“It’s actually pretty easy to give people something they desperately want.” In a universe where death dates appear tattooed on one’s skin at birth, Regan’s is used to catering to the wealthy in their final days. “Michelin-star chefs, skydiving, skiing, a bungee bridge, private helicopter flights. If you wouldn’t spend the last day of your life doing it, it’s not good enough for Elite Elect.”
The kind of guests the resort hosts are “used to being able to have anything on the menu” – which includes a last-minute true love for their dying teenage child. This is where Regan shines – as a “Juliet” in the “Romeo-and-Juliet package”, a girl who will pretend to share her client’s death date and morph into his ideal soulmate for the final week of his life. They want to believe they’ve found true love; she lets them.
This high-concept premise is a new departure for Northern Irish writer Kelly McCaughrain; it is, as she puts it in the acknowledgments, an “unholy mash-up of a book”, and such things are often the most glorious to read. Just Another Dead Boy (Walker, £8.99) explores euthanasia, philosophy, class and addiction; it’s also got a sizzling, twisty enemies-to-lovers storyline that kicks off when Jude, the intended target, discovers the truth about Regan and blackmails her into playing along anyway.
Will they kiss? What does it mean to live every day like it’s your last? Is this the best use of the Borscht Belt as a setting since The Marvelous Mrs Maisel? This is both thought-provoking and compulsively readable.
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Speaking of mash-ups, elemental magic meets environmental thriller in Tig Wallace’s debut, Storm Bringer (Chicken House, £8.99), set in a world where ideological differences over the interpretation of prophecies stand in the way of unity against Phenos, the most dangerous impending storm on record.
Seventeen-year-old Amelio is thrown into this chaos after 10 years in a nation that insists people suppress their magic, preferring to mine Kevium and focus on science and industry. His discovery of his own gift coincides with disaster, and early attempts to nurture it don’t go particularly well. But he and his new friend Paige have something the team of experts sent to stop the storm don’t – a diary that may lead them to the truth about the storms and the nature of magic itself.
There’s a lot in this ambitious book, the first in a series, and occasionally it leans a little too heavily on exposition – always a danger with speculative fiction. But the setting is intriguing enough to make it worth it; there’s a refreshing nuance and complexity to the religion-versus-science debates and the political conflicts both within and without the kingdom of Nimira.
Wallace’s experience in publishing on the editorial side of the desk is evident in his clever use and subversion of familiar tropes, giving us a story that seems to be moving in one direction and then swerves in another. Even where we might potentially suspect certain twists, including one final-page reveal, we are so gripped by the events we don’t have time to pause and consider them logically. Skilful and addictive; when is book two out, please?
[ The Steps by Juliano Zaffino: A debut of rare confidenceOpens in new window ]
Generational conflict goes up to 11 in Young World (Simon & Schuster, £20), a compulsive political thriller from Soman Chainani (The School for Good and Evil) in which 17-year-old Ben becomes the American president (“Being President can’t be harder than being a teenager in this world”), prompting a global Revolting Youth movement. “It feels like the world just exploded. Twelve young leaders ascendant in twelve days. Teenagers who had no power swept into all the power.”
Ben cares about the planet, and about how young people are let down by the elderly in power: “We’re trying to ensure our futures, and they’re looting the store like a going-out-of-business sale. Save-Its vs Spend-Its ... Save-Its want Earth for new generations. But Spend-Its think their happiness, comfort, time have more value. That there’s nothing worth saving beyond their lifetimes. That the planet is theirs to plunder no matter the cost to kids like me.”
Despite many serious topics – including delving into the repercussions of colonialism – this is a delightfully playful book, aided by its striking visual appeal
Ben wants a world where environmental collapse, rampant school shootings, economic crisis and techno-capitalism are problems that are solved rather than endured.
Ben also – because he is a teenage boy – is speaking out about this mostly to show the girl he’s fallen for that he is worthwhile. That he matters. He’s not quite prepared for the world of international politics, even after his AP Gov class, and the new Swedish leader’s machinations to move the next G8 summit to his own country.
Things get even more complicated when he’s the prime suspect in the murder of one of his fellow leaders, which may get in the way of stopping his rivals’ world-ending attempt to exploit a treasure trove of natural resources inconveniently perched on top of a supervolcano.
Despite many serious topics – including delving into the repercussions of colonialism – this is a delightfully playful book, aided by its striking visual appeal. Neon-orange edges every page of text, which is interspersed with documents and graphics – news reports, memes, comics, graphs. It’s an immersive experience that reflects our screen-heavy lives while also transforming them into art. I adored this.
The challenges of coming of age can also be dramatised beautifully within mundane settings, and Caitlin Devlin’s A Song I Wrote for Charlotte (HarperFire, £8.99) is a superb example of this. Connie’s first year of university is marred firstly by the fact that English Lit is her second choice, having fumbled her piano audition for music college, and secondly by a group of flatmates who seem to want to socialise with her.
Chief among them is the beautiful Charlotte, the kind of girl “drawn in gentle but very precise lines, by the sort of illustrators that draw fairies holding flower stems like umbrellas and kittens asleep in fireplaces ... When they realise that you are different, their bright eyes grow brighter. They know how to disguise meanness as playfulness and how to make you feel less than with a look.”
But Charlotte is not quite what she seems, and Connie finds herself drawn to her, and tentatively returning to the piano, where she begins to compose the titular song. This gorgeous, heartbreaking novel is a must-read.
Finally, Beth Steiner captures one of those teenage summers that change everything in her verse novel, Pearl Beach (Pushkin Children’s, £8.99). Billie is almost 14 and decides: “This summer I’ll grow up.” As the awkward parts of adolescence kick in (inconvenient periods, terror of body odour), she considers the visible signifiers of maturing: “Maybe now that I’m almost fourteen, I’ll start liking make-up?”; “Maybe now that I’m almost fourteen, I should buy a bikini?”
For Billie, her great aunt’s house on Pearl Beach has always meant summer, but this summer – one she expects to be about spending time with her best friend Andy, who’s discovered romance – is the only time her great aunt has actually been there. Edith is in her 90s, and has her own story to tell about friendship and endurance.
This feels like the classic teen novels of the last century – a little Judy Blume, a little Lois Lowry – infused with the page-turning energy of the contemporary verse-novel form. An absolute treat.
