Skipshock: think jet lag turned up to 11. Moving quickly between worlds where time passes differently – shorter days for the poorer, exploited north; longer, luxurious ones for the wealthy south – means that salesmen’s careers are short and brutal. “We are twice as likely to be alcoholics, three times as likely to die by suicide, and infinitely more likely to disappear without anyone caring at all.”
Moon has been a salesman for seven years, and time is running out. Enter Margo, “a sixteen-year-old failed runaway with a watch and unsuitable clothing”, whose train from Cork to Dublin suddenly transforms into something more old-fashioned and sinister. In an unfamiliar realm, where time races by far too quickly, she tries to figure out who she can trust. Moon, perhaps, but he’s thinking about her not so much as a damsel in distress as a job – delivering her will net him the kind of payload that could help him retire, before the illness sinks its claws in any further.
Caroline O’Donoghue’s Skipshock (Walker, £14.99), the first in a new duology from the acclaimed author of both teen and adult fiction, is a thought-provoking look at inequality, time and borders, wrapped up in a delicious romantic adventure. Moon, a member of the Lunati, a people whose “sacred caravan trails” were shut down by an oppressive regime, trusts neither those in power nor the revolutionary movement trying to overthrow them.
Margo, emotionally troubled but from relative privilege, takes a while to realise that not having “done anything wrong” doesn’t matter in these new circumstances, that she is “in effect, an illegal immigrant” here. Their different perspectives invite a certain level of political commentary, and there are some clear parallels with our own world, but O’Donoghue is careful not to sacrifice story, or to reduce complex situations to simple binaries. Thoroughly enjoyable and intelligent.
“We had been placed in a biodome with a diameter of about ten kilometres, and a circumference of thirty-two. You could walk all the way around in six or seven hours. Why had we been put here? No idea, though of course we had theories.” Xavier is 13 when “they”, unseen aliens or other forces, kidnap his family from a peaceful rural getaway. He has been living in the dome with his father, stepmother and baby brother for three years – farming, foraging, and clinging to his battered phone as the one last link to his brother, mom, and civilisation as he knew it – when a new family arrives. Having accepted “there’s no point wishing for the impossible”, his hopes rise all over again when patriarch Riley, more than a little fond of conspiracy theories and guns, begins planning their escape.
The prolific Canadian author Kenneth Oppel is on form with his latest, Best of All Worlds (Guppy, £14.99), a quietly tense thriller about imprisonment versus freedom, and individual rights versus communal responsibility. Have Xavier’s family been wise or foolish to simply accept their lot?
“They put a bubble over your head, you stay put. They put a hoe in your hand, you farm. Three years, you’ve been doing exactly what they want,” Riley laments. Even if their captors are benevolent, is compliance the best way forward? Is there a touch of Dr Pangloss in Xavier’s own father? There’s much to discuss in this smart, engaging book.
Irish verse novelist Meg Grehan returns to the characters of her award-winning The Deepest Breath in The Brightest Star (Little Island, £8.99), which sees best friends Stevie, Chloe and Andrew start secondary school. Stevie is still battling anxiety, with the help of her mum and therapist, but she’s also very clear on who she is – a girl who loves space and learning and Chloe, who makes her feel “fizzy and warm and lovely”, even if they’re not quite ready for hand-holding just yet. (The innocence of this is an important reminder of how LGBTQ+ content in young people’s literature is not inherently ‘adult’; let’s hear it for representing all kinds of swoony first crushes.)
Finding a supportive community at their new school through the Rainbow Club is just as sparkling and hopeful for Stevie – “The potential / In the air / Is so potent / So palpable / So delicious” – but Andrew, given his own voice in this volume, distances himself for reasons he can’t quite articulate or admit. This earnest, tender book is a warm hug for young readers.
“When someone you love dies, people give you about a month. In that month, if you cry, they know exactly why you are crying. But after that, whenever you’re sad they ask you why. Expecting a different reason than the one before. As if your grief is past its expiry date. As if your grief was a yoghurt.” It’s been several months since Nadia lost her best friend, Lizzy, to cancer, and it still weighs heavily on her. There’s a list of things Lizzy wanted her to do, including “get PJs signed by godlike pop star”, but Nadia’s fallen behind. Getting through the day is hard enough.
When her aunt intervenes, sending her on a transatlantic flight to attend a pop concert, it’s the beginning of a life-changing road trip that includes – inevitably – a cute boy, Fran, who may have his own demons, but is also up for an adventure.
Jacqueline Silvester’s The Last Wish List (Simon & Schuster, £8.99) is a sweet summer rom-com that provides both familiar tropes and a few unexpected swerves. Of particular note is the handling of Nadia’s Russian heritage, with parents who “think mental health is an expression made up by western marketing companies”; it’s a vital reminder that the good-to-talk “awareness” campaigns land differently depending on cultural background.
Finally, Ava Eldred’s second novel, Exit Stage Death (UCLan Publishing, £8.99), is an immensely entertaining murder mystery set at a musical theatre summer camp (this reviewer was sucked in immediately by the premise, but recognises that there are some readers who will not be quite as delighted with all the musical references). Livi’s in her final year at Camp Chance, determined to be the lead in the showcase and convince her parents to get on board with drama school; she brilliantly captures “the feelings of atoms shifting” as she enters this intense summer world.
With many of her old camp friends now sitting exams, she pushes herself to make new pals and to smash it in rehearsals – until a dead body appears. The police rule it a tragic accident, but Livi knows better, and has a sinister note from the killer to prove it. “You’re in the middle of your own murder mystery now, but the rest is still to be written. You have until the end of camp to find me, or she won’t be the only one.”
Eldred pulls off this implausible concept with aplomb, letting her teenage characters continue to be concerned with the everyday – who’s getting the lead? Who’s kissing whom? Will Livi’s last summer of joy and theatre be ruined by all this murder business? – while they work together to solve the crime. The use of stage directions in lieu of the more typical italicised killer-monologue is particularly well done, and a final reveal invites rereading.
