boekomslag Louise O'Neill - Asking For It

In a small town where everyone knows everyone, Emma O’Donovan is different. She is the special one – beautiful, popular, powerful. And she works hard to keep it that way. Until that night… Now, she’s an embarrassment. Now, she’s just a slut. Now, she is nothing. And those pictures – those pictures that everyone has seen – mean she can never forget.

ikvindlezenNIETleuk meer info over boek

Over het verhaal

My mother’s face appears in the mirror beside my own, bright red lips on powdered skin.
Her hair is still in its neat bob despite the sticky heat. She gets it done every Saturday. ‘I deserve a treat,’ she says as she leaves the house. ‘I don’t care how expensive it is.’
Karen Hennessy gets her hair blow-dried three times a week. She never mentions the cost.
I’m flushed, patches of red breaking out on my cheeks, the greying vest top I wore to bed sticking to me. I look from her face to mine.
You’re so like your mother, people always say. You’re the image of her.
‘Morning,’ she says. ‘What are you doing, just staring at yourself in the mirror?’ She frowns at my chest, at where the nipples are outlined through the sweat-stained fabric.
‘Nothing,’ I say as I wrap my arms over them. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just checking you were awake.’
I point at my desk, my open laptop, the folder full of notes, a copy of Fiche Bliain ag Fás and an Irish–English dictionary next to it. ‘I’ve been awake since five,’ I say. ‘O’Leary is giving us an oral test today.’
Jamie will get full marks, of course. O’Leary will close his eyes as she speaks, leaning back in his chair. He always looks surprised when he looks up again and remembers who is talking. He can never quite believe that the best Irish he has ever heard from a student is coming from someone who looks like Jamie.
‘Oh, never mind Diarmuid O’Leary.’ She half smirks. ‘Does he know you’re my daughter?’ I don’t answer.
‘I brought you your vitamin tablet,’ she says. ‘You’re supposed to have it before your morning meal.’
‘I’ll take it later.’
‘Emmie, come on. The Health Hut had to order these in especially for you.’
‘I know that, Mam.’ Her lips go a little thin, so I make myself smile at her. ‘And I really appreciate it.’
‘I’ll leave it here, shall I?’ She places the tablet and a glass of water down on my bedside locker, next to my iPhone and a collection of mismatched earrings. (2 van 219)

En zo begint de dag voor Emmie. Even later stapt ze bij haar vriendin Maggie in de auto, op weg naar school. Emmie en haar vriendinnen zijn populair op school. Op zaterdagavond gaan Emmie en haar vriendinnen naar een feest. Er wordt veel gedronken en ze hebben veel plezier. De volgende ochtend vinden haar ouders Emmie buiten in de tuin. Emmie voelt zich ziek en heeft geen idee hoe ze thuis is gekomen. Maandagochtend wordt Emmie wakker en ziet ze dat haar vriendinnen niets van zich hebben laten horen sinds het feest.

Why haven’t they replied? Are they fighting with me?
There are dozens of notifications but I don’t open them up. I don’t have the energy.
Why haven’t the girls replied to any of my text messages?
I try to remember. I fumble through my memories of Saturday night, but they run away from me.
It doesn’t mean anything. I just drank too much. How did I get home? I shouldn’t have drunk so much. Why am I so sunburnt? And it was stupid taking that wrap off Paul; why did I do that? Why can’t I remember anything? I see a bag of pills, blue ones, and yellow ones, and pink ones, no, wait, what? It’s as if my dreams are swirling through my memories, making them sticky, and I can’t pull them apart to see which are which.
Voices. Laughing. Hands grabbing at me, pushing through the black felt of the night, no bodies, no faces, just hands, white as chalk against the darkness. What happened?
‘Ah sure, look who it is.’ Sheila Heffernan is sitting at the kitchen counter, her short, bright red hair gelled into solid spikes. The two of them are sipping tea out of china cups, a half-eaten loaf of Mam’s Madeira cake between them. Sheila holds her powdered cheek out for me to kiss, but I can’t move any closer to her, the smell of her perfume ramming into my nostrils.
‘Why are you still in your pyjamas?’ Mam asks.
‘I don’t feel well.’ (77 van 219)

Op school willen haar vriendinnen niet met haar praten. Blijkbaar heeft ze met een hun van vriendjes gezoend. Daar weet Emmie niets meer van. ‘s Avonds krijgt ze een telefoontje van Bryan, een van haar vrienden. Hij zegt dat ze op Facebook moet kijken…

My phone rings as I get out of the shower.
‘Hello?’ I say, touching the screen of my iPhone and putting it on loudspeaker as I sit on the bed and towel-dry my hair.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Emma?’
‘Bryan?’ I dry my hands on the towel, turn off the speakerphone, and press it to my ear. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yeah, of course it’s me. I presume my number came up.’
‘Hey.’ My eyes feel scratchy, and I blink hard. ‘What is your problem? I told Mam and Dad that you didn’t have anything to do with me going to the party, that I said I was going for a sleepover at Ali’s.’
‘I don’t give a fuck about that. Have you checked your Facebook?’
‘No. I left my—’
‘Go on it. Now.’ I think he’s hung up but then he says, ‘I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.’
The phone goes dead, and I let it fall from my trembling fingers, watching as it slips off the quilt and lands on the floor with a thud. I get to my feet, the towel dropping away. I sit at my desk, and open my laptop.
630 notifications. I can hear my breath coming in and out, and in and out, until the whole room shrinks and dissolves into my breathing, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, and that’s all there is. In. Out. In. Out.
It’s a page that I’ve never seen before, but it has a photo of me as the profile picture. It was taken at the GAA gala last year and was used for the cover of the Ballinatoom Opinion, a huge billboard of it at the entrance to the town for an entire week in January. I look beautiful. (I prefer your hair down though, Emma, Mam had frowned. Your ears stick out a little.)
The page has hundreds of likes, and five little stars lined up under the name. ‘Easy Emma.’ I’m tagged in all of the photos.
My ribcage feels as if it’s caving in to my stomach. Another like, and another, and another appears on one of the photos. 234 likes on just one picture. I’ve never gotten so many likes before, not even that time I uploaded a photo of myself in my bikini in Côte d’Azur. Maggie had shared it on her page, saying, ‘Can we all just take a moment to appreciate The Body that is Emma O’Donovan?’ Eli had liked that comment. (And I couldn’t help wondering what that meant.)
I click on the photo.
Pale limbs, long hair, head lolling back on to the pillow. The photos start at the head, work down the body, lingering on the naked flesh spread across the rose-covered sheets.
It’s not me.
Dylan on top of that girl (me, me, that can’t be me, that’s not me) his hands over the (my – no, her) face, as if to cover her up. She has no face. She is just a body, a life-size doll to play with.
She is an It. She is a thing. (me, me, me, me, me)
I don’t remember. I . . . (93 van 219)

Emmie heeft geen idee waar deze foto’s vandaan komen en wie ze heeft gemaakt. Ze heeft geen herinneringen aan het feest van zaterdagavond. Wat is er gebeurd? En waarom kan ze zich niets meer herinneren? Waarom plaatst iemand ze vreselijke foto’s van haar op Facebook?

Mening over het boek

Recensie van Ikvindlezenleuk (Mathilde) (ouder dan 18 jaar)
Hoe kom je aan het boek?
Zelf gekocht
Wat vind je van het boek?
Waarom heb je dit boek uitgekozen om te lezen?
Het boek heeft een mooie voorkant, Ik vond de tekst op de achterkant leuk, Ik heb al andere boeken van deze schrijver gelezen
Welke steekwoorden passen bij het boek?
realistisch, zielig
Staan er illustraties in het boek? Wie heeft ze gemaakt? Wat vind je van de illustraties?
Is het boek moeilijk of gemakkelijk te lezen?
Waar gaat het verhaal over?
zie hierboven
Wie is de hoofdpersoon?
Zou je iemand uit het verhaal willen ontmoeten? Waarom? En wat zou je dan gaan doen?
nee, ik denk het niet
Waar speelt het verhaal zich af?
het verhaal speelt zich af in Ierland
Wat vind je leuk aan dit boek?
het is geen leuk verhaal, maar wel een belangrijk verhaal
Wat vind je niet leuk aan dit boek?
ik vind het niet leuk dat niemand Emma gelooft
Wil je nog iets anders vertellen over het boek?
Voor wie zou dit een leuk boek zijn?
Voor iedereen vanaf een jaar of 15
Wil je het boek nog een keer lezen?
Ik wil het boek misschien nog een keer lezen, Ik wil andere boeken van deze schrijver lezen