You may remember I talked about this book a long time ago over at Word for Teens. I wrote about how sometimes, there are romantic male leads in novels that just work so, so well. Danny, in Daisy Whitney’s When You Were Here, is one I talked about specifically. He’s stayed with me in the months since I finished this book, and I have a feeling he’ll remain on my list of favorite male characters in YA for a long time. 

Danny’s mom, who has toughed out five years of cancer, wants to make it just long enough to see him graduate valedictorian from high school. But before that date comes, his mom dies. Devastated by the loss, as well as the loss of his father a few years before and the loss of his adopted sister who chose to move to China to rediscover her roots, Danny is angry, broken, and confused about what the future could possibly hold. And there’s also another complication, too: Holland. She’s the girl he’d been in love with forever and the girl who was in every way perfect for him. But their relationship ended much too soon and without any resolution. Danny was left in the dark when she suddenly disappeared from his life. 

Faced with big decisions about where to go from here, Danny chooses to figure out what it is that kept his mom going for so long. Why she continued to be hopeful and happy, even though her life was near the end. To do this, Danny decides he’s going to fly to the apartment they owned in Tokyo, meet the doctor who meant so much to his mother. This is also his chance to really think about what he wants out of his life. 

Along the way, Danny meets Kana, who helped take care of the apartment before his mom died. She’s quirky, she’s energetic, and she’s invested in making sure Danny makes the most of his time in Tokyo. It’s not at all romantic — which is a huge plus in my book — but rather, it’s Danny’s opportunity to rediscover the value and importance of friendship. 

Maybe most important was the twist in the story. That’s Holland’s story. If you don’t want to be spoiled, skip down to the next paragraph. The reason Holland disappeared from Danny’s life was that she got pregnant. Since Danny had been the only boy she’d been with and their relationship hadn’t been going on that long and she had been on the pill, it was a reality she hadn’t quite wrapped her head around. What made it worse was when she went into early labor and when baby Sarah died. Danny is the only person not in the loop on this, and he learns about his daughter when going through his mom’s things in Tokyo. His mom had known about the baby, but she and Holland both chose not to tell Danny. It wasn’t a choice out of cruelty. It was done to protect him because he had already lost so much in his life. And the truth of it was that the entire situation was scary and heartbreaking for everyone involved. 

When Danny does get to meet the doctor his mother had invested so much in, not only does he understand the value and purpose of his mom’s life, but he has a moment and realizes what value his own is worth.

Whitney handles all of the topics in this book delicately and powerfully in equal measure. Danny’s voice is knock out, authentic, and it is pained. Danny is a boy of action — his feelings play out in the way he acts and the words he chooses to use. They’re not always kind and he’s not always rational. But these things happen the way they do because it’s how Danny works through his pain and his grief. It’s the way he begins to make sense of the world. This is why he chooses to get on that plane and go to Tokyo. It’s why he doesn’t simply DWELL in the anguish but rather, he works and walks through it, step by tortured step. Where the twist element came in, another author could have pushed the envelope too much, adding simply one more thing to the list of horrible things going on in a character’s life. But Whitney introduces and weaves this in so carefully and thoughtfully that it instead amplifies the core of who Danny, his mother, and Holland really are as people. 

Danny’s understanding of his mother’s fight — and his mother’s desire to quit the fight — comes to a head when he meets with the doctor to whom she claimed saved her and to whom she dedicated so much energy and belief. And boy, did I cry. Danny learns that choosing the time one lives and the time one dies was the central force of his mother’s hope, even in her battle with cancer. It’s philosophical without being pandering, and it’s spiritual without being spiritual (if that even makes sense). Whitney excels are imbuing the narrative with the Eastern and Western philosophy not only in how she structures the story and Danny’s journey, but even in the way that death and life are explored.

The writing in When You Were Here is sharp, searing, and noteworthy. It doesn’t take a back seat to the complexities of the story nor the complexities of the characters. I give huge credit, too, for how well-done the sex scenes in this book are. There is a great contrast in the sort of sexual relationship Danny has with Trina — it’s one where she is in control, where she calls the shots, and where she gets what she wants and he takes it because he feels so empty and broken from all of the loss in his life. It’s not Holland, and it’s not an emotional and deeply satisfying act of intimacy. When Danny and Holland reconnect in Tokyo, after laying bare all of the things that were keeping them at a distance, their intimacy is raw, powerful, and healthy. Danny is in it not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. And maybe what made it so good in that moment was that almost nothing is said at all about the mechanics. Because that didn’t matter.

I’ve read a lot of grief books, but without doubt, this one stands out. It’s so good it hurts to think about. My one qualm, and it’s something I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about, is that Danny does come from privilege. He’s able to head to Tokyo to a private and paid-for condo without issue. He has a home back in California that’s taken care of, too. These all make sense contextually, but they do require the reader to suspend belief a little. But the freedom Danny has — he’s done with high school and in that “what do I do now?” stage of life before making decisions about going to college or traveling — is completely believable, especially with all he’s been thrown in the recent months and years. 

Whitney gets bonus points for a great sidekick animal with Danny’s dog Sandy Koufax, and for those of you worried, the dog does not die. Pass When You Were Here off to readers who like foreign-set contemporary stories, who enjoy grief books, who enjoy romantic male lead characters, and those who want to fall into a story for a long time. This one’s been compared to Gayle Forman’s Where She Went, and while I don’t buy that comparison (besides both feature a male romantic lead), I do see how fans of Forman’s writing would dig Whitney’s novel. 

Review copy received from the publisher. When You Were Here will be available Tuesday. 

This summer, Kiri’s parents are on an extended vacation, leaving her to her own devices at home. She’s poised to spend it hanging out with best friend/bandmate/crush Lukas making music and competing in battle of the bands. She’s also made plans to practice piano because she’s quiet accomplished and only wants to get better and better. Really, not that awful a summer.

But it’s a phone call from a stranger who changes everything. He says he has some of her dead sister’s things. 

The sister who died years ago. From an accident. But it wasn’t an accident like Kiri was told it was. Sukey died under more mysterious circumstances.

When Kiri goes out of her way to pick up those things, she learns it’s not about the things her sister left behind. It’s about the people who she runs into on the trip to pick up those things and the people who help her work through the grief she thought she’d packed away so many years ago. 

Wild Awake, Smith’s debut novel is fresh, alive, and has a helluva voice. Though at heart this is an exploration of grief, it never once falls into feeling like a “grief novel” (arguably nothing does, but I use this phrase to suggest this isn’t a sad story). Kiri is a little bit off kilter, driven not only by wild hormones, but she’s driven by freedom. Together, she tries things and acts in odd, erratic, but completely believable ways. She’s consistently inconsistent, as anyone grieving would be. She dabbles with drugs and alcohol, which helps her remove herself from her time and place as it is. When she’s had the rug pulled out from under her, it’s the way she can best cope. All the years of thinking she’s processed her sister’s death are now up for questioning. Was she lied to? Was her sister hiding something deeper? Why did her parents shield the truth? 

Moreover, Kiri suffers from mania — it’s impossible to diagnose her mental illness because she doesn’t diagnose it herself, but she goes through periods of intense highs with intermittent lows, though they’re not low lows. The drugs aid in leveling her in many ways, too. 

Even though she believes it to be the case at the beginning of summer, it’s not Lukas who ends up capturing Kiri’s heart. It’s Skunk, the guy who fixed Kiri’s bike on that first trip downtown to collect Sukey’s things. When she thinks nothing of him then, it’s through getting to know him better she discovers he has depths to him that speak to her deeply. He’s passionate, he’s into music, and he’s mentally unstable. The love and acceptance Kiri has for someone like him, who could break at any moment, speaks volumes not only about Kiri and Skunk, but also about the importance of relationships and the things that keep them growing and thriving. Even though the two of them don’t bond over their mental states, there is a connection between them relating to this anyway. And maybe that connection is less than the two of them each suffers, but instead, that everyone in the world suffers from something — for Kiri, it’s both grief and it’s her mania. Skunk suffers through his illness, in addition to other things. 

In other words, this book is about how there’s no singular element that can define and thereby reduce a person into a thing.

Of course, this relates right back to Sukey and what happened to her, as well as what happened to the things that made her who she was when she was alive. 

There is a real beat and infusion of sound to this novel. It’s pulsing and bright and alive. This isn’t a mystery and it’s not a story with great Depth and Seriousness. But because it’s none of those things, it speaks volumes about the human experience, about living and loving, and about being present in the moment. In many ways, Kiri reminded me of Felton Reinstein of Stupid Fast — they’ve both been thrown for a big loop, they’re both navigating change without ever being a Lesson in the values of Change, and they’re both alive and active by bike, at night, and through their respective talents. And at the end of the day, both are also about the importance of relationships, whatever way they come. 

I usually don’t share quotes from books, but this one had me marking a number of them because they were so good, and they speak to the story: 

“Every disaster, every whim, every seemingly random decision came together to make this night happen. There are no mistakes — just detours whose significance only become clear when you see the whole picture at once.”

“It’s amazing how well you can get to know a person if you actually pay attention. People are like cities: we all have alleys and gardens and secret rooftops and places where daisies sprout between the sidewalk cracks, but most of the time all we let each other see is a postcard glimpse of a skyline or a polished square. Love lets you find those hidden places in another person, even the ones they didn’t know were there, even the ones they wouldn’t have thought to call beautiful themselves.”

“The universe, I realize, is full of little torches. Sometimes, for some reason, it’s your turn to carry one out of the fire — because the world needed it, or your family needed it, or you needed it to keep your soul from twisting into a shape that’s entirely wrong.”

Wild Awake tackles so much and does so while maintaining a real voice and perspective that feels new and exciting. When I finished the book, I felt refreshed and happy. Sure, there’s heavy stuff here, but Kiri’s likable, even if it’s imperfect. In fact, I’d argue her imperfections and her willingness to work with those imperfections are what make her so likable. The romance here is sweet and doesn’t feel shoehorned in. While there are elements of the story that require suspension of disbelief — like Kiri’s family leaving her alone for the summer when they know she’s not entirely stable — it’s okay. There is far more to enjoy here than to nit pick, and Smith’s writing stands on its own. 

In terms of voice and style, Kiri reminded me a lot of Juno from the movie Juno, and I think readers will see many similarities with Jandy Nelson’s The Sky is Everywhere as the stories pertain to grief — though Smith’s novel is a bit lighter in tone. Wild Awake is contemporary, but it contains elements of mystery, with a strong elements about music, about sibling relationships, mental illness, and what can happen over the course of a single summer in a teen’s life. 

Review copy received from the publisher, via the editor. Wild Awake is available today.