For the release of The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin a few months back, Lori at Pure Imagination and I started hosting Mara Mondays featuring all things Mara Dyer. We've decided to reinstate the feature for the YA Sisterhood Tournament of Heroines!
As you may have noticed, I am Mara's advocate for the tournament! We'll be posting non-spoilery excerpts of Mara being awesome, and Top Ten Reasons to be Team Mara, and perhaps even a special feature or two? Keep at eye out!
Today, I'm posting a character profile of Mara, so even if you haven't read The Unbecoming (what are you waiting for?!) you'll learn a little bit about our favorite heroine!
|Screencap from the trailer|
Name: "My name is not Mara Dyer, but my lawyer told me I had to choose something."
Birthday: March 15
Appearance: Brown hair, "patrician nose and jaw", eye color never mentioned (She's supposed to be anonymous, after all)
Personality: Mara is smart and funny. She can hold her own in a verbal sparring match with even the snarkiest of British heartthrobs. She's independent and strong, and would never let someone walk all over her. She's a survivor. She's an artist. She's a nerd. She's curious and determined to find answers. She has a deep sense of justice toward all living things, including abused and neglected animals. She's always willing to take a stand, and has more than a few vigilante tendencies. She's loyal to her friends, no matter what the rest of the world thinks. She would do anything to protect those she loves -- even from herself. She's damaged, but she's fighting. She's not perfect, but no one is.
Some (Non-Spoilery) Quotes (which are rather hard to find, actually):
“Asscrown,” I muttered under my breath as I headed to my next class. I wasn’t proud of swearing at a complete stranger, no. But he started it.
Noah matched my pace. “Don’t you mean ‘assclown’?” He looked amused.
“No,” I said, louder this time. “I mean asscrown. The crown on top of the asshat that covers the asshole of the assclown. The very zenith in the hierarchy of asses,” I said, as though reading from a dictionary of modern profanity.
“I guess you nailed me, then.”
“Well.” Time to change the subject. “You are a lying liar who lies.”
I looked around us, at the towering ceiling and sweeping balconies. “You kept all of this a secret.”
“No, I didn’t. You just never asked.”
“How was I supposed to guess? You dress like a hobo.”
At this, a mocking grin crept over Noah’s mouth. “Haven’t you heard not to judge a book by its cover?”
“If I’d have known it was Trite Proverb Day, I would have stayed home.”
“Give me a minute.” I squinted at the spider that stood between me and my breakfast banana. She and I were working out an arrangement.
“Let me do it, then. We’re going to be late.” Daniel was getting his panties in a bunch at the thought. Mr. Perfect was always punctual.
“No. You’ll kill it.”
“And then it will be dead.”
“Just imagine it,” I spoke, my eyes never leaving my arachnid opponent. “The spider family bereft of their matriarch. Her spider children waiting in their web, watching for Mother for days on end before they realize she’s been murdered.”
“Yes.” I tilted my head at the spider. “Her name is Roxanne."
“Of course it is. Take Roxanne outside before she meets the Op-Ed section of Joseph’s Wall Street Journal.”
I was still hungry, though, and wanted my banana. I reached for her again, my hand stuck in midair.
Daniel heaved a melodramatic sigh and stuck a cup in the microwave. He pressed a few buttons and the tray began revolving.
“You shouldn’t stand in front of the microwave.”
Daniel ignored me.
“You could get a brain tumor.”
“Is that a fact?” he asked.
“Do you want to find out?”
Daniel examined my hand, still suspended between my body and Roxanne’s, paralyzed. “Your level of neuroses will only find love in a made-for-TV movie.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll be tumorless. Don’t you want to be tumorless, Daniel?"
I tried to swallow my desire to bludgeon him to death with a tree limb and stalled, leaving his question hanging in the air. My options, being a teenage girl and not knowing whether this asshole had a knife or gun in his pocket, were limited.
I used my best innocent-dumb-girl voice. “I was just on my way to school and saw your dog! She’s so sweet, what kind is she?” I hoped this would be enough to deter him from pillaging me for breakfast. I held my breath.
“She’s a pit bull, ain’t you never seen one before?” He ejected a wad of some foul substance from his mouth onto the dirt.
Not one that skinny. I’d never seen any dog, or any animal, that thin. “Nope. What a great dog! Does she eat much?” An obscenely stupid question. My lack of filter was going to get me killed one of these days. Maybe today.
“Whadda you care?”
Oh, well. Go big, or go home.
“She’s starving, and that chain around her neck is too heavy. She has bites on her ears and scars on her face. Is this really the best you can do for her?” I said, my voice growing shrill. “She doesn’t deserve this.” I was losing it.
If you'd like to participate in next week's Mara Monday (right before Mara's first tournament competition on the 15th!) with a list of your Top 10 (or 5) Reasons for Being Team Mara or some other kind of Mara post, email me!