Why 'On the Come Up' Misses the Mark

Why 'On the Come Up' Misses the Mark

Get ready for a wild ride through rap battles and societal struggles as Angie Thomas's 'On the Come Up' attempts to captivate young readers with a familiar story of ambition set in the turbulent world of Garden Heights.

Vince Vanguard

Vince Vanguard

Hold onto your hats. We're diving headfirst into Angie Thomas's whirlwind of teen angst and rap battles with her eye-catching novel, 'On the Come Up'. This literary heavyweight hit the shelves in February 2019, promising young readers a thrilling ride through the gritty streets of Garden Heights. Written by the same author who brought us 'The Hate U Give', this follow-up novel continues to wrestle with themes of identity, ambition, and yes, more than a sprinkling of "this is why we can't trust the system" vibes.

First, let's meet our protagonist, Brianna "Bri" Jackson—a 16-year-old striving to carve out her place in the world as a rapper. Unlike most books in its genre, which typically feature musings on their hero's romantic escapades or tear-jerking adventures, 'On the Come Up' spits fire with its language, making a bold statement that is meant to highlight the struggles against, you guessed it, injustice and system discrimination.

You can hardly turn a page without stumbling over Thomas's heavy-handed messaging. Sure, diversity is a beautiful thing, but must it always be a cudgel to hammer readers? The novel, set in a town that's already been covered in Thomas's debut, feels like a well-trodden path. Garden Heights remains the unyielding heart of disparity, where Bri faces scrutiny because of her race and lifestyle choices. She shoulders the burdens of societal issues like a champ, reflecting the struggle to rise above every setback that life throws her way.

Enter Bri’s nemeses: poverty and authority. Facing eviction and uncertainty, Bri uses music not just as an aspirational outlet but as her ticket out. The tension within her family dynamics adds layers to her character, but wait—isn't it crucial for young adult literature to echo optimism rather than despair? She grapples with the aspirations of being a renowned rapper while tackling her single mother's past issues with addiction. But her actions beg the question: why can’t this story offer more solutions than complaints?

And then there are those delightfully controversial rap battles. Prepare yourself for a lyrical tsunami, as Bri lets loose while spitting rhymes. While some may laud this as authentic, it's difficult not to twitch at the archetypical stereotypes being reinforced. Yes, rap as an art form can unite, but its portrayal here leaves one wondering about the real impact of reinforcing negative stereotypes on impressionable minds.

For all its boisterous themes about self-discovery and ambition, 'On the Come Up' often succumbs to predictability. Bri's struggles in the face of societal issues are overplayed, overshadowing her personal journey. Shouldn't a character be more than a mere puppet marching to the pulse of societal woes? Why let such potent individuality take a backseat to narrative-driving obstacles?

Yet, here's the kicker—as entertaining as Thomas's tale can be, it ultimately rings hollow. As Bri 'comes up' against the challenges, one can't help but feel a touch of fatigue from the constant reminder of systemic oppression without offering tangible solutions. It's a bus ride going round in circles, trapped in Garden Heights with no hope of escape except through the written word.

While hefty praise surrounds Thomas for encapsulating the emotions of those neglected by society’s spotlight, it’s critical that art, particularly literature intended for the impressionable youth, isn't simply a platform for painting a bleak, one-sided picture. It needs balance, nuance, and, dare I say, a bit more accountability than is often conveyed.

Ultimately, 'On the Come Up' should be judged not just on its capacity to captivate its readers but also on its ability to deliver a balanced narrative. Does it succeed in that mission? Well, let's just say it hits a note that's too familiar, leaving one yearning for a beat that doesn’t lean too far left.