Y | MARJORIE CELONA | HAMISH HAMILTON CANADA | 2012 |
“My life begins at the Y.” So opens Y, a novel about a wise-beyond-her-years foster child abandoned as a newborn on the doorstep of the local YMCA. Swaddled in a dirty gray sweatshirt with nothing but a Swiss Army knife tucked between her feet, little Shannon is discovered by a man who catches only a glimpse of her troubled mother as she disappears from view. That morning, all three lives are forever changed. Bounced between foster homes, Shannon endures abuse and neglect until she finally finds stability with Miranda, a kind but no-nonsense single mother with a free-spirited daughter of her own. Yet Shannon defines life on her own terms, refusing to settle down, and never stops longing to uncover her roots—especially the stubborn question of why her mother would abandon her on the day she was born.
Before the story begins, a page is dedicated to the various meanings of the letter y. The page claims y to be “that perfect letter.” It represents wishes (a wishbone) and the choice you have to make when a path diverges into two. It’s a question. It’s a short form for “yes,” a word that springs us all into action. “Y, a Greek letter, joined the Latin alphabet after the Romans conquered Greece in the first century – a double agent: consonant and vowel. No one used adverbs before then, and no one was happy.”
This very first page of Y had my mind spinning before the story even began. It’s literary fiction at its best, forcing the reader to think about large questions and apply them to his/her own life. It’s amazing how one thing, one letter, can have so many meanings.
Y continues down this path, only it’s Shannon who asks the questions. Abandoned as a newborn baby, Shannon narrates her way through numerous foster homes and struggles to accept and understand who she is without the knowledge of her past and her family to guide her.
I formed an immediate connection with Shannon. A meaningless fact in the novel struck a chord with me on the third page: “It is August 28th, at five-fifteen a.m.” August 28th is my birthday – and, evidently, Shannon’s birthday as well – so there was an unspoken bond made through circumstance.
Many of the books I love are narrated by children, but aren’t stories for children. Shannon is a great narrator, with all of her second-guessing and longing for acceptance. It is heartbreaking to read about some of her more troubling times in foster care and even more heartbreaking to read how her personality changes for the worse as she grows older. The past haunts and breaks her. She doesn’t cope well with not having the answers to her questions.
Y is a coming-of-age tale that feels different than other books in this category. It isn’t heavy with morality tales or life lessons, but instead tells the story of a troubled girl, and her troubled mother, both searching for answers. “Like mother, like daughter” is a strong sentiment in the novel even though Shannon and Yula’s lives take place a generation apart.
The back cover copy explains the heart of the book so wonderfully: “Y is a novel that asks “why?” even as it reveals that the answer isn’t always clear and that it may not always matter.”
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