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perpetualpages's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
CWs: anxiety, panic attacks, death/child death/parental death, grief, racism, brief mentions of suicidal ideation and self-harm, allusions to a suicide attempt, police brutality, references fo slavery and rape, and mass shooting
Brittney Morris has done it once again. She has written an incredible novel that is very much needed and that offers an outstretched hand to Black youth, especially—one that's all wrapped up in emotion and catharsis. This is a challenging book, and may certainly prove to be a hard one to bear witness to for some readers, but it is unflinching in both its truth and its hope.
This is a hard-hitting contemporary story with a surrealist edge in how its protagonist has the ability to see the future of anyone he touches. While it might seem like knowing the future is an empowering ability, it actually has the opposite effect on Alex and makes him feel powerless under the weight of the future's inevitability, especially when he sees his own brother's death.
To me, this ability was a powerful allegory for how Black youth—and young Black men, specifically—bear the weight of knowing the systemic pain that awaits them in this world. To be a young Black man in America is, in some ways, to accept the possibility of your own death and the death of those you love before it even happens—and what is that if not "predicting the future" based on what's been proven in the past?
So not only is this story an exploration of that grave injustice, but it's also about Alex reconnecting with his brother and his loved ones, realizing that he can either succumb to the despair of knowing that his brother won't survive, or he can try and find moments of joy in the time they have left together. In some ways, it's also about how joy in the face of oppression is a radical act, and a way of reclaiming agency over the right we all have to live and love—a right that is often forcibly taken away from Black youth at too young an age.
The story also challenges concepts of toxic masculinity, especially in how it explores power and powerlessness. When you're not able to control an outcome, where do you draw power from? Does it make us stronger to look away from something we know we're going to lose or to confront the fear that accompanies that loss? Over the course of the story, Alex is learning that there is no power in detaching, disassociating, or even wanting to lash out at the world. Instead the harder work is confronting his own sadness about his situation, learning how to be unafraid in the way he loves and needs the people around him, and extracting moments of connection and joy from the pain and loss. Alex is realizing that it's okay to be afraid of the future, to be anxious, to be hurt and sad, and that doesn't mean he's failed or that he's not a man—it means he's human.
This is a powerful story about resilience, joy, and brotherhood in the face of extreme pain and loss. As Brittney Morris writes in her acknowledgements, this is very much a "Black-boy-joy despite" book, for all the Black men who are trying to be joyful and unafraid despite the world proving itself to be inhospitable to their joys and hopes. Their lives, their experiences, and their feelings matter, and this is a book that beautifully, brilliantly, and painfully makes space for those complicated feelings to exist. I can say with every confidence that this is definitely a must-read book, right alongside Brittney's stunning debut, Slay.
Brittney Morris has done it once again. She has written an incredible novel that is very much needed and that offers an outstretched hand to Black youth, especially—one that's all wrapped up in emotion and catharsis. This is a challenging book, and may certainly prove to be a hard one to bear witness to for some readers, but it is unflinching in both its truth and its hope.
This is a hard-hitting contemporary story with a surrealist edge in how its protagonist has the ability to see the future of anyone he touches. While it might seem like knowing the future is an empowering ability, it actually has the opposite effect on Alex and makes him feel powerless under the weight of the future's inevitability, especially when he sees his own brother's death.
To me, this ability was a powerful allegory for how Black youth—and young Black men, specifically—bear the weight of knowing the systemic pain that awaits them in this world. To be a young Black man in America is, in some ways, to accept the possibility of your own death and the death of those you love before it even happens—and what is that if not "predicting the future" based on what's been proven in the past?
So not only is this story an exploration of that grave injustice, but it's also about Alex reconnecting with his brother and his loved ones, realizing that he can either succumb to the despair of knowing that his brother won't survive, or he can try and find moments of joy in the time they have left together. In some ways, it's also about how joy in the face of oppression is a radical act, and a way of reclaiming agency over the right we all have to live and love—a right that is often forcibly taken away from Black youth at too young an age.
The story also challenges concepts of toxic masculinity, especially in how it explores power and powerlessness. When you're not able to control an outcome, where do you draw power from? Does it make us stronger to look away from something we know we're going to lose or to confront the fear that accompanies that loss? Over the course of the story, Alex is learning that there is no power in detaching, disassociating, or even wanting to lash out at the world. Instead the harder work is confronting his own sadness about his situation, learning how to be unafraid in the way he loves and needs the people around him, and extracting moments of connection and joy from the pain and loss. Alex is realizing that it's okay to be afraid of the future, to be anxious, to be hurt and sad, and that doesn't mean he's failed or that he's not a man—it means he's human.
This is a powerful story about resilience, joy, and brotherhood in the face of extreme pain and loss. As Brittney Morris writes in her acknowledgements, this is very much a "Black-boy-joy despite" book, for all the Black men who are trying to be joyful and unafraid despite the world proving itself to be inhospitable to their joys and hopes. Their lives, their experiences, and their feelings matter, and this is a book that beautifully, brilliantly, and painfully makes space for those complicated feelings to exist. I can say with every confidence that this is definitely a must-read book, right alongside Brittney's stunning debut, Slay.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child death, Death, Death of parent, Grief, Mass/school shootings, and Racism
Moderate: Panic attacks/disorders and Police brutality
Minor: Rape, Self harm, Slavery, Suicidal thoughts, and Suicide attempt
dedonohoe's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.0
TL;DR: A tragic, gripping YA loss-of-innocence tale interwoven with multigenerational magic that demonstrates just how elusive a carefree, joyful childhood is for Black boys in America. My rating: 4 of 5 stars
After a few chapters, I had a hard time putting The Cost of Knowing down. And yet, I’m having a harder time than usual reviewing this book because the parts of the story that make it so so special feel like spoilers. But I’ll try. In the acknowledgements, Morris writes that before she could write a Black boy joy book, she had to write a “Black-boy-joy-despite book.” The Cost of Knowing is a story about two Black boy brothers (11 and 16) coping with the loss of their parents while living with their aunt in her very affluent and very white gated community in a suburb of Chicago.
On the surface, Alex is just a grieving kid struggling to be the man of the house his father taught him to be--working his ass off for Scoop, the owner of a local ice cream shop (and still unjustly being treated like he is unreliable), to earn a paycheck and provide for the people he loves (like his girlfriend and deceased best friend’s mother, who he surreptitiously sends part of his earnings to).
However, Alex has a secret. Ever since his parents died, he can see the future of every object or person he touches. This is not a superpower, it’s a curse. Alex spends his days trying to avoid the thousands and thousands of visions that he’s plagued by, usually without success. He lives with debilitating anxiety over the things he sees or is afraid he’ll see. One of the smallest but most heartbreaking consequences of Alex’s curse is how isolated it leaves him, starving himself and his loved ones of the healing and comforting physical touches he and they crave. Maybe it’s partially due to a year of being physically isolated due to the pandemic, but I DIED every time Alex wished he could hold his girlfriend’s hand or hug his brother. GIVE THIS BOY A HUG. Besides that, Morris also kept me in my feels with how she wrote Alex’s visions and anxiety. I could imagine how exhausting they were to experience because they were exhausting to read.
One day Alex sees something he can’t unsee--a grave with his little brother’s name on it. With this premonition, he must decide how to spend the last few days of his brother’s life. Alex feels helpless amid thoughts of the many, many dangers that could befall a young Black boy, from a car accident, to a slippery floor, to the Karen nextdoor who bakes the boys cookies at the same time she reveals her racism with colorblind rhetoric and coded language petitioning against a Black rap artist’s performance to keep certain kinds of people out of their safe neighborhood.
Despite being somewhat estranged in the years after their parents' passing, the brothers come together and discover the secrets they’ve each been hiding and how the curse connects them to the magic of their regal ancestors in Africa. I found this part of the storyline particularly affecting given that the legacy of slavery continues to rob Black Americans of their genealogies.
Another aspect of this story that I loved was how this trauma gives Alex the maturity and courage he needs to reject the patriarchal norms of masculinity he grew up on and step away from some of the responsibilities he felt compelled to prematurely take on. No one can give Alex, or frankly any Black boy, the childhood they deserve. But he can learn to set boundaries and prioritize his mental health. He can be open about his feelings and nourish and be nourished in meaningful relationships. He can relish joy wherever he creates it or finds it. His feelings matter.
This story lost a star for me due to my frustration over one plot point. In the days leading up to when he expects his brother’s death, Alex wants to give his brother happy and fun final days. However, in connection with the curse, he’s also set on forcing both himself and his brother to face their worst fears. These motives felt contradictory to me, and I don’t feel like that contradiction was acknowledged or reconciled as Alex vacillated between these conflicting desires.
Also, read the acknowledgements. They’re as beautiful as the story.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Simon and Schuster Children's Publishing for giving me advance access to this book in exchange for an honest review.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Car accident, Child death, Death, Death of parent, Grief, Gun violence, Mass/school shootings, Mental illness, Murder, Panic attacks/disorders, and Racism
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