numb to this: memoir of a mass shooting

There’s a lovely tradition in the high school I work at where teachers to post the title of the book they’re currently reading on their classroom door. I was puttering around last Friday, packing up before Winter Break, and I changed my sign over to show my latest read, Kindra Neely’s graphic novel Numb to This: Memoir of a Mass Shooting. A student who has struggled in my class asked me about it, and then wanted to see the book, and then asked when is it gonna be on the bookshelf? I was reading a library copy, but you can bet I placed an order for this one as soon as I had a spare moment. In my opinion, there’s nothing better than finding a book (the right one, the one they choose!) for that student who needs it. And on top of that, this book is a must-read – an important, shattering story from a gun violence survivor – a chance to listen to someone share what that aftermath looks and feels like. 

 

Kindra Neely never expected it to happen to her. No one does. Sure, she’d sometimes been close to gun violence, like when the house down the street from her childhood home in Texas was targeted in a drive-by shooting. But now she lived in Oregon, where she spent her time swimming in rivers with friends or attending classes at the bucolic Umpqua Community College.

And then, one day, it happened: a mass shooting shattered her college campus. Over the span of a few minutes, on October 1, 2015, eight students and a professor lost their lives. And suddenly, Kindra became a survivor. This empathetic and ultimately hopeful graphic memoir recounts Kindra’s journey forward from those few minutes that changed everything.

It wasn’t easy. Every time Kindra took a step toward peace and wholeness, a new mass shooting devastated her again. Las Vegas. Parkland. She was hopeless at times, feeling as if no one was listening. Not even at the worldwide demonstration March for Our Lives. But finally, Kindra learned that—for her—the path toward hope wound through art, helping others, and sharing her story.

 

Kindra Neely survived the Umpqua Community College mass shooting in Oregon in 2015, and her beautiful, poignant, and searing memoir of the years after is absolutely required reading. There’s some background and context-setting, but the majority of Neely’s book focuses on the day of the shooting and what happened next: how she reacted in the short- and long-term, the impact of PTSD on her life, and the reality of a suicide attempt: all while presenting a front to the world. In the 300 pages of this debut graphic novel, Neely lays herself bare for a purpose, saying “I…went looking for a book about how to deal with the aftermath of a shooting, but I couldn’t find one. Maybe I could make a book to show people like me that they aren’t alone, or that their feelings are normal.”

 

Neely’s story is not just one of trauma, though it does deal with that. It keeps the tension between hope (she survived, she keeps surviving, she finds meaning in making art & helping others) and realism (there are bad days full of fear, depression is very real, and some people are uncomfortable around those who are open about their trauma). The pacing and scene changes are also telegraphed well and keep the “journey” of Neely’s life (narrative) moving. It is also heartwarming to see the real-life friends come alongside Neely in tough moments, and vice versa, even though no one is without flaws (except maybe Neely’s mom). The supportive, healthy relationships and networks from her life are excellent guides for young readers to follow, internalize, and model in their own lives.

 

Pacing and storytelling in the graphic novel format rely so much on the art… and I just want to say that Neely’s art is fabulous. I would have no idea that this was a debut – her style and linework are polished, modern, and evocative. The emotion bleeds through the pages, and while this volume is in full color, I think Neely’s neat linework and focus on facial expressions would work in any color palette. There’s doesn’t seem to be a predominant or overarching color theme, but teals and purples show up quite a bit in scenes set in Oregon, and harsh yellows and reds during moments of stress and trauma. Overt symbolism of dragonflies appears throughout (and is explained directly in the text).

 

Overall, Neely’s story and art are indistinguishable/inseparable – and the result, a compulsively-readable volume, allows her to be vulnerable in the service of helping others. Numb to This is heart-wrenching and incisive and belongs in every high school library in the country.

 

Recommended for: high school nonfiction collections, and anyone ages 14+ who has been touched by a mass shooting in some way (at this point, everyone in the US).

long way down: the graphic novel

I’ve been part of the same book club (FYA, DC chapter) for 10?? years now, and I’ve made some really fantastic reading friends in that time. I am only an occasional attendee at this point, but when I do make it it’s nice to just slot right in and chat about books with people who get my reading taste. For May we read Long Way Down, and to prepare I listened to the audiobook, narrated by author Jason Reynolds. The audiobook is just SO GOOD, I thought that there was no way that the newly-released graphic novel adaptation, illustrated by Danica Novgorodoff, could top it. However, after reading and thinking about Long Way Down: The Graphic Novel, I’ve revised my opinion. Both the audiobook and the graphic novel are brilliant ways to tell a story that is the same at its core, but different in execution.

Jason Reynolds's Newbery Honor, Printz Honor, and Coretta Scott King Honor–winning, #1 New York Times bestselling novel Long Way Down is now a gripping, galvanizing graphic novel, with haunting artwork by Danica Novgorodoff.

Will's older brother, Shawn, has been shot.
Dead.
Will feels a sadness so great, he can't explain it. But in his neighborhood, there are THE RULES:

No. 1: Crying.
Don't.
No matter what.

No. 2: Snitching
Don't.
No matter what.

No. 3: Revenge
Do.
No matter what.

But bullets miss. You can get the wrong guy. And there's always someone else who knows to follow the rules...

Long Way Down is the story of Will, whose brother Shawn was gunned down last night on his way back from the corner store. Will is headed out to take revenge. As he steps into the elevator, his brother’s gun tucked into his waistband, he’s determined to follow “The Rules” his brother taught him, about crying (don’t), snitching (don’t), and revenge (do). His uncle and father passed on those rules to Shawn before that, and these rules govern the lives of everyone in the neighborhood. In the 60 seconds it takes for Will to reach the ground floor, he encounters the ghosts (or spirits) of several people, and these encounters change the way he views himself, Shawn, and the history he thought he knew.

 

At its core, Long Way Down is a book about choices: the ones that individuals feel like they must make, the inter-generational impact of choices over time, and the way that communities are held together by certain choices (or “rules”) and experiences. Will’s life (and story) is one deeply affected by gun violence, and as an heir to that history, he feels as if he has an obligation to avenge his brother’s death. Within this framework of choices, and Will’s intention, Reynolds weaves a modern homage to Dickens’ A Christmas Carol by allowing Will, through interactions and conversations with ghosts, to realize that he may not know what he thinks he knows, and that there is room to make a different choice.

 

Obviously, the core of the book did not change between the original and the adaptation, and much of the language was preserved – and that language was poetic to start with. As with any graphic novel adaptation, the amount of text was reduced, and in this case transformed into visuals. There were certain things I especially appreciated about the graphic novel version: the depiction of the 9 blocks between Shawn and Will’s apartment and the corner store, the look and feel of the block Will lives on (including the basketball court), and the ways in which Uncle Mark’s movie came to life through Danica Novgorodoff’s illustrations. While reading the original I had my own idea of how things might look, but the visualization piece that comes with detailed art is second to none.

 

Let’s talk about that art. Because it is stunning. I had read a Novgorodoff graphic novel before, The Undertaking of Lily Chen, so I was familiar with her watercolor and ink illustration style. However, I was not prepared for the ways in which her art has grown and the masterful way she would interpret Reynolds’ story on the page. This is truly a lovely book. Gritty, tough, heavy – yes. And the art does not spare the reader that. But with judicious use of color, shadowing and shading, framing memories as illustrated polaroids, by outlining a body and filling it in as a cracked mirror – Novgorodoff adds layers and meaning to the text. While listening to the audiobook I got teary. Reynolds is a masterful narrator and the story is powerful. While reading the graphic novel, I full on cried twice. I cry easily, I’ll admit it… but there’s something special about this graphic novel, and I think (I know) it’ll reach even more children who need to hear its message in this format.

 

In all, Long Way Down: The Graphic Novel is an emotion-filled, potent, and honest adaptation of Jason Reynolds’ original award-winning novel-in-verse. It’s a must read and a necessary addition to any graphic novel collection.

 

Recommended for: everyone ages 12+ (and I’d even say 10, with some adult guidance), and especially those interested in contemporary graphic novels of exceptional literary and artistic merit.