Belated Thoughts on the Second Act of a Dystopian Teen Romance

The Elite by Kiera Cass (the second book in the Selection series) featuring a life of luxury, horny teens, reality TV, and an inescapable love triangle, is not trying to tell a story about breaking free of a restrictive futuristic society or overthrowing an inherently oppressive system of government. It is not about the two sides of a centuries-long world conflict finding common ground through peace and negotiation. It features all of these things, but it is not about them. Rather, it’s about the low-ranking teen girl America (yes, really) falling in and out and back in love with a rich, romantic prince. And a third wheel with a college degree in pining.

Once I figured this out, about midway through the novel, I came to respect The Elite. In a weird way, its comparative shallowness gives it a kind of integrity. Cass has a distinct passion for her main character, a reality show contestant (in a future dystopia where the country previously known as the United States now has a thriving monarchy), finding true love with Prince Maxon. This means that she must beat out the rest of the teen girls for the position of princess, and even though Maxon makes it clear that he wants her, America (the character) isn’t the best candidate for the job. Yeah. This plot is absolutely bonkers. It reads like a Mad Libs version of the treatment for Hunger Games, but its distinction lies in its emphasis on the particular kind of relationship drama only found on The Bachelor. It’s about as perfect as you could imagine, given the slim opening in its very specific Venn diagram of overlapping ideas.

I think I enjoyed the afternoon I spent gobbling up The Elite, though I spent much of that time looking for something distinguishable in America (the character). She’s more relatable than likable, though she has her sympathetic moments. Other characters point out her hair-trigger temper and big mouth, but she only demonstrates these flaws once in the book, by which time I was happy that she’d chosen to do something other than pinball between Maxon and Aspen, the aforementioned third wheel. She’s super nice to the servants, so that’s cool. Though she eventually comes to question the foundation of their society (a caste system with eight rankings), you’d really think a character named “America” would be much less complacent with a monarchical government. The details of the how-we-got-here history (there’s a couple mentions of a fourth world war and China getting itchy about all the money the U.S. owed them) just sort of exist. What really matters is whether the sainted Kriss will almost-innocently usurp America (the character)’s position as Maxon’s favorite contestant and when someone will finally put snooty saboteur Celeste in her place.

To be fair, there are moments of abject horror that successfully remind us that this is a dystopia despite the glamour of, um, a reality TV show featuring teenage contestants. About halfway through the story, the plot/love triangle calls for a pivot into tragedy, and Cass delivers, allowing America (the character) to react with fire and heart. There are also rebel attacks made on the castle, though they mostly serve as excuses for the G-rated teen harem and Maxon to hole up together and explore the changing dynamics among the characters. (Castles. In America [the country]. How can you not love this?)

The love triangle is under-cooked, which isn’t as much of a drag as you’d imagine. There’s some fake-out about whether Maxon can be trusted and, oh look, there’s Aspen (a former poor elevated to a higher ranking now that he’s a castle guard), literally waiting in the wings. In Maxon, Cass is trying to combine sincerity and sexiness in one package, which means that any red flags he displays are halfheartedly swept under the rug. Aspen’s unshakable loyalty to America (the character) goes largely unexplained, though his simplicity is more attractive than Maxon’s brand of complexity. It was with much reluctance that I accepted that the author intends for the readers to root for Maxon. In theory, there ought to be room for a character who finds himself deeply in love with one teen girl while struggling with his physical desires and having a bevy of pretty young things on hand for him to manipulate (birth control is outlawed or something), but the slight Elite doesn’t do gray areas.

There’s nothing wrong with a story that spotlights a romance between teens with the backdrop of a haves vs. have-nots conflict. There’s just not a whole lot to grab onto when the will-they-won’t-they tension fails to emotionally connect with the “rebelling against an unjust system” backdrop. Mentions of the rebels trying to upset the Selection process and a last-minute reveal of the king’s true character can’t distract the reader from the fact that The Elite is actually two different stories that share the same pages. But its lack of shame makes a compelling case for its existence: it’s superficial and over-confident, which gives it more charm than its clueless heroine or its trying-too-hard Prince Charming. Dystopian societies are overrated, anyway.