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perpetualpages's review
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
CWs: anxiety, panic attacks, death/child death/parental death, grief, racism, brief mentions of suicidal ideation and self-harm, allusions to a suicide attempt, police brutality, references fo slavery and rape, and mass shooting
Brittney Morris has done it once again. She has written an incredible novel that is very much needed and that offers an outstretched hand to Black youth, especially—one that's all wrapped up in emotion and catharsis. This is a challenging book, and may certainly prove to be a hard one to bear witness to for some readers, but it is unflinching in both its truth and its hope.
This is a hard-hitting contemporary story with a surrealist edge in how its protagonist has the ability to see the future of anyone he touches. While it might seem like knowing the future is an empowering ability, it actually has the opposite effect on Alex and makes him feel powerless under the weight of the future's inevitability, especially when he sees his own brother's death.
To me, this ability was a powerful allegory for how Black youth—and young Black men, specifically—bear the weight of knowing the systemic pain that awaits them in this world. To be a young Black man in America is, in some ways, to accept the possibility of your own death and the death of those you love before it even happens—and what is that if not "predicting the future" based on what's been proven in the past?
So not only is this story an exploration of that grave injustice, but it's also about Alex reconnecting with his brother and his loved ones, realizing that he can either succumb to the despair of knowing that his brother won't survive, or he can try and find moments of joy in the time they have left together. In some ways, it's also about how joy in the face of oppression is a radical act, and a way of reclaiming agency over the right we all have to live and love—a right that is often forcibly taken away from Black youth at too young an age.
The story also challenges concepts of toxic masculinity, especially in how it explores power and powerlessness. When you're not able to control an outcome, where do you draw power from? Does it make us stronger to look away from something we know we're going to lose or to confront the fear that accompanies that loss? Over the course of the story, Alex is learning that there is no power in detaching, disassociating, or even wanting to lash out at the world. Instead the harder work is confronting his own sadness about his situation, learning how to be unafraid in the way he loves and needs the people around him, and extracting moments of connection and joy from the pain and loss. Alex is realizing that it's okay to be afraid of the future, to be anxious, to be hurt and sad, and that doesn't mean he's failed or that he's not a man—it means he's human.
This is a powerful story about resilience, joy, and brotherhood in the face of extreme pain and loss. As Brittney Morris writes in her acknowledgements, this is very much a "Black-boy-joy despite" book, for all the Black men who are trying to be joyful and unafraid despite the world proving itself to be inhospitable to their joys and hopes. Their lives, their experiences, and their feelings matter, and this is a book that beautifully, brilliantly, and painfully makes space for those complicated feelings to exist. I can say with every confidence that this is definitely a must-read book, right alongside Brittney's stunning debut, Slay.
Brittney Morris has done it once again. She has written an incredible novel that is very much needed and that offers an outstretched hand to Black youth, especially—one that's all wrapped up in emotion and catharsis. This is a challenging book, and may certainly prove to be a hard one to bear witness to for some readers, but it is unflinching in both its truth and its hope.
This is a hard-hitting contemporary story with a surrealist edge in how its protagonist has the ability to see the future of anyone he touches. While it might seem like knowing the future is an empowering ability, it actually has the opposite effect on Alex and makes him feel powerless under the weight of the future's inevitability, especially when he sees his own brother's death.
To me, this ability was a powerful allegory for how Black youth—and young Black men, specifically—bear the weight of knowing the systemic pain that awaits them in this world. To be a young Black man in America is, in some ways, to accept the possibility of your own death and the death of those you love before it even happens—and what is that if not "predicting the future" based on what's been proven in the past?
So not only is this story an exploration of that grave injustice, but it's also about Alex reconnecting with his brother and his loved ones, realizing that he can either succumb to the despair of knowing that his brother won't survive, or he can try and find moments of joy in the time they have left together. In some ways, it's also about how joy in the face of oppression is a radical act, and a way of reclaiming agency over the right we all have to live and love—a right that is often forcibly taken away from Black youth at too young an age.
The story also challenges concepts of toxic masculinity, especially in how it explores power and powerlessness. When you're not able to control an outcome, where do you draw power from? Does it make us stronger to look away from something we know we're going to lose or to confront the fear that accompanies that loss? Over the course of the story, Alex is learning that there is no power in detaching, disassociating, or even wanting to lash out at the world. Instead the harder work is confronting his own sadness about his situation, learning how to be unafraid in the way he loves and needs the people around him, and extracting moments of connection and joy from the pain and loss. Alex is realizing that it's okay to be afraid of the future, to be anxious, to be hurt and sad, and that doesn't mean he's failed or that he's not a man—it means he's human.
This is a powerful story about resilience, joy, and brotherhood in the face of extreme pain and loss. As Brittney Morris writes in her acknowledgements, this is very much a "Black-boy-joy despite" book, for all the Black men who are trying to be joyful and unafraid despite the world proving itself to be inhospitable to their joys and hopes. Their lives, their experiences, and their feelings matter, and this is a book that beautifully, brilliantly, and painfully makes space for those complicated feelings to exist. I can say with every confidence that this is definitely a must-read book, right alongside Brittney's stunning debut, Slay.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child death, Death, Death of parent, Grief, Mass/school shootings, and Racism
Moderate: Panic attacks/disorders and Police brutality
Minor: Rape, Self harm, Slavery, Suicidal thoughts, and Suicide attempt
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