Literary categories are famously hard to define. I’ve gone on before about who decides what’s considered “literary fiction” vs. “genre fiction”, and whether the distinction is important. Plenty of books we’ve read in our Book of the Month Club straddle the lines between sci-fi, fantasy, and “speculative fiction”, with none falling easily into one bracket or the other. But even with the examples we’ve seen on this blog, none of the literary classifications is more amorphous than the elusive “young adult” category. 

Often shortened to “YA”, young adult novels are built to bridge the gap between children’s books and books for adults, specifically targeted toward kids somewhere between the awkwardness of puberty and their first legal drink at a bar. The problem is, YA fiction is meant to be a teen’s first foray into adult topics, leading to a very blurry line between which books are for teenagers and which are intended for a more adult audience. Instead of trying to parse this distinction, publishers are going all-in on the YA classification, spending money on poppy covers and flashy marketing that appeals to kids and adults alike. It’s been a slow growth– much like the gradual inclusion of fanfiction tropes in mass-market paperbacks– but in the last 20 years, the YA category has enjoyed more widespread market success than ever before. 

I didn’t notice the market trend when it began its initial ramp-up. All I knew was that when I finally had gotten to the point of picking out my own books at the library and local bookshops in my teens, I had a lot of options. The widespread success of books like The Hunger Games and Twilight meant I had shelves and shelves of YA books to go through. Books like Percy Jackson, Maximum Ride, and The Fault In Our Stars made their way in and out of my backpack throughout high school, along with sillier, less famous titles like Tithe and Eighth Grade Bites. It wasn’t until I hit college and entered a nearly five-year-long reading hiatus that YA enjoyed its biggest boom yet.

After my hiatus, I started where I’d left off in the YA section. I discovered that most of the newer YA I was reading had the same focus of the YA I’d loved in the past: high emotional stakes, complex interpersonal drama, and fantastical setups that offered safe takes on more adult topics like war, illness, death, and sex. These are the things YA does best and what it’s meant to do– appeal to teens whose young, impassioned emotions make them go a little insane while still imparting some fundamental truth they may need in their adult lives. But, even after giving YA a chance several times over since my return to reading, I realized that somewhere in my five years of limited reading, I’d grown out of YA. Young adult novels just don’t do it for me anymore.

That’s not to say YA novels are bad. Absolutely not. I will defend YA books like His Dark Materials and A Series of Unfortunate Events to my grave. However, I’ve read enough YA books that, unless something about the plot, setting, or characters is truly unique, it’s difficult for any to hold my interest. So, when I was recommended The Last Words We Said, I was initially hesitant about yet another YA book about a teen’s first loss. But, after a bit more research, I was intrigued by the focus on a kind of character, culture, and faith I’d never seen in a YA book before. Even with my general disinterest in YA, I knew it had a place on this year’s book list. 

The Last Words We Said by author Leah Scheier follows three teens in a Modern Orthodox Jewish community after the disappearance of their friend, Danny. Rae, who’s pulled away from her faith, turns to rage-baking. Deenie doubles down, following stricter and more obscure doctrine to the point where her friends and family begin to grow concerned. Meanwhile, Ellie, Danny’s girlfriend, continues to hold out hope that Danny will return– after all, she still sees him every day. A novel about navigating the murky waters of grief, loss, and faith, Scheier’s The Last Words We Said brings a fresh viewpoint to the YA scene through its dual timelines and dive into a Modern Orthodox Jewish community. 

While YA novels about coping with loss abound, Scheier manages to make Last Words compelling by splitting the narrative between the past and present, often muddling the two through the eyes of an unreliable narrator. Each chapter is tackled in parallel, with the past and the current (real or imagined) events playing off one another to heighten the mystery that lies at the center of the book: What did happen to Danny? Even as the reader pieces together the puzzle of the night Danny disappeared, the two timelines begin to frazzle, sometimes a single timeline disappearing altogether as the intensity becomes too much for the narrator to handle. It’s a clever way to deepen the reader’s suspense and curiosity, and Scheier manages to keep the mystery a secret to the very end. 

Clever writing of an overused plot aside, what really held my interest throughout the book was the attention paid to the characters’ faith and shared community. Having grown up atheist in a mostly-Protestant town, I’ve had little exposure to religions outside of Christian denominations. Seeing a Modern Orthodox Jewish community represented with such detail and care gave me a window into a culture I’ve never seen in, frankly, any other modern fiction. The novel was just as much about dealing with grief as it was about navigating faith in the face of modern teenage problems like social media usage, sexuality, and underage drinking. Religion, while it may not be for me, can be a foundational character motivator and community touchpoint– both of which Scheier used in The Last Words We Said to great advantage. Even when the plot flagged or the characters got a little too deep into the high school drama, the unique viewpoint from the three girls living and engaging in their religious community kept me turning the pages. 

That said, there was a point where I wished there weren’t so many pages to turn. Though The Last Words We Said was, in general, well-plotted and thought through, a few areas of the book stuck out as rough around the edges. Namely, the ending. To keep the reader’s interest in Danny’s mystery, who he was, and what led to his disappearance, Scheier planted several hooks throughout the novel, each clearly signaling relevance to the plot. By the time the book’s central conflict was resolved, though, several hooks were left dangling. In the last twenty pages, the author wraps each loose plot thread up, but few have true relevance to the story with the climax in the rearview mirror. It leads to an ending that fizzles under the weight of having to fill in the blanks.

The ending, for me, is an objective issue; my disinterest is much more subjective. As I’ve mentioned before, YA books are no longer a category I find myself wanting more of, mainly due to the characters. They can’t help being teenagers with big emotions; if anything, a cast of self-absorbed, highly emotional teenagers is a mark of a good YA writer. It shows they know their audience and can connect with them. I, on the other hand, am approaching thirty. Two 16-year-olds professing love and an intention to marry someday doesn’t hold the same emotional weight as it did when I was a hormone-driven high schooler. So, while I can appreciate the book for what it does well and for the unique perspective into a religious community I’ve rarely seen represented in fiction, it wasn’t a book I would have chosen for myself, nor will I likely revisit it. 

Don’t let my personal opinion on YA novels yuck your yum, though. If YA novels hit a sweet spot for you, give The Last Words We Said a shot. It’s a well-written, intense novel that keeps the reader guessing to the end. Even with an overused premise, the setting, characters, and community within the novel manage to make it stand out in a way that, in my opinion at least, a lot of other YA doesn’t. 

With that said, thank you all for your patience in waiting for this reflection. It’s the first time I’ve ever been “late” on the blog, and, knowing me, it probably won’t be the last. Regardless, I appreciate all of you continuing to read and support me, even when I put out the reflections on the literal last day of the month. 😉

Thanks, friends– see you next month. Happy reading and happy sipping!