Just checked out the latest bracketology at the Tourney of Books from my corona-virus induced stint on the fainting couch. I'm kind of glad we're to be spared Frankie vs. The Bolano That Ate Contemporary Letters (assuming it survives its own zombie round match-up).
Wow, it has taken me a long time to write this comment. Let me put it this way: Frankie inspires so much passion because it is one of the few contemporary books that I can think of (admittedly, completely off-hand) that addresses the seemingly-small, but daily, ways in which women are expected to minimize their own strengths in order to please men. And, yes, it's a book about a fifteen-year-old girl, but as any former fifteen-year-olds can tell you, that is the time when these dynamics start to manifest in force. It's also when they're the most powerful. I mean, who is more slavishly devoted to gender roles than a high school sophomore? Except the editors of Cosmo and certain screenwriters? And that fifteen-year-old self is always lurking around somewhere, ready to rear his or her head again. Especially when it comes to love.