I didn't understand the appeal of this book when I first read it in the eighth grade, and I don't understand the appeal now. It reads like some sort of drug trip or fever dream. Towards the end of the book, Weetzie's dad says the following about L.A.: "Everything's an illusion; that's the whole thing about it--illusion, imitation, a mirage. Pagodas and palaces and skies, blondes and stars. It makes me too sad. It's like having a good dream. You know you are going to wake up." And that description pretty much precisely reflects the book itself. The characters are one-dimensional, and I'm still not sure what to make of the fact that Weetzie wears a feathered headdress and names her daughter, who Block refers to as a "papoose," Cherokee. I can't tell if Block is trying to create some too-clever metaphor that I'm not grasping or if she's just being racist. I really can't understand why so many people love this book so much.