Late Bloomer: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Close friendships are one of the most precious loves a person can experience during their lifetime. Fiercely undervalued at times, an intimacy like one written about in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants is hard to come by. Written by Young-Adult author Ann Brashares, this 2001 novel tells the story of four teenage girls from Bethesda, Maryland who are approaching their first summer apart from one another. They find a pair of blue jeans in a local thrift shop that mysteriously happens to fit them all, despite their vastly different body types, and decide to share them as a symbol of unity while all they embark on their individual summers. The first review I always see about this piece– especially the film adaptation– is about the chemistry and I agree 100%. The connection between all of the actresses (1) is amazing and it’s great to see them bring the friendship between these girls, who are so all different from each other, to life. Even though this was my first time reading this book, I feel so lucky to have read this at this time of my life. I don't think it's as easy as it sounds to write a healthy friend group. There’s also little examples that illustrate what this looks like for young women, but these girls do a pretty damn good job. This isn’t done in a fluffy way that leaves any of them unchecked or unchallenged. They argue and then work it out. They break down and pick each other back up. The pants allow them a chance to be there for one another and share experiences without words. To instead sit comfortably in the silence of each other’s company, as time settles the internal wounds.

LENA

I feel like I should just love them right away. But how do you do that? You can’t make yourself love someone, can you? I’m taking good care of the Pants. And I miss you. I know you won’t judge me harshly for being a brat, ’cause you always think better of me than I deserve. Love you lots. Lena (Page 47)

Our first heroine is beautiful Lena, who perhaps has the most glamorous of the four plotlines. Her story is that of a timid painter who travels to Greece to pay a visit to her paternal grandparents, along with her extroverted little sister, Effie (at least in the book, anyway). While abroad, she experiences a lot of anxiety about connecting with her Greek family and has an embarrassing encounter with a local heartthrob named Kostos. In the film adaptation, it's quite clear that Lena's story gets watered down a bit so that one of the girls could have a whirlwind summer romance. However, the character we get to know from the book gives a much deeper insight into some of her unease. Lena has a deep fear of opening up− not just romantically, but within her familial relationships as well. This shows up in the way she is finally able to form an attachment to her grandparents, particularly her grandfather (or Bapi). By the end of the book, she seems content with the connections she's made while in Greece, but there’s still a feeling left behind (for me, at least) like something is deeply missing from Lena's story. From the moment the sisters arrive at their family's village (which conveniently happens to be Oia), they are greeted with gestures of kindness. Granted, we have to account for a few things when it comes to Lena’s initial reaction: she doesn't know her grandparents, they just had a long flight, and her personality is quite shy in comparison to her very jovial grandmother (who they meet first in the book). I don't want to be insensitive to the possibility of culture shock, but Lena certainly showed some unwillingness to open up from the very first scene in her family's home (even calling her grandmother "strange" at one point and stating skepticism about a seemingly friendly old woman). Over the course of her story, it becomes clear that Lena does learn to love her family, their village, and eventually Kostos. I'm just not sure how much she actually learns from her experience since most of it ended up being centered around her love life.

One of Lena's main struggles, which she attempts to overcome (with the help of a really cute pair of jeans), is the impaired relationship that she has with her grandparents. Probably the biggest unsaid reason for their lack of connection is due to the fact that neither of the two sisters speak Greek. Lena immediately feels guilty for this and, though she wishes things were different, she ultimately sympathizes with her parents for giving up on teaching a language different from the one they were using in the American school system. Though this is a fair assessment, assimilation is never truly brought up or called out for what it is− even though that's exactly what has caused the wedge between Lena and the culture she knew as a baby. This becomes a much larger problem, in the books especially, when a miscommunication causes a physical alternation between Bapi and Kostos' grandfather− one that could have been cleared up much sooner had Lena had the precise language to describe what happened to her grandparents. Lena takes a skinny dip in what she thinks is an isolated pond away from the main village. When Kostos appears out of the blue, she assumes he is snooping when he was actually a frequenter of the local pool prior to ever meeting her. She huffs and puffs her way back to her grandparents' home and, when they intercept her escape and observe her wet and disheveled clothing, Lena allows them to believe to the absolute worst about what Kostos had done to her. In Lena's defense, for a majority of the book, she did believe that Kostos had spied on her, which is still a huge violation of privacy, but this was indeed a false belief. And though she felt guilty for the misunderstanding as soon as she had gathered what happened, Lena still refuses to speak up and lets the situation go on even further until she and Kostos barely have a chance at the romance they experienced in the film version of her story.

He looked up at her briefly and smiled, and she realized something important. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how they both liked it. Though most people felt bonded and comforted by conversation, Lena and Bapi were two of the kind who didn’t. They bonded by the routine of just eating cereal together. She promptly forgot her script and went back to her cereal. At one point, when she was down to just milk, Bapi reached over and put his hand on hers. "You’re my girl," he said. And Lena knew she was. (Page 282-3)

      Although there is a certain connection that I'm still longing for from Lena and her grandparents by the end of the book, it would be silly not to admit that the bond that Lena develops with Bapi is downright adorable and clearly personal to the both of them. One that was completely slashed out of the film, might I add– a major flaw with the many changes in Lena's plot, when produced for the big screen. This isn't the only passage in the book that describes the understood union that Lena has with her family (and thus her culture, to some extent). When these sweet scenes do come along though, as nice as they are, I can't help but wonder how Lena's entire storyline would've evolved had she simply spoken more of her family's language. Sarah Frances Phillips, PhD., a Korean & Black-American bilingualism researcher, described her experience growing up with a Korean-speaking mother in the household and how efforts to assimilate during adolescence would later affect ties with her Korean family members (2): "... [My] relationship with my mom weakened when I stopped speaking Korean. She would often say there were things she just couldn’t express in English. Our inability to communicate over delicate issues, coupled with my feelings of only wanting to talk about those issues with my mother, made me feel as though I had to brave my preteen troubles alone. And while my mom is highly proficient in English, I imagine that child-parent relationships can become even more strained if the parents are less or not proficient in English, whereas the child only speaks English." The reason it is easy to appreciate these scenes between Lena and her grandfather is because of an idea referred to as common humanity. Both Lena and Bapi are rather shy people who have difficulty connecting with the people around them. For Bapi, he has trouble connecting with the tourists who frequent their restaurant and prefers to stay behind the curtain. Lena (in the book) lets Effie take the forefront in most social situations to avoid being the center of people's attention (due to her intense beauty, of course), leaving her with residual feelings of loneliness. Dr. Kristin Neff, co-pioneer of a therapeutic framework titled Mindful Self-Compassion, explains (4), “...feelings of inadequacy and disappointment are universal… [Most] people don’t focus on what they have in common with others, especially when they feel ashamed or inadequate. Rather than framing their imperfection in light of the shared human experience, they’re more likely to feel isolated and disconnected from the world around them when they fail. When we focus on our shortcomings without taking the bigger human picture into account, our perspective tends to narrow.” This is exactly what happens with Lena until she’s able to acknowledge the beauty of everything around her. Now, it is possible that had Lena been more fluent in Greek, the outcome of this trip would have ended similarly as stagnant, due to Bapi's quiet nature. Instead of completely isolating themselves emotionally, though, he and Lena silently acknowledge their love for one another in the morning ritual they share− exchanging a moment at the dining room table, while they both enjoy their cereal. In this final moment before leaving the village, Lena even attempts to speak to Bapi in Greek during their breakfast routine. Once it's established that her Greek is kind of pathetic and Bapi doesn't give a damn either way, she settles with the unspoken bond between them, and a cute one it is. Love is something that transcends language and it's very clear that there is an abundance of it in this sweet little family. Sometimes I just wish that Lena was written to crave more of her culture, rather than romance, because I feel like her story just barely scratched the surface of what it could have been.

 Lena studied the faces of the girls on the sidelines. She could tell that Kostos owned the lust of what few local teenage girls there were in Oia, but instead he chose to dance with all the grandmothers, all the women who had raised him, who had poured into him the love they couldn’t spend on their own absent children and grandchildren. It was just a poignant fact of island life that whole generations left to set up real lives in other places. Lena let the tears dribble past her chin and down her neck. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was crying for. (Page 253)

Unfortunately, I don’t feel like we get a ton of clear insight from Lena on why she actually likes Kostos. I mean, it's probably easy to fall in love with any cute Greek guy in the middle of the summer who also happens to be the village sweetheart, but this scene in particular paints a picture of why Lena likely loves not only Kostos, but her village and extended family as well. Lena very clearly values the close relationships in her life and can appreciate the amount of love that radiates through her family's homeland. She wouldn't be passing around a dirty pair of second-hand jeans all summer with her girlfriends if she didn't see the raw value in that. What I sense Lena is truly missing though, and the reason for her sudden tears, is the amount that she has missed out on. She sees Kostos– someone who has suffered and still manages to create beautiful connections in his village– as someone to admire and I agree. He's an easy character to love. At the same time though, there’s a rich culture in Oia and Lena is fortunate enough to witness it firsthand. When the reality for locals in these villages today is not as vibrant (5), I just wish a bit more energy was directed towards Lena developing a deeper connection with the people around her and her culture, instead of so much of the focus going to the cute boy.

TIBBY

That night, Tibby couldn’t sleep. She watched Steel Magnolias on the Movie Channel from one to three A.M. She was actually happy to hear Katherine yelping at three fifteen. Quietly, before either of her exhausted parents woke up, she went into the nursery and plucked the baby out of her crib and walked her down to the kitchen. She clamped Katherine around her small middle and rested the baby against her shoulder. With the other arm she warmed her bottle. Katherine made singing noises that tickled her ear. She tucked Katherine into bed with her and watched her fall asleep halfway through her milk. She snuggled around her sister and cried. The tears soaked into Katherine’s fuzzy, soft hair. (Page 287)

Tibby, Tibby, Tibby... The alternative filmmaker who suffers through the summer stocking shelves at a local supermarket, in soul-crushing Bethesda. A rebel at heart, she describes herself as an experiment from her parents' "hippie days." At this point in her life, the most she's rebelling from is her right to not heat up her baby sister's bottle while in the middle of eating, and honestly, I don't even blame her. Right on. Her parents were eager free-spirits who had her at the tender age of 19. Her father had previously worked as a writer for a socialist journal, an organic farmer, and a public defender, while her mother was a sculptor. As Tibby tells it, her mother was the one who surrendered to the temptation of consumerist ideals and a traditional lifestyle. When this happened, she traded in her clay (and whatever else potters use) for a real estate license, while her father became a white-collar, corporate lawyer. With new, polished jobs and two fresh babies in the house, this was the perfect recipe for the disastrous fate many of these families suffer. Tibby, the eldest daughter, was presumably responsible for picking up the extra slack that her parents could suddenly not attend to− even with the hired help of their housekeeper & nanny, Loretta. Every inch of this reeks of hegemonic reinforcement and it's a tale as old as time. Tibby has every right to be sick of her life, but it's obvious she takes it out on the wrong people and lets her angst get in the way of showing any vulnerability.

Although the way Tibby is treated by her family is totally unfair, part of maturing is developing some empathy for our parents, so let's break this down a bit. Tibby insists the deterrence from the lifestyle her family previously had is due to her mother's intense craving for Pottery Barn. There is a lot to be said about consumerism in the 00's, but what Tibby fails to consider is that her parents had her when they were just babies themselves. They potentially had good intentions, but I would bet that they became quickly disillusioned by their realities and the difficulties of raising a child at their age. Mikayla Tillery notes for The Standard Daily (6), "The first reason is underappreciation. I am no stranger to an unpaid internship: within social justice spaces, these unpaid roles are nearly unavoidable. Unfortunately, unpaid positions created for young activists are often especially thankless and emotionally taxing… [Many] young activists find themselves with endless assignments and many of their contributions go unnoticed or overlooked." I could imagine Tibby's parents (especially her father during his time as a public defender) were likely very young, unprepared, and broke for a long portion of her happy childhood. And perhaps that was still cute when they were both 21, but it's not ideal circumstances for raising a child. This phenomenon is also not completely unheard of in leftist circles. It's a regular occurrence for people to ultimately conform to the status quo once the downsides boil to the surface and they start questioning if the fight for the cause is worth the amount of personal sacrifice involved. At worst, Tibby's parents were completely sucked into the glimmer and shine of consumerist culture, but at best, you could chalk it up to socialist burnout. Either way, I don't think Tibby's parents are her biggest enemy.

"I get off at four," Tibby said without enthusiasm. "I’ll come by," Bailey offered. She turned to go. "Are you just being nice to me because I have cancer?" she asked over her shoulder. Tibby considered this for a moment. She could lie some more. Or not. She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." Bailey nodded. "Okay." (Page 115)

Tibby's nature mainly stems from how she feels about her parents and it influences a lot of her angst. Her main plotline, though, is centered around her journey with a documentary project (a.k.a. her "suck-umentary) which is really just Tibby's excuse to go around town harassing members of her community. A child named Bailey ends up inviting herself onto the project in an attempt to form a funny little friendship with our dear Tibby. Being a teenager, Tibby is initially resistant to this. Understandably so, as Bailey is 12-year-old, but Tibby soon learns of Bailey’s battle with leukemia and succumbs to her persistent personality (and likely got a kick out of her combativeness, which mimics Tibby's angst quite well). First, I think it's important to address the very obvious and unfortunate fact that Bailey is a literary tool (add link?) used to teach Tibby a lesson about taking relationships for granted. What I do appreciate about their friendship is the sort of Radical Honesty that exists between them. Radial Honesty can be described in a number of ways, but the website for the theory coined by psychotherapist and author Brad Blanton, Ph.D. states that (7), "Radical Honesty means simply to report out loud to another what you notice in front of you, in your body, and in your mind in the present moment... [It] offers you a process to directly express and get over anger, reach full body forgiveness, and create real connection with others." Tibby would not be hanging out with Bailey if it wasn't for the fact that she felt bad for her. Bailey (sadly) would not be essential to the story if it weren't for the fact that she is dying of cancer. Regardless, by the end of the story, we understand that none of this matters. What does is that they were able to form a friendship for a short, but vital, amount of time. Bailey was not always willing to acknowledge or talk about her cancer diagnosis. Her circumstances have compelled her to be very honest and compassionate in other ways, though. Combined with Tibby's angst, which makes her less open to sugarcoating or engaging in unnecessary sentiments, this dynamic seemed to make Bailey very happy and perhaps provided her with a sense of "normal" that she desperately needed before her passing.

"What are you scared of?" The question got out of Tibby’s mouth before she meant to ask it. Bailey thought. "I’m afraid of time," she answered. She was brave, unflinching in the big Cyclops eye of the camera. There was nothing prissy or self-conscious about Bailey. "I mean, I’m afraid of not having enough time," she clarified. "Not enough time to understand people, how they really are, or to be understood myself. I’m afraid of the quick judgments and mistakes that everybody makes. You can’t fix them without time. I’m afraid of seeing snapshots instead of movies." (Page 174)

Though the other girls did not know Bailey (she was a part of Tibby's solo journey), I consider her to be a sacred part of the Sisterhood and an honorary fifth member. In her famous response to Tibby's question about fear, I like to remember the book version, as it captures Bailey and the essence of her character for who she really was. This is also the version of the quote that I think Tibby needed to hear the most (as opposed to the film version). Tibby is downright judgmental and, similarly to Lena, was very closed off to most forms of intimacy or closeness. Bailey admits what she likes about Tibby in her final days and it's that Tibby always changes her mind (Page 284). It's obvious that Tibby is desperate for the warmth and closeness she felt in her early childhood. Sure, she likely had parents who had no idea what they were doing, but they poured unlimited amounts of love and authenticity into their only child’s life and she misses that. Tibby makes a lot of snap judgments about the people around her town, but they never hold up for more than an hour, because it’s not her true nature. It's a facade and response to losing what she knew as a kid.

BRIDGET

She nodded yet again and let the tears fall. She wanted his profession of feelings to do the trick. She really did. She knew he wanted that too. Whether he spoke the truth or not, he thought he could make her feel better, and he really, really wanted to. But it wasn’t what she needed. Her need was as big as the stars, and he was down there on the beach, so quiet she could hardly hear him. (Page 265)

Bridget (commonly referred to as Bee) is the star athlete of our group. She describes herself in the books as pretty mid looks-wise (Blake Lively? Mid? Sure, Jan…) with beautiful blonde locks that fool all the boys into thinking she's actually Kate Moss. Despite her self-assessment, Bridget manages to strike up a fling while attending a soccer camp in Baja California, Mexico. The problem with this you may ask? It's an all-girls soccer camp and this boy happens to be one of the coaches. I wish there was something that I could say about their relationship to make it sound less inappropriate, but Eric (the boy in question) is nineteen years-old, while Bridget (who lies about her age) is indeed only fifteen. And yes, the two of them do have sex. More importantly than what happens between Bridget and Eric, I think the main conflict in Bridget's story is the internal one she's having with herself and the arch of her grief. I think her story is a raw telling of the complexity of processing death, especially the suicide of a loved one. Healing is not a linear journey and it isn't one size fits all, so even though Bridget's mom died about four years prior to the start of the book, she is obviously missing an essential part of her life and scrambling to make sense of what remains. Bridget has the kind of personality that has to keep going in order to not think about the reality of her situation− or even feel any emotion at all, so it would make sense for her to use sports as a way to avoid addressing the fact that she hasn't healed. Athletics are a popular method of avoidance and, given the exploitative nature of both student & professional leagues, it's quite easy and (unfortunately) common for people to get caught up in a variety of circumstances that are not appropriate and may even hinder their careers in the long-term (whether they are responsible for what happened or not).

I don't want to speculate or harp on the state of Bridget's mental health, but it is worth it to note that Bridget's mother suffered from depression and ultimately her fate succumbed to the effects of the disease. Bridget herself does go through a couple of different phase changes through the course of her story: one being her more driven and impulsive side, followed by a burnt-out flop era which happens after she finally has sex with Eric. Being that this was a struggle within the family, it isn't beyond the realm of possibility that Bridget may suffer a similar plight. Sex therapist, Daniel N. Watter EdD., describes (8), "The awareness that death is inescapable, coupled with the instinctive desire to live, can constitute an unbearable paradox. To escape this potentially paralyzing terror and to maintain psychological equanimity, some people may employ certain defense mechanisms, which are designed to remove the awareness of death from conscious thoughts by imbuing the world with meaning, order, and permanence. Often people will reach for symbols of immortality. And sex can be a big one." The reason I bring this up is not in an attempt to diagnose Bridget in any way, but to take this into account when moving forward and beginning to discuss what happened between her and Eric. I think that it is important to be sensitive and truly understand Bridget's specific case, as well as what it's generally like to be a teenage girl (let alone a teenage girl who is grieving her dead mom).

Bridget needed a single focus. She had too much energy, she knew, and a fair amount of raw, undisciplined talent. At almost every point in her life, she needed one simple, unified goal to keep her going forward fast. Otherwise there was the possibility of going backward, where she did not want to go. Today her focus was Eric. It was showing him what she could do. He was the unifying idea that kept every one of her cells in line. . . . After being pulled out of the scrimmage...] Bridget put her head down. She suddenly felt all that intensity crashing in on her. She felt like crying. She now knew she should have toned it down. Why was it so hard for her to make herself stop? (Page 130-31)

It's hard to tell whether Bridget's head was ever in the game from the moment she arrived at camp. She's obviously a talented athlete, but Bridget also seems to enjoy performing for Eric at a number of points throughout the book. Once her energy was spent, she could hardly get out of bed− let alone think about soccer. Part of the danger of young people using sports as a primary emotional outlet is that it doesn't substitute for real wellness services. Not only are there active sports programs that encourage children and young adults to push beyond their physical limits and perform while injured, but even the most famous and talented athletes run the risk of being scrutinized if they decide to pull out for a season for something as "trivial" as their mental wellbeing (9). It could certainly be argued that working-out and exercise are a vital part of maintaining mental health and thus, engaging in sports provides a great way to continue this. At times, it may also provide a safe space and opportunities to people who may not have had the same chances otherwise. This is all absolutely true, but what happens when an athlete's singular focus− the thing that drives them− becomes disillusioned? What happens here with Bridget is a prime example of that. This isn't to say that she's suddenly lost her talent. I also don't expect Bridget, at the age of fifteen, to have the emotional intelligence needed to dissect the complexity of her grief. I do believe, though, that athletes ought to be encouraged to care about their mental health more often than they are put in compromising positions by the adult coaches around them, who claim to have their best interest.

I feel for Bridget and the way that she pursues Eric, even though it's clear from the book that she crosses some clear lines that he tries to draw numerous times. Her relationship with Eric is wrong and deeply inappropriate, but I do see value in teen media that is honest about teenage girls who are into much older boys. It happens. I was one of them. When addressed though, clear conversations within the media need to be had about why it’s wrong− particularly in cases like this one, which would be considered statutory rape in most states. Bridget & Eric are certainly not the worst portrayal of teen/adult romance in recent years (looking at you, Ezra Fitzpatrick), but what happened between them cannot be taken back− and that does mirror reality. So, let's keep nurturing discourse about the unfulfillment that follows when you’re preyed on by someone who should know better. I'm sure there's someone somewhere who needs to hear this version of the story (Lord knows I did).

CARMEN

"Hi, bun; how was your day?" Carmen looked from her dad to Lydia in amazement. My day was horrible! she felt like shouting. A dressmaker with fake teeth insulted and humiliated me. I acted like a brat. She didn’t say that. Instead, she gaped at him in silence. Did he have any idea how she was feeling? How miserable she was here? He wore his game face. So did Lydia. "Smells fantastic," he commented, keeping the scene on track. "Roast chicken," Lydia supplied. "Mmmmm," Krista said robotically. Who were these people? What was the matter with them? "I had an awful day," Carmen said, feeling her opportunity sliding away. She was too wretched to be a wiseass. Her dad was already most of the way up the stairs, going up to change his clothes. Lydia pretended like she hadn’t heard her. Even in the Pants she was invisible. And mute. (Page 178-79)

There are multiple things going on with Carmen's story. At its core, Carmen's story is about a young girl who is not ready for her father to move on from his divorce from her mother or the bachelor lifestyle she's become accustomed to during their visits together. Coming from divorced parents myself, I sympathize with what Carmen goes through here. My main critique is that her racial identity isn't discussed the way it ought to be. Carmen, though a young-adult, is still a child who shoulders adult-sized emotional labor, due to her father's negligence and lack of sensitivity as the parent of a person of color. While gearing up to visit him for the summer at his new home in South Carolina, Carmen is setting herself up for nightly midnight nachos, bowling, and other goofy things young girls do while visiting their divorced fathers. When she arrives though, not only does her dad show up with a brand new SUV and brand new copy-and-paste suburban home, but he also has a brand new blonde fiancée... Oh, and she ALSO happens to have two button-nosed, blonde children of her own. Just swell. Seeing how seamlessly her father fits right into their picture, Carmen is immediately uncomfortable and no longer looking forward to her summer with Dad. Even though Lydia (the fiancée) is perfectly friendly, the issue is we are somehow meant to believe that Carmen is somehow acting “bratty” because she had a very teenage response to a situation she was unwillingly brought into.

I don’t necessarily blame Lydia and her children for reacting to the situation the way they did. Learning that Paul and Krista both grew up with an alcoholic father in the house makes some sense of their responses, which did not clash well with Paul’s lack of communication with Carmen. Putting Krista’s mildly mean-girl persona in the film adaptation aside, both her and Paul seem to have more avoidant personalities in the book version of this story. They go along with not addressing the elephant in the room (Carmen’s discomfort) and Paul, in particular, seems very interested in “keeping the peace.” He also appears to be the only person in his family who still has a relationship with his father and, despite their past, Paul is willing to put that aside to keep some level of normalcy. It’s possible he may be projecting his desires with his father onto Carmen, but that doesn't mean he’s right. None of them are. Lydia, though not ultimately responsible, is not 100% innocent here either. She is the other knowing adult in this situation and she should not have accepted Paul's suggestions to simply not communicate with his child OR her mother at all about their engagement. At the end of the day, Carmen is not her child, so she is not a part of any decision-making when it comes to her, but someone (perhaps with a brain) should have been pressing the importance of communication− especially in a co-parenting situation like this one.

She wasn’t cooperating. "I’m not finished," she declared. He was silent. She gave herself a few moments to steady her voice. "You’ve found yourself a new family, and I don’t really fit into it." Her voice came out squeaky and bare. "You got yourself this new family with these new kids... B-But what about me?" Now she was completely off the road and driving fast. Emotions she hadn’t even realized she felt were flying past. "What was the matter with me and Mom?" Her voice cracked painfully. Tears were falling now. She didn’t even care if he was listening anymore; she had to keep talking. (Page 245)

Carmen's story is a powerful one about the isolating experience of a mixed-race teenager, yet there is so much that goes unsaid. Any discussion about her valid feelings regarding her racial identity is quickly swept under the rug or discarded as bratty or selfish behaviors. When she vocalizes her feelings about the dress fitting in the bridal shop, Paul’s response is to tell Carmen, “You antagonize people.” Carmen ruminates on this for the remainder of the book, and we’re meant to believe at least part of this is true, while failing to acknowledge that she is surrounded by irresponsible adults for half the summer. She should be antagonizing people, because someone has some explaining to do. What the actual hell is going on here? After this, Carmen runs off and eventually returns to find her father calming sitting at home eating dinner with Lydia and her children. When she sees this, she throws a brick at his window and waits until dawn to go back home to Maryland. Towards the end, Carmen has a final phone call with her father in regards to her visit, where they promise each other to communicate more, but this just doesn't feel as cathartic as I wish it did. She starts off on the right track and then veers into an emotional stream about feeling upset, due to her father being divorced from her mother, which is understandable. In terms of her writing, though, it seems like a bit of a cop out to avoid digging deeper into what’s actually going on here. Beth Hall beautifully wraps up this point, stating (10), "Take a hard look at the diversity in your daily life. Ask yourself: With whom do I eat dinner? Who comes into my home, and whose home do I go into? With whom do I worship? If the answers are, “Only people who look like me, and not like my children,” it is important to recognize the underlying message to your child about who is important and who is worth loving. Again, that which is unsaid also conveys a message." Carmen's monologue in the bridal shop will forever go down in YA Literature history– I wish Carmen got a chance to speak clearly on her experience without the idea of her being "bratty" being tied being tied to it. Personally though, if that's the narrative we're going to go with, I am happy to run with it. Carmen is the biggest brat in the best sense of the word, because she refuses to make herself small in a new world that has made little effort to make room for her. 

The girls return to Maryland at the end to reflect on the ways they’ve changed and to soothe each other’s anger and tears. On trend with the rest of 90’s & 00’s popular culture, this book and its 2005 film adaptation are more than just another piece of media for girls. It’s about love, commitment, honesty– just like any other relationship. The bond between these girls illustrates a narrative which demonstrates that friendships take as much responsibility and sensitivity to maintain  as romantic relationships. Overall, I did prefer the book over the movie, but I enjoyed this story a lot either way. Coming-of-age is not an event exclusive to tweens/teens and the messages of personal growth, unity, and deep intimate friendships are ones that a person could use at any point in their life. Though I do believe the story could have been taken further at times, this is a great piece of work and these girls are great friends. The rewards from their journeys prove that what friendships do for us in this lifetime are beyond any fleeting romances or petty disagreements. When you value your friends, the rewards are worth everything.

**This is a Gold Membership Post that is being offered to the public for 90 days (as of January 1, 2024).

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Read Our Sources:

1. Sharf, Z. Blake Lively and ‘Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants’ Cast Reunite to Praise America Ferrera’s ‘Barbie’ Role: ‘She’s the Heart and Soul’ of the Film. Variety. December 18, 2023.

2. Brashares, A. (2001). The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Delacorte Press.

3. Phillips, S.F.., What We Lose When We Don't Speak The Same Language As Our Immigrant Parents. Joysauce. May 18, 2022.

4. Neff, K. Mindful Self-Compassion. https://self-compassion.org/

5. Fuller-Love, H. How the Greeks are fighting to reclaim their islands from tourists. The Telegraph. September 13, 2023.

6. Tillery, M. Activism fatigue is killing social justice. Is it selfish or inevitable? The Standard Daily. March 8, 2021.

7. Blanton, B. Radical Honesty.  https://www.radicalhonesty.com

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