Eyes blinded to danger

At Least I’m Trying
by Tara Hodgson 

Sturgeon County: Tara Hodgson, 2025
$26.42 / 9781069617705

Reviewed by Isabella Ranallo

*

“I want to write books that highlight the dangers of technology, and especially social media, in people’s lives” are the first words that rural Alberta-based Tara Hodgson puts to paper in At Least I’m Trying.

The young-adult novel focuses on Reese, a high-achieving student turned sex-trafficking victim. Hodgson’s capable rendering of the teenage end-of-the-world mentality culminates in an end-of-the-world scenario in a Vancouver sex den.

The book opens with a volleyball game. A scout has come to watch Reese’s performance—where she misses a key catch. The fumble causes Reese, previously a hardworking “star student,” to spiral. She flunks a calculus test, skips school, cuts off free-spirited Willow, her best friend, and breaks up with her reliable boyfriend, Gabe. She then befriends Cassie, poster of promiscuous TikToks, who in turn introduces her to twentysomething “builder” Liam, who turns out to be a key player in a sex-trafficking ring. 

Desperate for a new life, Reese ignores the warning signs and her friends’ worries until she becomes Liam’s latest victim. Hodgson renders a derelict Vancouver house where young girls are held against their will and raped by paying customers. She includes stomach-turning details, such as the wedding rings on the men’s fingers and the youngest girl—wearing a Disneyland t-shirt—always being the first picked. It’s an unflinching portrayal of a dark world.

The narrative is propelled by Reese’s internal monologue. Dialogue occurs, but is sparse, allowing Hodgson to dive into her subject’s mind. As a result, she recreates the moody, catastrophic mindscape of a troubled and tired teen succumbing to the stressors of high school. This closeness to Reese creates sympathy in the reader while also underlining the self-absorbed nature of her personal crisis. Everything is big and everything is absolute. Reese’s poor volleyball performance and struggle to maintain her grades come into perspective too little, too late when she is abducted and sold for sex.

Because of the book’s larger goal, narrative suspense is unintentionally eliminated. Between the back cover blurb, the author’s foreword, and the “Before” and “After” framing of the book, it is clear what happens from the first page. Reese is eventually sex-trafficked. Maybe this lack of mystery is intentional. Hodgson did say her primary intention was to underline the dangers of social media. How better to pinpoint each of Reese’s ill-informed decisions than to know their outcome from the get-go? 

Be that as it may, the extended buildup and heavily internal nature of Reese’s point of view can get old as the book drags its feet to the unsurprising result. It also makes Reese look painfully stupid—which feels unfair, but there it is. Would I have found her so unwise if her fate had come as a surprise? Would the twist that Liam is not a perfect boyfriend been more powerful if I hadn’t known that from the first page? Maybe I would be tempted to flip back through the pages, looking for the clues I missed. Even without knowing the ending, it should be pretty obvious to any reader that things weren’t as they seemed. Hodgson knew her intention was to drive the point home, and drive it home she did.

This leads to another question: does junior high teacher Hodgson (Chasing Through Time) come off as condescending in preaching the dangers of the internet? Am I a condescending reader (and/or a bad person) for shaking my head at Reese as she turns blind eye after blind eye? It’s easy to become preachy or fall into extremes. Yet Hodgson manages to strike the right note. Reese’s voice is authentic and her story is crafted with sympathy. “I need to be better,” Reese thinks as she sits next to her taciturn boyfriend in his car. “I need to try harder not to make him mad. If I don’t, he may leave me and love someone else.” 

Excerpts such as these make Reese’s blind eye understandable. She wants to feel wanted. Unfortunately for her, the people taking advantage of that human need for connection are sex traffickers. Hodgson’s wariness is not extreme; it is warranted. With that, she never treats her characters with condescension, and that is what lends the book its success.

Even as Hodgson hopes to highlight the dangers of the internet, Reese’s grooming happens largely offline. She becomes close with Cassie, a fellow volleyball player, who has met the traffickers through Snapchat, but that happens off-page and not to the main character. Reese hears of Liam’s online presence, but doesn’t really interact with him until they meet at a party. Their relationship then progresses via Cassie’s encouragement and text messages. A lot of the other girls mention being groomed via Snapchat, but Reese’s seduction is primarily made of house parties, restaurant dates, and road-trips. 

It’s a weird choice that the main character’s story doesn’t rely as heavily on social media grooming—when that is the self-proclaimed purpose of the book. Still, Hodgson offers a relevant topic, on- or offline, and will likely fulfill her hope from her Acknowledgements to “spark important conversations.”

Although Hodgson’s use of language is usually confident and lyrical, these qualities can disappear in moments such “tears fill her eyes, the liquid hanging on the edge like an infinity pool.” This particular simile falls off, dare I say, like water on the edge of an infinity pool. In fairness, this was an exception to the rule of a voice that suited its subject and genre. Take it as a cautionary tale of venturing into unnecessary depths of purple prose.

If you’re looking for an uplifting read, At Least I’m Trying is not for you. The subject material is heavy and dark. If readers are hoping to ignite consciousness and conversations about teen safety on the Internet, however, this is a comprehensive option. The story features authentic characters, vivid examples of how not to use social media, and an unforgiving portrayal of a worst case scenario. I do wonder if teen readers would be compelled to pick this up, or if it would be more likely handed to them by a parent or teacher. Either way, Hodgson skillfully accomplishes her stated goal of a YA version of a warning sign against the Internet.

At age four, Isabella Ranallo stole a sheet of her mother’s office paper to write the first page of a novel about ten kids stranded on a desert island. This led—with some twists and turns, like any good story—to graduating with a Creative Writing and History BA from VIU, where she was awarded the Barry Broadfoot Award for Journalism/Creative Non-Fiction and the Pat Bevan Scholarship for Poetry. Since graduation, Isabella has worked at the Rossland Museum & Discovery Centre as a research assistant; she currently freelances at Granville Island Publishing. Her work has appeared in the BC Federation of Writers’ WordWorks magazine. [Editor’s note: Isabella recently reviewed PP Wong, Thomas Mark McKinnon and Arleen Paré for BCR.]

*

The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster