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A review by thelizabeth
Tell The Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt
5.0
This was so wonderful, please love this book with me.
I'm having a soft spot lately for YA that the author sets back in the decade they grew up in. (The other one coming to mind is In Zanesville, which opened a door to a bunch of memoir-novels for me.) This book is definitely fiction, but it is set in 1987 and written with the details of the world the author lived with as a kid.
There are so many pieces to this story: June is grieving her uncle Finn. June's family is dealing with their feelings about him dying of AIDS. They have this painting he made for them which may be worth a lot of money, but it's complicated. June begins a secret friendship with Finn's boyfriend. And June's older sister is going through some crisis that is throwing everything way off.
Each one of these things is important, but the main thread is certainly June's grief for her uncle. He was her person, who understood her and loved her really well. So what this loss does is help us readers understand who she is. She's fourteen, and hasn't grown into teenagerdom yet — she feels the feelings but still reacts like a young kid. She is in that era where she is starting to understand how strong her feelings are, but not understand that other people also feel them. To her, they are private and nervous and unique, and when someone suggests that they may understand what she feels, she cannot bear to be known so raw. And she can't bear that such big feelings might be common.
She craves adult love but doesn't have a role for it, yet. Part of June's healing her grief for Finn comes from exposing the uncomfortable idea that she was perhaps too in love with her uncle, and this discomfort highlights the way that maturity corrupts really honest feelings had in youth. She wanted Finn to love her more than anyone, and there is a dark innocence there. I thought this was wonderful, because I could completely understand where it was coming from. When I was June's age, I would sometimes fall asleep squeezing my pillow tight, imagining that someone was embracing me back with a deep, appreciative love. And in my imagination, more often than picturing a boyfriend holding me, being in love with me, I would just picture someone who loved me. An imaginary person who loved me more than anyone. I think this is exactly how people transition the need to be loved from childhood longings into adult ones — being gutted by the need to be so special to someone.
This innocence becomes ridiculously complicated once Finn's boyfriend Toby shows up in June's life. She never knew of him before (which gets explained in pieces throughout the novel), but Finn wanted them to help each other grieve after he was gone, so they get in touch. And not coincidentally, Toby is also ill with AIDS, and his clock is ticking. This thread could've gotten really saccharine, but it's way better than that, because Toby is sort of a dingbat? I don't know. He is a wonderful guy and makes poor decisions constantly, so you never really know where this is going. I don't think he's ever known a child before. He wants her to hide their meetings from her parents, he gets her smoking, he gets her drunk, he drives around without a license, he asks her to drive. It all… makes sense, in a way, but is completely wrong. He's fine really, but much in the same way that June feels the need to keep her love for her uncle wrapped up and private… this is a too easily corruptible idea, and it is clearly going to blow up eventually.
And I was gobsmacked by the way that it did. You're wrong if you think you can imagine how this book will end.
But, so, all of June's relationships get thrown up in the air. Who has the right to love someone the most? How do we fit people into hierarchies in our hearts? There are so many feelings about inclusion and secrets and types of love that June has to rip open and confront, and it is really super important for her to do it. One of the things that makes this an interesting coming of age story is in seeing her having to deal with the resistance she gets from adults. It would be easier if they didn't have to confront all those things she is dredging up, actually. But June cannot grow up if they don't.
The presence of AIDS in the story is an interesting one. June's family experiences a ton of fear and discomfort over it. They still worry about catching it, from kisses, from cups. They wonder if Toby can be tried as a murderer. They are embarrassed by the notoriety, and horrified by the loss. It just seems like bad luck, to them, that Finn had to live this way and be in the path of the disease. There is a really quietly sad scene where they're just watching the news as a family, and a story comes on explaining that the AZT drug will be released to the public soon, and they all have to turn the tv off and leave the room and can't talk about it. They feel bitterness and loss in equal measure.
Some things are incredibly important to the story but unfold so slowly, it almost feels like spoilers to talk about how they unwind. There is a painting of June and her sister that Finn painted just before he died, which somehow unfurls and then ties up like six threads in the story, the more we find out about it. (It is also where the book's title comes from, and was maybe my favorite part of the whole thing.) And the very relationship between June and her sister that is depicted there, which is this hard-to-figure-out gamut from antagonists to allies, develops sad and scary edges that eventually demand June's attention, demand our attention.
Also just need to shout out how squeeingly brilliant it was to invent a potential boyfriend-ish for June (who spends much of her time pretending that she is in the Middle Ages) who comes on to her by asking her to play DnD.
The writing is gorgeous, too. I was highlighting constantly, so I could save some of my favorite quotes on my computer after I returned the book to the library. I'm really glad I read this, and I recommend it to everybody who has ever had a feeling.
I'm having a soft spot lately for YA that the author sets back in the decade they grew up in. (The other one coming to mind is In Zanesville, which opened a door to a bunch of memoir-novels for me.) This book is definitely fiction, but it is set in 1987 and written with the details of the world the author lived with as a kid.
There are so many pieces to this story: June is grieving her uncle Finn. June's family is dealing with their feelings about him dying of AIDS. They have this painting he made for them which may be worth a lot of money, but it's complicated. June begins a secret friendship with Finn's boyfriend. And June's older sister is going through some crisis that is throwing everything way off.
Each one of these things is important, but the main thread is certainly June's grief for her uncle. He was her person, who understood her and loved her really well. So what this loss does is help us readers understand who she is. She's fourteen, and hasn't grown into teenagerdom yet — she feels the feelings but still reacts like a young kid. She is in that era where she is starting to understand how strong her feelings are, but not understand that other people also feel them. To her, they are private and nervous and unique, and when someone suggests that they may understand what she feels, she cannot bear to be known so raw. And she can't bear that such big feelings might be common.
She craves adult love but doesn't have a role for it, yet. Part of June's healing her grief for Finn comes from exposing the uncomfortable idea that she was perhaps too in love with her uncle, and this discomfort highlights the way that maturity corrupts really honest feelings had in youth. She wanted Finn to love her more than anyone, and there is a dark innocence there. I thought this was wonderful, because I could completely understand where it was coming from. When I was June's age, I would sometimes fall asleep squeezing my pillow tight, imagining that someone was embracing me back with a deep, appreciative love. And in my imagination, more often than picturing a boyfriend holding me, being in love with me, I would just picture someone who loved me. An imaginary person who loved me more than anyone. I think this is exactly how people transition the need to be loved from childhood longings into adult ones — being gutted by the need to be so special to someone.
This innocence becomes ridiculously complicated once Finn's boyfriend Toby shows up in June's life. She never knew of him before (which gets explained in pieces throughout the novel), but Finn wanted them to help each other grieve after he was gone, so they get in touch. And not coincidentally, Toby is also ill with AIDS, and his clock is ticking. This thread could've gotten really saccharine, but it's way better than that, because Toby is sort of a dingbat? I don't know. He is a wonderful guy and makes poor decisions constantly, so you never really know where this is going. I don't think he's ever known a child before. He wants her to hide their meetings from her parents, he gets her smoking, he gets her drunk, he drives around without a license, he asks her to drive. It all… makes sense, in a way, but is completely wrong. He's fine really, but much in the same way that June feels the need to keep her love for her uncle wrapped up and private… this is a too easily corruptible idea, and it is clearly going to blow up eventually.
And I was gobsmacked by the way that it did. You're wrong if you think you can imagine how this book will end.
But, so, all of June's relationships get thrown up in the air. Who has the right to love someone the most? How do we fit people into hierarchies in our hearts? There are so many feelings about inclusion and secrets and types of love that June has to rip open and confront, and it is really super important for her to do it. One of the things that makes this an interesting coming of age story is in seeing her having to deal with the resistance she gets from adults. It would be easier if they didn't have to confront all those things she is dredging up, actually. But June cannot grow up if they don't.
The presence of AIDS in the story is an interesting one. June's family experiences a ton of fear and discomfort over it. They still worry about catching it, from kisses, from cups. They wonder if Toby can be tried as a murderer. They are embarrassed by the notoriety, and horrified by the loss. It just seems like bad luck, to them, that Finn had to live this way and be in the path of the disease. There is a really quietly sad scene where they're just watching the news as a family, and a story comes on explaining that the AZT drug will be released to the public soon, and they all have to turn the tv off and leave the room and can't talk about it. They feel bitterness and loss in equal measure.
Some things are incredibly important to the story but unfold so slowly, it almost feels like spoilers to talk about how they unwind. There is a painting of June and her sister that Finn painted just before he died, which somehow unfurls and then ties up like six threads in the story, the more we find out about it. (It is also where the book's title comes from, and was maybe my favorite part of the whole thing.) And the very relationship between June and her sister that is depicted there, which is this hard-to-figure-out gamut from antagonists to allies, develops sad and scary edges that eventually demand June's attention, demand our attention.
Also just need to shout out how squeeingly brilliant it was to invent a potential boyfriend-ish for June (who spends much of her time pretending that she is in the Middle Ages) who comes on to her by asking her to play DnD.
The writing is gorgeous, too. I was highlighting constantly, so I could save some of my favorite quotes on my computer after I returned the book to the library. I'm really glad I read this, and I recommend it to everybody who has ever had a feeling.