How SHOULD I live now?

Terrorism. The very mention of the word frightens me. Living smack in the middle of the superpower that is the United States enables me, as an adult, to pretend quite successfully that war, brutality, avarice, and murder are elements of another world, a place where certainly I would never and could never live. I don’t have a TV or subscribe to the newspaper. I only catch bits and pieces of current events on Minnesota Public Radio, as the blaring voices from my alarm clock attempt to wake me. I live a minimalist existence and like to think that I’m happier because of the simplicity. However, the reality is that the world is not at peace. Written in the three months prior to the US invasion of Iraq, How I Live Now, by Meg Rosoff, explores that tension through an adolescent’s eyes.

This past winter, my brother was deployed as a logistics officer to help fight the “war on terror” or whatever it’s called these days. In some ways, How I Live Now forces me to relive the months I spent in Fairbanks, Alaska helping my sister-in-law raise her children in the absence of their father. It wasn’t unusual wake up and immediately begin the day by rescuing the princess, hunting polar bears, or masquerading as pirates with my nephews. What was seemingly unusual to me at the time is the fact that a mile down the road an eerily quiet army base stands training soldiers for combat behind its walls, and simultaneously on the other side of the Earth, we, as a nation, are part of a real life war. How can these two worlds coexist – one of imagination and joy and another of power and fear? AND then how is it possible that I can laugh and play while innocent others are dying? These are an adult questions and adult guilt born of society and experience. However, the narrator, an anorexic, matter-of-fact American teen named Daisy, tells it like it is in her world – “no matter how much you put on a sad expression and talked about how awful it was that all those people were killed and what about democracy and the Future of Our Great Nation the fact that none of us kids said out loud was that WE DIDN’T REALLY CARE” (43). Profound and memorable, these candid, honest words show the distance between the children and the war. What follows is a harsh and heartbreaking glimpse into what it means to experience fear, grief, death, and the loss of innocence.

While this is the survival story of a family during a fictional war, Rosoff includes elements of contemporary society that strike close to home (and the heart). The mention of cell phones, e-mail, airports, and apartments in New York City indicate that the story takes place within the last twenty years. Yet, war is timeless and renders its victims to often resort to primitive means of survival which complicates the setting. Daisy and her cousins walk to the village, have knowledge of plants and trees, and live on a farm which give the story more of a historic feeling. There is an edge within the writing, perhaps due to the lack of punctuation within dialogue and the irregular capitalization of words, that is a break from convention. To me, this screams “new” and “fearless.” It isn’t just the words or style of writing that goes out on the limb, though. Rosoff tackles adolescent issues, like anorexia and sexual maturity and somehow is able to juxtapose them in a way that makes sense. For example, when Daisy explains her hunger for Edmond’s love, she makes a comparison to her own physical hunger – “It was the first time in as long as I can remember that hunger wasn’t a punishment or a crime or a weapon or a mode of self-destruction. It was simply a way of being in love” (53).

Further, I was surprised at how Rosoff describes the illicit romance between Daisy and Edmond with such tenderness and purity that what is conventionally and socially wrong appears endearing and powerful. As a reader, instead of being disgusted, you root for them. Their love is sweet, and if you’ve ever experienced what it’s like to be in love, you understand the significance of their relationship. Daisy talks directly to the reader and admits that what she’s doing is probably wrong, which gives her more credibility as a narrator. Beyond the words on the page, Daisy’s strength and suffering, teach a bit about living in the moment and perhaps about how we should all live. Right now.