius on Vestal's part; these sections promise to either cement or challenge the reader's existing perceptions.

This is especially true in Ruth's case: where she alternately comes off as a bully or a victim, the glimpse into her past (she was eleven when she was separated from her parents during the Short Creek raid - a real event that's described as "the largest mass arrest of polygamists in American history") really helps to add depth and nuance to the character. She is both: Ruth beats her children, and Dean took Loretta as a second wife against Ruth's wishes - even though the Law of Sarah grants wives the right to refuse sister wives. Sometimes Ruth despises her religion, even as she clings to it. She knows that she's smarter and has better judgment than her husband - she lacks Dean's greed and vanity - yet God's will demands that she submit to him nonetheless. She is, in a sense, her own jailer. And yet the Short Creek raid - and the sense of persecution it imparted - perversely helped cement those bars in place.

Yet Ruth, like Loretta, finds her own small, sly acts of rebellion. After Loretta runs off with Jason and Boyd, Ruth can't help but get a little dig in at Dean's expense: a godly "I told you so." Not content with his agreement, she insists that Dean lay out all the ways in which he erred. In great detail. It's just a happy coincidence that that which pleases God also pleases her, you know?

I also loved the juxtaposition of Bradshaw and Dean: two sides of the same woman-hating coin. Whereas Dean justifies his rape of Loretta with scripture, Bradshaw leans on the same rape apologism we're all familiar with. Yet when it comes right down to it, they're more alike than different: a couple of entitled misogynists. Watching the burgeoning friendship between the chosen and the gentile was terribly satisfying. They kind of belong together, those two.

It's a little simplistic or naive to call Bradshaw Loretta's "boyfriend" - really he's just one possible avenue of escape that she's cultivating. Yet as she becomes familiar with Dean, she questions which man - which path - is really the lesser evil. In the end, she chooses neither: Loretta is the architect of her own future.

For a time, Jason fancies himself Loretta's knight in shining armor:

"She needs saving, and it has been arranged for him to save her, but how? It must be what she wants, too, though this thought is buried so deep in Jason’s assumptions that he doesn’t actually think it. It is simply what occurs, it is simply what men do: rescue women."

But as their escape unfolds, Jason is dismayed to find that he's not the one behind the wheel. He's not Spider-Man, and Loretta is no Mary Jane. She's planned her prison break from the start and doesn't need anything from Jason - except his pea green LeBaron, that is.

Likewise, once he (and Boyd) get to know Loretta, they find that she's nothing like the image they conjured in their heads. She's brash, aggressive, and sexual - nothing like the demure, oppressed sister-wife they expected. (That noise? It's the sound of your pedestal cracking.)

There's so much to cherish and celebrate here, I could go on for days. The writing is captivating; the setting, lovely; and the characters, stunning and complicated and oh so human. I seriously had trouble pulling myself away, even as my heart quailed at what might come next.

My only quibble is with the ending, which isn't unsatisfying or disappointing, exactly ... it's just not quite what I expected. I don't know what I expected. Something grander? More profound? A twist to make me gasp or that would leave me in tears? I wanted Loretta to walk away with all of the fool's gold, anyway.

Don't get me wrong; the ending is good. I just think it could have been awesome.

4.5 stars, rounded up to 5 where necessary.

http://www.easyvegan.info/2016/04/11/daredevils-by-shawn-vestal/ ( )