I cried at my college graduation. It was supposed to be a pinnacle of academic achievement, a day of celebration, and I was bereft. I was certain of nothing except these words thrumming in my head: I'm not ready. And I wasn't. I wasn't ready to leave behind that place and the safety it had afforded me. I wasn't ready to leave behind my people, the ones who loved me despite myself and showed me what friendship meant. I wasn't ready to leave behind the girl I had become there, and I was so scared she wouldn't come with me.

I've been recalling that part of my story because of this story: David Arnold's The Strange Fascinations of Noah Hypnotik. If it were possible to bottle late adolescence, all the turmoil and uncertainty, all its joy and shimmer and pain and quiet, all of it, this book would be it.

No, this book would be what happened if you took that bottle, shook it wildly, and then released its contents into the air.

No, that's still not it. This book is what happens when you do all that, and the moment the contents of the bottle spray into the air, each fragment hardens into colored glass and kaleidoscopes across the sky. This book is both very real and full of very real magic.

Noah Oakman is looking at senior year square in the eye, and he's not ready. The college coaches are still calling despite the back injury that has kept him out of the pool for weeks. His parents think he should accept an offer if one comes, but he's not sure. The one thing he is sure of is his friendship with twins Val and Alan. Their history is rich, going back years. It is constant and stable and true.

In fact, a lot of things are constant in Noah's life. A huge David Bowie fan, Noah wears the same Bowie t-shirt and pants every day (they're clean; he has multiples). His parents always watch an episode of Friends at night before bed. He keeps his room orderly and his furniture at right angles.

The night before school starts, Val and Alan drag Noah to a party where he gets drunk and meets a kid named Circuit, who is the first to hear what's really on Noah's mind:

I want a new trajectory. Everything -- everyone -- in my life is stagnant. I'm not saying I'm better than anyone. For all I know, everyone else is growing too, just in different ways, but -- it's like my life is this old sweater. And I've outgrown it.

Circuit gets it. Back at his house, Circuit shows Noah the invention his dad was still perfecting when he died, and then,

"Ready?" he asks, and I think, Ready for what, weirdo?
All that comes out is, "Okay."

Before Noah understands what's happening, Circuit has hypnotized him. When Noah wakes up, everything is different. Not a lot. Just weird stuff. Like how the family dog who would regularly walk into walls is now spry and alert. Or the new scar on his mom's face. Or how Val's photography -- which was always about movies -- is now all about music?

But some things haven't changed, most notably his Strange Fascinations. From a dropped photograph to an old man who walks every day, these things have obsessed Noah, and because they seem to be the only constants in this new version of his world, he decides to find out why.

What follows is equal parts beautiful and complicated, painful and full of joy. Just like adolescence, in fact. To go into more detail would spoil the half-mystery, half-discovery that is this book. Rest assured that the dialogue will be beyond clever, and there will be insights peppered throughout, like this from Noah's mom, describing how parents want to help their kid through the puzzle of growing up, but can't:

You think you have so much time to work on the map, to make it just right. And then one day you wake up to find your perfect, lovely child is already there, right in the thick of the maze. You were so diligent, kept watch every night, and you don't know when or how it happened, but it did. Your kid is in the maze without a map, and there's nothing you can do but watch.

Or when Noah's dad asks, "You ready?" and Noah wonders

if such a thing as being ready is even possible given the discrepancy between the world we've been promised and the broken instrument we've received.

The truth is none of us is ever ready. But we are hopeful. And that's sort of the same thing. In an interview, Arnold explained that the process of writing this book was really personal, but goes on to say,

Now that it's written, I guess I want the book to be for anyone who has ever been offered some dim version of the world and thought, "Surely it's brighter than that."

If that's you, read this book. And like Noah, you might just come out the other side realizing

that this world is both very real and full of very real magic.

The Strange Fascinations of Noah Hypnotik is full of quantum physics and philosophy, friendship and failure, loneliness and creativity and love, and it is the kind of book you want to press into the hands of every clever teenager, each of them so smart and covered over with questions, each of them ready and not ready all at the same time. Tell them, just read this, trust me, it's exactly what you want.

Each Sunday, I post a brief introduction to a collection of poetry I've been loving. I include one poem that I think really sings. No review. No need. If it's here, you'll know I recommend it. If you have one to recommend (yours or someone else's), send it along. I'll do my best to be here every Sunday.


On Thursday night, I "attended" the Book Lovers Ball for Milkweed Editions. If this non-profit publisher is new to you, please go now and explore their site and the collection of amazing works they have ushered into this world. The evening was unobtrusive, unaggressive, and unquestionably inspiring. Ada Limón, published by Milkweed, was one of the featured authors, and I am still thinking about her words, her insistence in these difficult times that yes, we need food and shelter, and yes, of course, we need equity and justice. And yes, even now, always now, we need imagination.

My love of Ada Limón's poetry has been established for some time, but until today, I hadn't yet read her early collection Sharks in the Rivers. This collection does not rival The Carrying in my mind, the more mature collection singing more clearly for this reader. But it contains several shimmering examples of her excellence, such as "The Widening Road":

All winter the road has been paved in rain,

holding its form as if made of its own direction.

We have a lot of these days. Or not.

A woman in a car staring out, her hands going numb.

When did the world begin to push us so quickly?

A blue jay flies low over her into the madrones.

She can still see it -- its bright movements rocking a branch --

surely delighted that it matches the sky.

The honest clouds.

A tenderness grows like a fluttering in her hand.

She wants to hold it in her arms but not pin it down,

the way the tree holds the jay generously

in its willful branches. The spring is blowing

through her, pulling the dead debris free from her limbs.

She cannot decide what she desires, but today it is enough

that she desires and desires. That she is a body

in the world, wanting, the wind itself becoming

her own wild whisper.

Sara Beth West


is a reader and a writer, offering book reviews and interviews with leading writers and thinkers.

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