The Things We Don't See, by Savannah Brown
This is an example of a piece of Young Adult fiction that is a really quality book.
I read Savannah Brown's debut - The Truth About Keeping Secrets - about a year ago, and I fell in love with not only her beautiful prose but also the way she explored some really profound, weighty themes. So when I spotted this in the library - her second novel - I thought I should try it to see if it was as good as her first. And it most certainly was. Savannah Brown has made it onto the list of YA authors whose books I will intentionally look for and read.
This book is about seventeen-year-old Mona Perry. She visits the isolated island of Sandown intending to uncover the truth about the mysterious disappearance of musician Roxy Raines from the island thirty years ago. Mona is scarred - more deeply than she realises - by the disappearance of her own sister Celeste more recently, and this is what drives her to solve the mystery of Roxy Raines.
I was reading an article recently that listed the apparent 'top 100 YA books' (I wanted to see how many of them I had read!) and in their introduction they had written that one of the great hallmarks of this genre was the exploration of self-discovery. Young adulthood is a life stage that involves a lot of searching oneself and finding oneself, and naturally the teenage narrators and protagonists in these novels reflect this. 'The Things We Don't See' is a perfect exemplification of that.
Although the mystery is intriguing, with fascinating twists and turns, I think there is also some much deeper symbolism going on. The whole narrative arc mirrors Mona's journey of self-discovery; the whole mystery could be read as an extended metaphor for Mona's search for her own identity. As the novel progresses, Mona is delving to find not only the truth of what happened in Sandown, but, in parallel, the truth about herself. I think that's why it's called 'The Things We Don't See' - because it is about the secrets that are hiding within communities and also within each person. It's deep stuff, and although that all sounds rather cheesy reading it back now, it's actually pretty profound.
Additionally, Savannah Brown has not only written a gripping mystery with weighty themes; she has also written it using the most beautiful, lyrical narrative voice. One of the reviews on the back of my copy says 'Brown's prose reads like a live wire' - an interesting simile in itself which I think describes Brown's prose quite nicely. There is verve to it, it's very sensory, she uses repetition and fragments of sentences; at times it's almost like poetry. (She does also write poetry, so I suspect that's why there's a poetic slant to her novel-writing!) Here's a section that I quite like, from near the beginning:
After one is hollowed out by suffering, one might expect something to rush in to fill the new, unoccupied parts of yourself - but that's not how it's been for me. Nothing rushed in. Instead, I sometimes look in the mirror and see not a different person, but no one at all. Not a canvas. A canvas has potentiality, a promise, an ability. Just nothing. I'm no one.
But the stories are always there. Celeste's lack is always there. Roxy Raines is always there. This is what's left of me. The ignition and flame and ash, all at once. I've decided the only way to make it all count and fill what's empty is to find her.
I close my eyes again, the birdsong distant and hysterical, the heat prickling in microscopic eruptions across the breadth of my skin. Inhale for eight seconds, exhale for ten.
I need to know what happened to Roxy Raines.
It's thoughtful, and profound, almost philosophical, and so poetic.
Think about the rhythm Brown has created near the end of that first paragraph. After the minor sentence 'not a canvas' there is a tricolon structure (aka a list of three) of abstract nouns 'potentiality, a promise, an ability.' The commas force you to slow down, and pause, and it reflects the mood of thinking aloud. And the alliteration of 'potentiality' with 'promise' and the near-rhyme of 'potentiality' and 'ability' is so lyrical. The last two sentences of the paragraph are both three syllables, (very rhythmic) and there is alliteration again of 'nothing' and 'no one'. Exquisite use of words.
This poetic style continues in the second paragraph: the first three sentences have the same structure (the official grammatical term for this is syntactic parallelism, for the nerds out there) and there is repetition of 'is always there' three times. Structures like this are so common in poetry, and work really well to create a contemplative atmosphere when they are used in prose. 'Ignition and flame and ash' is another group of three (see how many times she has used threes?) and is also a metaphor reflecting the impact of past trauma (Celeste's disappearance) on Mona - it has both left her broken and fired her up.
Paragraph three uses so much sensory imagery - the sense of sight has actually been removed, because the narrator has her eyes closed. Instead there is auditory imagery of the birdsong, and an incredibly vivid metaphor describing the feel of heat on Mona's skin. Throughout the book, Mona's senses are so awake, and reading from her perspective becomes a very immersive experience.
To conclude, I thoroughly enjoyed the story. I thought the themes - vulnerability, insecurity, trauma, truth - were sensitively explored. And I really, really relished the poetic voice of Savannah Brown.