Beartown by Fredrik Backman

Set in late March (I'm an avid seasonal reader); takes place in a remote mountain town (of Sweden, though that is never mentioned directly, and, given the imagery, could very well take place in Alaska); the name of that town being Beartown; the story revolving around a hockey team; Beartown by Fredrik Backman could have been called This Book Was Written For You, Breanne! Unfortunately, those basic characteristics are where my affection for this book take a sharp turn.

Backman's novel included, I have only ever read two books where rape is the eye of the storm and everything around it spins out of control. This might be hard to believe from someone who reads approximately 30 books a year, but I am extremely sensitive to triggers so I go out of my way to avoid them. As a woman, and as a woman who was raised with a certain code of values and responsibilities, I find these particular stories about rape frustrating. It was especially disconcerting - and sometimes encouraging - that I forgot Beartown isn't in the United States, proving that extremely unfortunate ethics and so-called morals transcend cultures.

Beartown is on the brink of extinction. Business are closing up shop, council members see little reason to invest, and there is even talk of moving the school to the next town over. All the hopes of Beartown - big and small - rest on the shoulders of Beartown Ice Hockey, a group of teenage boys who moved up the local ranks to once and for all have a shot at winning the finals. Treated like heroes and worshiped like gods, a teen girl is raped and everything and every one spirals out of control.

Coincidentally, along with being only the second rape-centered book I've ever read, Beartown is also the second sports drama I've ever continuously rolled my eyes through, and lets just say, I'm not a fan. Beartown is written considerably better than Blind Your Ponies, but the drama is just as contrived, and the level of cheese requires just as much wine. Is there really that much cheese behind those locker room doors, or do writers just *think* there is really that much cheese behind those locker room doors? And aside from the manufacturing, the cheesy drama is extremely redundant, and alternates between the reader being in the center of it all to the reader having to squint through a dirt encrusted window. I will say, however, that even though there are just so many words, Backman manages to arrange them in a pleasing, thoughtful manner.

Sifting through the fromage is only tolerable because as focus on the game starts to fade, the crevasses in the characters become crystal clear, and suddenly navigating their truly unfortunate choices is all we are able to focus on. Backman's characters are to have us believe that to err is to be human, though there is not one character in this book that has more than one redeeming quality. Each character makes frustratingly frightening decisions while Backman tries to explain them away with the shedding of silent tears; as if to be human is to selfishly destroy others. I did not find one character to be even remotely likable. Well, except maybe the bass player.

From what I understand of the reviews, this story is a diversion from Backman's usual writings. This being my first of his novels, I find this encouraging as I still have A Man Called Ove on my unread shelf and now I am more inclined to read it. I have no desire to continue reading about these particular characters, though, so I will opt out of reading the sequel, Us Against You. 

⭐⭐/5 on goodreads