Synopsis "Indecent"
Blurring the lines of blame and moral ambiguity, Corinne Sullivan's smart, sexy debut is perfect for fans of The Girls and Sweetbitter. "[A] surprising debut...an affecting novel, examining self-doubt, self-sabotage, and the lasting impact of both." -- Publishers Weekly "Sullivan's debut is a smart and delicious page-turner." -- Booklist"[A] steamy debut, in which infatuation crosses the line into obsession... Imogene's backstory...will have readers sympathizing with her as she works through her past." -- Library Journal"The disturbingly painful depiction of the struggle to be at home within one's skin will move teens with its well-written, haunting, and illuminating story of a young woman spinning out of control." -- School Library Journal Shy, introverted Imogene Abney has always been fascinated by the elite world of prep schools, having secretly longed to attend one since she was a girl in Buffalo, New York. So, shortly after her college graduation, when she's offered a teaching position at the Vandenberg School for Boys, an all-boys prep school in Westchester, New York, she immediately accepts, despite having little teaching experience--and very little experience with boys. When Imogene meets handsome, popular Adam Kipling a few weeks into her tenure there, a student who exudes charm and status and ease, she's immediately drawn to him. Who is this boy who flirts with her without fear of being caught? Who is this boy who seems immune to consequences and worry; a boy for whom the world will always provide? As an obsessive, illicit affair begins between them, Imogene is so lost in the haze of infatuation that she's unable to recognize the danger she's in. The danger of losing her job. The danger of losing herself in the wrong person. The danger of being caught doing something possibly illegal and so indecent. Exploring issues of class, sex, and gender, this smart, sexy debut by Corinne Sullivan shatters the black-and-white nature of victimhood, taking a close look at blame and moral ambiguity.
