Book Review: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
When I first picked up Uglies by Scott Westerfeld, I was drawn to its provocative premise: a world obsessed with beauty, where society mandates surgical enhancements to transform "uglies" into "pretties." I thought I was stepping into a thrilling exploration of self-identity and societal norms. However, what unfolded felt like a crash landing instead of a story soaring towards the insightful heights I had hoped for.
From the start, I was intrigued by Tally Youngblood, the protagonist conditioned in a society where aesthetics dictate worth. Yet, as I turned the pages, my initial curiosity turned into frustration—Tally seemed more like a vehicle for the plot than a fully realized character. Yes, she’s a product of her environment, but her decisions often felt shallow and guided more by the whims of a love interest than by genuine introspection or moral agency. “The fate of an entire city depends on the hormonal state of our young hero,” I found myself thinking. This thought left a bitter taste, as I craved a heroine whose strength didn’t lean on romantic validation.
The supporting characters had potential, especially Shay, whose rebellious spirit initially captivated me. However, I was disheartened to see her devolve into a stereotypical portrayal. Each time she peeked beyond the superficial, she seemed to dissolve into the archetype of the giggling, naïve girl—a missed opportunity for a deeper commentary on friendship and rebellion.
Westerfeld’s intent seems noble; he attempts to critique humanity’s impact on the environment. But instead of weaving this into a thought-provoking narrative, the environmental themes often felt like a dogmatic lecture splattered across the pages. The notion that we are “bad, bad, BAD” and labeled as “Rusties” simply felt heavy-handed. I yearned for a nuanced exploration of humanity’s dual capacity for creation and destruction, but there was little to balance out the doom and gloom.
One of the notable quotes, “Nature, at least, didn’t need an operation to be beautiful. It just was,” echoed in my mind. It’s a powerful sentiment, and I yearned for Westerfeld to extend this notion to a more inclusive narrative—one that celebrates our connection to nature instead of dividing it from humanity. True beauty, after all, doesn’t solely reside in untouched landscapes; it’s found in the complexity of human existence.
Plot-wise, I struggled with motivation and stakes. The government felt like a paper tiger, and the “Smoke” community lost its allure amidst a confusing narrative landscape. Why was I invested? What were their true aspirations? Without a clear understanding or relatable stakes, I felt floundering empathy for the characters—a significant hurdle in any dystopian narrative.
While Uglies had the promise of an intriguing premise, it ultimately disappointed me. Readers looking for deep philosophical themes wrapped in a fast-paced narrative may feel similarly frustrated. However, if you enjoy lighter dystopian reads and don’t mind a heavy touch of environmental critique, you might still find some value in it.
In reflecting on my experience, I can’t help but wish for the fullness of the themes Westerfeld hinted at—a dialogue about beauty that transcends mere appearances. It’s always refreshing to engage with literature that challenges us, even when it stumbles. Perhaps someday, in another book, I’ll find the exploration I was searching for in Uglies. Happy reading!