Product Description

Catherine is a typical A-grade student from a middle class, high-achieving family, who suddenly, on entering the sixth form, loses her way. She stumbles from one situation to another, unable to work and turning to alcohol to take her mind off her problems. As she searches for answers through the varied and offbeat characters she meets, she learns a great many truths about life. Can she cope with the biggest truth of all - her own personality? Written in the first person, each chapter is addressed to someone different in Catherine's life - her mother, a teacher, a schoolfriend etc, and reflects how Catherine is different to different people. It brilliantly reflects the pressures on young people today in a world where they haven't got the time to grow up at their own pace. Is the face we present to the world our true self, or a carefully maintained construct?

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #178277 in Books
• Published on: 2002-05-07
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 224 pages

Review
"Gripping from cover to cover, Disconnected is one of those books you really can't put down. I haven't been so impressed with a novel for quite some time now and Sherry Ashworth has, on the merits of this one novel alone, become one of my favourite authors... It's not often that a book makes me think I must go out and find some more of this author's work now, but that's the effect Disconnected had on me. I was well and truly blown away." Fiona McKinlay, teenage reviewer for whsonline.co.uk

About the Author
Sherry Ashworth is an exciting new voice in teenage writing. She has written eight adult novels and two teenage novels; her most recent, published by The Women's Press this year, IS HE WORTH IT?, has received hot reviews.

Excerpted from Disconnected by Sherry Ashworth. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It’s hard to know where to begin, or how to
describe what happened to me. I’m not even
sure who I want to talk to. Or what I want to
say. But maybe if I try to put all the
different parts together it will make some
sort of sense to me. So here’s my story,
and it’s for each of you to whom I owe an
explanation.
But, remember, I’m not sorry.

To Mrs Dawes, my English Teacher

Thinking of you makes me want to write down what I
have to say. Do you remember the advice you used to give
us when we wrote essays? Spend a long time on the
introduction, as it’s the first thing that gets read. Never
answer the question in the first sentence. Make it clear
what you’re writing about y restating the question in
your own words. You taught me how to be analytical. So
here goes.

The question is, why did I throw away everything I
had and end up as I am now? And as for the answer, I’m
not even sure I know myself, but writing it might help
me work it out. And it begins with me.

Me. Catherine Margaret Holmes. 16. Did well at
GCSE. A good girl, nice family. Sensible. Prefect material.
I remember how you used to smile at me encouragingly
in lessons and say, "Well done, Cathy!" I used to hate that
because I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I just
knew they were thinking, teacher’s pet . I knew you liked
me because of the way you nodded when I spoke and
used to write those glowing reports for my parents. I
liked you too because you liked me and even though the
other students in the class teased you for those aggy
cardigans you used to wear and the cup of strong coffee
you used to take with you everywhere, I never joined in.
Well, I did a bit, because you have to, really.

What I liked about you most was the way you got all
lit up when you were talking about Shakespeare or
poetry. You read things that none of us understood with
your voice trembling with passion, then looked at us with
your eyes shining, and we thought you were crazy. I can
remember twitching with embarrassment for you but
liking the way you were getting turned on. I tried to learn
those lines you read …

Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owed’st yesterday.

You were saying, listen to the sound of the words, the
pattern of the stresses –man drag ora, you said,
lengthening the middle syllable as far as it would go.
Man drag ora. Drowsy syrups. I thought of the cough
linctus my mother used to give me when I was small, but
I knew that was wrong, only you get these weird
associations sometime. You told us how darkly beautiful
these lines were, but the truth was, I didn’t understand
them, they didn’t make sense to me. The effect they had
was to unhitch me from the reality of the classroom and
make me dream.

It was a small seminar room on the third floor where
we had our lessons, grey plastic chairs around a scored
wooden table. It overlooked tennis courts fringed with
ragged trees. We were grouped around the table, one
or two boys, and the girls, each one of them set and
determined in their own way to get whatever it was
they wanted. They scared me. Lucy had her head
down scribbling notes as if her life depended on it;
Melissa sat there weighing up everything you said as if
she could strike you down at any moment. She had her
hand over her mouth. Fliss and Toni sat together as
perfectly groomed as air hostesses. I don’t remember the
others.

What I do remember from that day –the day I think
it all began –was the sense of unreality that crept into
the classroom. Like an animal, it rubbed itself against my
feet and entered me, and I felt myself become detached
and able to see very, very clearly, as if I was the only
person in the universe, the only person who counted. I
had X-ray vision. I saw behind your eyes as you were
explaining the text that you were tired, harassed and
anxious to get home. That Melissa was all spite and
venom, glittering like a snake. That Lucy never had an
original thought in her head and she was supposed to be
my best friend. That Fliss and Toni were entirely plastic
and even though they boasted about pulling blokes, they
were so fake they wouldn’t have felt a thing.

Customer Reviews

on the angst bandwagon
i bought this book while trying to find myself a new bell jar, or catcher in the rye, or really anything that would hit that self involved spot, and i was incredibly disappointed. To use Holden's language, this whole thing came across to me as totally goddamn phony, the main character just flounced about with no convincing motivations, and the ending was surely the worst, with her views and ideas changing with the flip of a switch, as if identity is as instantaneous as witnessing a morality tale. Not something i could ever believe.

Many teens will relate
This is a book that I feel many teenagers will be able to relate to but it does seem a bit surreal in places.

An interesting format through which we get to explore the different sides of Cat's personality and how her behaviour has to change to adapt to the people she is talking to. It is realistic in the way it portrays the way we have to put on different facades depending on our audience but seems a little cliched in places.

It shows how many teenagers think and feel but does encourage certain things that may be best left alone. The way it talks of how problems can be 'escaped' by drinking and going out it isn't a great role-model for teens but it does provide a good look at the subject and is resolved in the end.

I was left a little disppointed and don't think i would bother to re-read this but it was alright the first time round. Perhaps best for a slightly younger audience as I didn't find the writing that advanced or intriguing. A quick-read.

pretty good but...
i bought this book as it sounded quite like me a few years ago.... but it wasn't. the idea was sound and started off well, but gradually became cliched and ended quite disappointingly. it might help some teenagers going through similar things, but for the older depressive self harmer you just wish you had it that easy!! worth a read though.