Thanks to Libro.fm for the ALC (though I am way behind on getting to it) for this one. After reading a number of reviews for this, it seemed similar to Last Night at the Telegraph Club, as far as YA lit with salient themes. And I was looking forward to it, but also knew it would be a little heavier/more emotional, so I wanted to be ready for it. I ended up waiting until my request for my library to purchase the novel had been filled, so I could have a physical copy on hand as well. And I'm glad I did, because after reading this, I am thrilled that it'll be in our collection - it was so good, so important, and definitely deserves more readership. 

 

It's the summer before her senior year of high school when Avery's family moves from Washington DC to rural Bardell, Georgia, to care for her terminally ill grandmother, Mama Letty. Things are tense from the start, with Mama Letty and Avery's mom at each other all the time, over a past drama they refuse to talk about. In trying to avoid her family's tempers, Avery starts spending time with her next-door-neighbor, Simone, and Simone's lifelong bestie, Jade. The three become friends quickly, and Avery is drawn into connection and local secrets/excitement against her will. The more time Avery spends in Bardell, the more her relationships with Mama Letty, Simone and Jade grow and change, and she realizes that finding out what happened to cause her mother and Mama Letty to be at such odds, and sharing her own truths as well, is more important to her than anything else. More important than keeping the peace, more than letting this small town keep its ugly secrets hidden, more even than her budding closeness with Simone and Jade, if it comes to that. 

 

Y'all, this was amazing. I cannot believe this is Hammonds' first novel. They created something so special here. Impactful and important and emotional and necessary. I was sold from the first chapter, by Avery's narrative voice alone. And things only got better and better from there. Every single character was exceptionally well developed, with depth and nuance and the kind of complexity that comes with being a fully dimensional human (with the exception of Avery's dad, who was just a chill, calming vibe - though in this situation the story was not about him/his perspective, so maintaining a supporting role only made sense). And the relationships between and amongst them were equally fully-fleshed out. The storytelling was spot on, giving space for development, but keeping the conflicts and reveals coming often enough to provide a reasonably edge-of-your-seat pacing. The addition of short, extra POVs from other characters at the end of some of the chapters, to give depth to the greater story without dragging things out or forcing it into the normal narration, helped maintain that pace and interest too. 

 

The coming of ages all over the place were spectacular too. I mean, obviously, Avery's is central, as the narrator and as a traditional age for a coming of age story. She learns, over the course of the book, a myriad of lessons about defining yourself for yourself, independent of anyone else (not for or because of or in connection to anyone else). How that is so hard, and not something everyone can do, but is all the more worth it because of that. As part of that process, Avery learns that adults do not have it all together or figured out. And that's huge for me - I wish more adults would be authentic and admit that, so more young people could understand and be ready for how lifelong that journey of becoming yourself can be. We also see some adults struggling and dealing with it, realizing that the kids are old enough to hear the truth/don’t need to safety of protection, while on the opposite end, the young adults are realizing the shades of grey that come with years of history they haven’t lived through and beginning to understand the complexities of older people’s/adult relationships and experiences. And then there is Mama Letty. She's almost a fable, in that as long as you are still alive, there is always time to realign and reform, to forgive and recreate relationships...all while managing to keep her classic spiciness and her own (heavy) secrets, of course. Just, people are so complicated. Grieving and abuse and systemic social limitations and so many circumstances outside one’s control play a role in who a person is/becomes. And who can judge that? How does one atone and forgive and move on? Honestly, the way Hammonds portrays all of that genuine universal "unsurity" and attempts is so good, so real. 

 

Throughout the novel, Hammonds also explores a number of other salient issues, highlighting the racism of the American South, acceptance (or not, as it were) of queer identities, expectations from society and family (whether it be aspirational educational goals and/or family support roles), and, in connection to all of these themes, the reality of intergenerational trauma. I experienced very real grief at the tension and conflict and pain that that trauma caused for Avery and her family, and (while slightly less central, but no less developed) for Simone and Jade individually and with their families as well. The invisible scars of racism and intolerance and prejudice on the present and future generations...these emotional scars and baggage can’t be measured quantifiably, but have very real impacts on health/wellbeing/relationships/families/humanity that must be recognized in order to be addressed and (hopefully, eventually) overcome. Because the writers of history don’t mark the lives and experiences of those it deems unworthy, we, in the present, must work to uncover and recognize and honor without the traditional “proof” (isn't the word and memory of those who experience it enough?). And when that doesn’t happen, when very few even try to achieve that, can a person be blamed for avenging their tragedy and sorrow in their own way? Do we have the right to judge them for that? And how do we then move forward, and put an end, for real, to that back and forth of pain. Worth noting, I also experienced such big joy, reading when Avery and Simone were able to find a safe space, a haven where they could live and be and experience as their true and open selves. 

 

This was a story of healing. Not perfect, never perfect, but the effort is what makes it real. The way that trying, really trying, and recognizing and owning and working to repair/atone, in new generations *can* start to prevail over what ancestors have perpetrated and suffered. This is also a story of all the best and worst parts of growing up and being grown all at once. I cried so many times; there was catharsis and freedom and grief and feeling trapped/uncertain, in family and in greater society, and all the emotion was just so much. This really did answer the titular statement, addressing who “deserves” monuments (and if, for those currently doing the choosing, do they really deserve that power/voice), in stunning fashion. Excuse my language, kind of, but this entire novel was absolutely fucking phenomenal. 

 

“People are messy, kid. Families are messy.” 

 

“I didn’t know how to fix something that stretched past decades I’d been alive.” 

 

“It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Avery. It's okay to feel like you don't have the answers. You don't need to always have the answers, but you do need to give yourself some grace. It's okay to breathe sometimes. Why does everything have to be so urgent? […] Life was short. Everything was urgent, and who had the time to breathe in all that? […] You’re going to run yourself ragged [...] if you don't stop and look around and breathe sometimes. You can't get to know yourself if you can't sit with yourself for a while.” 

 

“They were in love. They were alive.” (Oh, the layered meanings here are *beyond*) 

 

“My heart was a mess, and it was full and beautiful.”