We speak in storms

Review by Booklist Review

Mercer, Illinois, is a town held together by tragedy; more than 50 years ago, on October 7, 1961, a tornado decimated the drive-in, and memories of the teenagers who died there have not faded. As another October 7 comes and with it, another tornado old wounds resurface. Today's teenagers feel the aftershocks: Callie Keller pushes away her friends as her mom dies of cancer, Josh Calloway seeks refuge in his art after he's bullied for his sexuality, and Brenna Ortiz, dropped by the boyfriend who afforded her some protection from the racial slurs she hears every day, lashes out at her family. They aren't friends, not at first, but as each crosses paths with someone who was deeply impacted by that first storm, they develop a bond. The three teens uncover the long-kept secrets of the dead in a novel charged with magical realism; passages collectively narrated by those killed during the tornado add gravitas to an already distinguished debut. A lingering, quietly paced story about the echoes of trauma and the persistence of hope.--Maggie Reagan Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Lund interweaves the traumatic stories of storm victims separated by generations in her debut novel. Fifty years after a 1961 tornado tore through Mercer, Ill., a similar storm passes through the town, and several of the long-deceased return to the scene. While observing the living, the dead provide memories as well as commentary on their communal, ghostly present. After realizing that they are each being visited by a ghost, three loners--whose stories interweave with the ghosts'--connect. Brenna is bullied because of her Mexican heritage; Joshua is an ostracized gay teen; and Callie is coming to terms with her mother's terminal cancer. Each of the ghosts brings understanding and comfort to the teens while seeking peace for themselves. Dot, an incest survivor with a powerful singing voice, counsels Brenna, who longs to write; Luke, a closeted teen, supports Joshua; and Mrs. Vidal, who survived the '61 storm, comforts Callie. Through interconnected stories of pain and courage, Lund captures the pathos and resilience of a town still working through trauma in this lyrical ghost story. Ages 12--up. Agent: Sarah Davies, Greenhouse Literary Agency. (Sept.)

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 9 Up--Everyone who grows up in Mercer knows the Midwestern town is haunted. People hear whispers from the teenagers who died in the tornado back in 1961, see strange lights at the cemetery, hear creaking and scratching in old houses, and swear that the crow that visits is the spirit of someone long dead. Here, three teenagers feel disconnected from their own lives. Joshua, who once was bullied for being overweight, dreamed of coming out and being a voice for the LGBTQ youth in town. Instead, he becomes an invisible pariah. Brenna has grown up hearing that she is not enough. Not Mexican enough for her abuela, white enough for Mercer, or clever or interesting enough for her boyfriend. Callie's mother is dying of cancer, and this once-bright track star has retreated deep within, trying to empty herself so she doesn't have to feel her overwhelming grief. When a tornado touches down on the anniversary of the big storm of '61, Callie, Brenna, and Joshua are drawn together by their longing for connection--a longing powerful enough to call to the dead. Despite their differences, these three characters are able to find their true selves with one another in this hauntingly atmospheric coming-of-age story. While the pacing starts out slow, dedicated readers will be rewarded with fully realized characters, an empowering message, and a highly satisfying conclusion. Readers should note, the book contains references to anorexia and bulimia. VERDICT This sophisticated ghost story is recommended, especially where novels about grief are needed.--Leighanne Law, Scriber Lake High School, WA

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Three outcast teens come together when a tornado stirs up literal and figurative ghosts in their small Midwestern town.In 1961, a tornado touched down at a drive-in movie in Mercer, Illinois, killing almost all of the town's teenage population. Half a century later, that loss still haunts Mercer's residents, and when another tornado strikes the same location, the current batch of teens are especially rattled. There have always been rumors that those killed in the old tragedy remain in Mercer as Storm Spirits, and three misfit high school students think they might be starting to receive the spirits' messages. Joshua, who feels invisible at school due to his weight and sexuality, teams up with Brenna, whose contentious relationships with her family and a toxic ex-boyfriend compound the loneliness she feels as a Latina in a predominantly white community, and Callie, who has slid into an eating disorder as her mother's terminal illness progresses. The three share alternating point-of-view narration interspersed with a Greek chorus of the Storm Spirits' collective voices. Joshua, Brenna, and Callie are all sympathetic characters, but their slow-burn story is smothered under the weight of ponderous, self-serious narration. An incest survivor is deeply othered. All three teens' "Very Special Issues" are too tidily swept away when their drawn-out conclusion finally arrives. What starts as a delicate ghost story ultimately collapses under its own slow weight.Too much dead calm, not nearly enough storm. (Paranormal. 12-18) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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On October 7, 1961, some of us snuck from our houses, climbing onto roofs, dropping into bushes. Some of us called to our parents: We'll be at the movies. See you later. We ignored the sharp wind, the chill that ran along the collars of our letterman jackets and the tops of our ankle socks. We loaded the pickup beds with quilts and pillows and packs of beer stolen from our fathers' basements. Or we piled into cars with our sweethearts, unable to keep our hands still, our skin from buzzing. We drove into the country and parked our Catalinas, Coupes, VWs, and LeSabres in neat lines, mirror to mirror, facing the two-story whitewashed wall. We checked our watches, ordered pop from the waitresses, and made final trips to the outhouse, a few of us glancing warily up at the clouds. The projectionist started  Breakfast at Tiffany's , wobbly at first, the image gritty, and then, finally, everything was steady. Above us: our stars. We climbed into the back seats to neck our sweethearts, happy in the shadows. Or we sprawled with our friends in the truck beds like sleeping puppies, backs on knees, shoulder blades on stomachs, legs on legs. The movie's light playing out on our faces, in our eyes. The wind grew stronger, and those of us outside pulled the blankets up to our chins and scooted closer to one another. The rain was next, pelting the cars' steel roofs. We squeezed into truck cabs, sitting on one another's laps, or we continued to fog rolled-up windows, kissing furiously--as though we knew time was almost up. The movie stopped. A bullhorn announced something, the voice lost in the wind. Cars started for the exit, but it jammed. Some of us watched through blurred windows and waited, thinking the storm would pass. Then, abruptly, the rain stopped. We laughed at our fear and clamored for the projectionist to start the movie back up. We failed to notice that the night sky had become the color of jade. Even though we'd grown up in the Midwest, most of us had never seen a tornado. Not up close. Not with its great, wide spin, its tapering cone. We'd never heard the roar, the rumored freight-train scream. Not until that moment. We panicked, put our cars in reverse, and drove madly through the field, ignoring lanes and rights-of-way. There were crashes. Some of us spilled from our cars and sprinted for the snack bar, the outhouse, the ditches. There were those of us who screamed and those who froze, facing the tornado. We were a whole generation of Mercer. We were sons and daughters, born at the end of our parents' Great War. In a few years, we were supposed to go to college, join the military, marry, or stay home to help with the farm. We were supposed to leave and come back or never leave at all. We were supposed to raise children here, love them like we were loved, teach them loyalty to the town and its lore. Our children were supposed to sneak out of houses, pile into pickups, and watch their own stars. It was supposed to be a cycle, we thought. On and on and on. How were we to know. Excerpted from We Speak in Storms by Natalie Lund All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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