Friday, May 26, 2023

Review of "Sing Her Down: A Novel" by Ivy Pochoda



In this novel, author Ivy Pochoda explores violence in women, and through the lives and actions of her characters, speculates about what made them vicious. Is violence an innate characteristic? Or does it stem from poverty, harassment, molestation, injustice, brutality, and the like.


Warning: There's graphic violence in the novel, which might be disturbing to sensitive readers

*****

The story opens in a women's prison in Arizona, where Florence Baum (Florida), Diana Diosmary Sandoval (Dios), and Kace are housed in the same cell block. Florida is incarcerated for felony accessory to murder; she drove the getaway car from a fire that left two victims burning in the desert.



Dios was convicted of aggravated assault; she defended herself against an attacker and broke his eye socket with her cell phone.



And Kace killed a woman named Marta, who Kace suspected was going with her man.



Florida and Dios are central to the story, and Kace - an apparent schizophrenic that hears voices in her head - functions something like a Greek Chorus, commenting on the unfolding drama.





Florida, who grew up in a wealthy upper class family in Los Angeles, rails about being incarcerated. She says this is not her place, she can't breathe, can't feel, can't sense properly, isn't like the other inmates, etc.



Dios, on the other hand, who's learned something about Florida's past, adamantly disagrees. Dios knows that Florida smuggled diamonds into Europe, secured bad loans for grifters, and was more than an 'accessory after the fact' in the desert murders.



For her part, Dios grew up poor in Queens, New York, where she and her friends stole from bodegas and the Rite Aid. However, Dios' innate smarts earned her a scholarship to a fancy New England college, where she was an outlier among the rich kids.



Later, when Dios returned to her old Queens neighborhood, she didn't fit in there either. Dios' old homies acted like her 'rich New England stink' made them gag.



One evening Dios happened across a young tipsy girl in the park and 'something knocked loose inside her.' Dios battered the girl's face, kicked her in the ribs, and stomped on her skull. After this, Dios became increasingly vicious, with the justification that "once the violence cracks open inside you, you become YOU and there's no turning back.'



Dios thinks Florida is inherently violent just like Dios herself. Moreover, Dios believes Florida's 'poor innocent me' diatribe is just an act, perhaps a subconscious one. Thus Dios is determined to bring out the devil in Florida.

Because of the Covid pandemic the prison has to release some inmates, and Florida and Dios are sprung with conditions. They must quarantine themselves in an Arizona motel for two weeks, then move into a state-run group home.....and they have to stay in touch with a parole officer.



Florida wants to return to Los Angeles to retrieve her beloved Jaguar, which she started driving as an underage teen. To Florida, the car means freedom, and blissfully cruising California highways. Florida does not have permission to leave Arizona, but unanticipated events result in Florida illicitly boarding a bus for California.





Shortly afterwards, to Florida's dismay, Dios boards the same bus. Dios means to goad her former prison-mate until Florida reveals her true murderous self. This becomes a sort of cat and mouse game, with Florida trying to get away and Dios sticking to her like a stinging nettle.



When a crime occurs on the bus carrying Florida and Dios to California, Los Angeles Police Detective Lobos gets the case. Lobos quickly zeroes in on Florida and Dios as the suspects, and she means to track them down.



Flashbacks to the past help round out the characters. We learn that Florida grew up in a classy house with a pool and six-car-garage.



But Florida's mother was indifferent and neglectful, and a certain older man couldn't keep his hands off young Florida. Besides that Florida and her best friend Ronna were wild teens who got involved with the wrong people, drank, used drugs, smoked, and so on.

Detective Lobos also has a secret history. For reasons she herself can't understand, Lobos stayed with an abusive husband, and only managed to leave after he tried to strangle her. This shames Lobos, and she sometimes gets the urge to beat up or kill wandering homeless men.



The climax of the story occurs in Los Angeles, which is a character in and of itself. The Covid pandemic has ravaged the city, where most stores are boarded up, trash blows through the streets, and homeless encampments occupy almost every nook and cranny (outside the ritzy areas).



Pochoda doesn't resolve the issue of why women become violent, leaving it to the readers to form their own opinions.



In my view, violent behavior is probably due to a confluence of circumstances - perhaps resulting from an inborn tendency exacerbated by a troubled life. (But I'm a scientist, not a psychologist or criminologist.)

In any case this novel is a compelling page turner. Highly recommended.

I had access to both digital and audio versions of the novel, which enhanced my reading experience. Thanks to Netgalley, Ivy Pochoda, and Macmillan Audio and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for copies of the book.

Rating: 4 stars

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