so, YA and i don't exactly get along. i was deeply skeptical of this book and remained so for about one hundred pages; La Sala's writing grabbed me right away, but i wasn't totally sold on the premise. most of the YA that i've read as an adult has left me disappointed (albeit grateful for the opportunity that queer YA fiction presents to young readers everywhere) and i was afraid that this book would set me up for an adventure and then let me down as is so often the case, but i am delighted to be proven wrong. (side note: it does start out a little slow and i contemplated docking a star for that, but i think that the ending and overall meaning of this book makes up for the somewhat slowburn start).

The Honeys is a mind-melting and fantastical journey that waves together the intricacies of loss, love, identity, and greed. as a genderfluid individual and fellow critic of the greed of capitalism, i loved what La Sala had to say about the commodification of identity politics and the ways in which the most powerful among us rise above by trampling those less fortunate underfoot. even moreso, though, i loved what La Sala had to say about grief. aching loneliness, crushing guilt, bitter resentment at being left behind by the one they loved most—it's all conveyed so poignantly through Mars' eyes. Caroline's absence is a physical thing in The Honeys, a shadow that looms large over the entire plot.

even in the end, after the biggest threat has been dealt with, Mars cannot fully return to the person they were. their transformation with the hive, the melding of themself with everyone else, makes it impossible to go back and be who they were when Caroline was alive. compare these two passages, one from the beginning and one from the end:

"But so much worse are the small, infuriatingly small gaps—really just pinprick holes—that Caroline leaves everywhere else. Emptiness, fired through my memories like buckshot, so scattered that I can't quantify what's gone. I can't count it. I can't measure it." (8)
"Whoever I'm looking at, they seem happy. At home, even. But they aren't me." (340)

here we see what has become of Mars. they're healing, they're moving forward, but they are not every truly themselves—and will not ever be again—in the absence of Caroline. tiny gaps exist in everything that she inhabited, and they can never truly be filled. this is the price of loss. it transforms us, pokes holes in us even when we carry what we've loved and lost with us forevermore. we are not the same in the wake of it, but that does not mean we are broken beyond repair.