The book’s protagonist, Neva, lives in a country simply called Homeland that exists under a giant electrified dome known as the Protectosphere, which isolates them from the supposed aftermath of a widespread cataclysm. Hers is a country of stagnation; everybody looks the same due to generations of inbreeding. Homeland’s goods and technologies are slowly decaying, and even their population is on the decline, with young adults being desperately urged to pair off and procreate. Most disturbing are the disappearances, with more and more people (including Neva’s grandmother) simply vanishing and everyone else acting as if they never existed at all. Neva and her friends chafe underneath the increasingly draconian government, fearing that there will be no future for them, and resolve to do... something. That part isn’t really that clear, to the characters or to the reader, but it definitely involves civil disobedience of some sort. Neva’s first stab at defiance brings the full attention of Homeland on her, and she risks the safety of both her well-connected family and her loyal friends as she attempts to discover what has become of the missing.
The thing is, all of the Neva’s mysteries are crystal clear to the reader, for the most part. Isolated society. Rebellious grandmother suddenly disappearing. Big Brother attempting to manufacture happiness and patriotism. It becomes clear pretty early on that the Homeland government is up to something, so most of the book has the reader waiting for Neva to discover and catch on to what’s happening. There are some grim, exciting twists on the way, most notably when Neva explores the Women’s Empowerment Center, but for the most part the reader knows what’s going on well before Neva does.
On the other hand, I found the interpersonal aspect of the novel to be surprisingly believable, considering the book’s audience. The book gets its title from a gathering in the first chapter: a makeout party in a dark room that Neva and her best friend Sanna use as a cover to incite their fledging revolt. Neva shares a sudden, passionate kiss in the dark with Sanna’s boyfriend, Braydon, who she never really liked or trusted before. After the dark party, though, she can’t stop thinking about him, to the point of risking both her friendship with Sanna and her success in foiling her pursuers and striking against the government. Some may find that romance shallow and carnal, and, well, that’s because it is. Sanna’s deteriorating relationship with a longtime boyfriend she no longer loves, and her sudden lust for a boy she doesn’t know but loves to kiss, sounds like an authentic teenage experience to me. Moreover, the consequences from those decisions ripple out to affect the plot in meaningful ways.
As for the rest, though... eh. Again, I couldn’t really get worked up about this one, for some reason. I think my problem is that, other than the relationship aspect, nothing really has any subtlety. Grant drops some anvil-sized hints about the nature of Homeland and the Protectosphere throughout the story, which takes the edge off of the suspense. And though there’s nothing wrong with using familiar dystopia themes and tropes, they are used rather clumsily here. For example, one of the overriding themes in Dark Parties is the physical similarity of Homeland's citizens, and how it is a small act of rebellion to use “identity marks” (temporary or permanent tattoos) to establish oneself as an individual. Neva, whose name means “snow” in Latin, has a tattoo on her hip of a snowflake. That’s because her beloved grandma named her, and always called her that, and gave her a snowflake pendant that she always wears. Which is why there’s a big neon snowflake on the cover, you see. So naturally, it’s a huge revelation when someone actually tells Neva near the end of the book that she is unique and special like a snowflake. OMG I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.
Which is not to say that this is a bad book. It’s actually a pretty decent book. The characters are good, the action is tightly plotted, and there’s a nice mix of sinister ennui and defiant hope sprinkled throughout. I think I’m just spoiled by my own expectations. This ends on a cliffhanger, so there’s obviously a sequel coming; I’m curious as to what happens next, but not really drawn in enough to be anxious about it. I’d label this a good primer for YA dystopias. There are better out there, but this is a good introduction to the genre, and worth reading for dedicated dystopia fans or for readers looking for a tale about emotion fighting against oppression.
Verdict: 2.5 / 5
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