Norah Piehl

Those who remember all too well the tragedy of September 11, 2001, may not recall another tragedy that occurred in its immediate aftermath. On November 12, American Airlines Flight 587, en route from New York City to the Dominican Republic, crashed in Queens, killing all 260 people on board, the vast majority of whom were of Dominican descent.

The tragic stories of the lives lost on board Flight 587 and those of the families left behind, as well as author Elizabeth Acevedo’s own memories of trips to visit relatives in the Dominican Republic, inspired Clap When You Land. The book sees Acevedo return triumphantly to the novel-in-verse format of her multiple award-winning debut, The Poet X.

Sixteen-year-old Camino Rios is meeting her father at the Santo Domingo airport. He lives in the United States much of the year but spends summers in the Dominican Republic. Camino, whose mother died a decade earlier, dreams of moving to New York City for college and then medical school. She can’t wait to finally be closer to her beloved father.

Thousands of miles away in New York City, Yahaira Rios has just said goodbye to her father, who supports her love of competitive chess and always encourages her to follow her dreams. Yahaira misses him when he returns to the Dominican Republic each summer, but this year, her feelings are more complicated. She’s recently learned a secret about her father that she hasn’t admitted to anyone.

Both Yahaira and Camino are on the cusp of a terrible loss—and of a profound discovery about their families and the surprising, sometimes uneasy connection between them.

Clap When You Land explores themes of heredity, class and privilege, as well as the complex, conflicted emotions the girls feel toward their birthplaces and homes. Acevedo handles all of these themes with a lyricism and sensitivity to language that make Camino’s and Yahaira’s struggles and joys, both individual and shared, all the more powerful.

Readers unaccustomed to verse narratives will quickly settle into the book’s generally short stanzas and conversational tone. Passages that are more deliberately poetic in style, such as the description of a burial that uses short lines to make the text resemble a deep hole, or a scene of violence in which the verses—like the narrator’s thoughts—grow increasingly fragmented, encourage readers to read slowly and even pause in order to fully experience both the characters’ powerful emotions and Acevedo’s tremendous skill at conveying them and transforming them into art.

Clap When You Land gets its title from the Dominican tradition of applauding when a plane touches down safely at its destination. By the story’s end, readers will be ready to give Yahaira, Camino and Acevedo herself a standing ovation.

To her family and friends, Kiera Johnson is popular, a good big sister, an honors student, talented at math and likely to attend historically black Spelman College after she graduates from predominantly white Jefferson Academy, where she too often feels singled out as the “voice of Blackness.” But unbeknownst to everyone in her real life, Kiera is also Emerald, the developer of SLAY, one of the hottest new virtual reality role-playing games.

Tired of playing video games in which the only characters of color are villains or dwarves, and weary of encountering racial slurs hurled at her by other players’ avatars, Kiera developed SLAY to create a place where black gamers could play safely online. In the world of her game, black culture is not only respected but is actually the source of players’ power.

But when a black teenager is shot to death over a SLAY-related dispute, Kiera begins to question everything, from the possibility of her own culpability in the player’s murder to whether, as one particularly insidious online troll suggests, the game’s Afrocentric focus and referrals-only membership system discriminate against gamers who are not black.

Debut novelist Brittney Morris admirably melds Kiera’s real-life and online worlds in Slay while illustrating the diversity of experiences and philosophies within the black community. Morris intersperses vignettes that explore the varied experiences of black gamers around the world and what SLAY means to them amid detailed depictions of online gameplay and Kiera’s rapidly escalating real-world crises. 

Readers will cheer for Kiera as she slays her own demons, and they’ll come away from the novel desperately wishing SLAY were more than the product of Morris’ imagination.

The summer between junior and senior year in high school is a crossroads for many people, but perhaps especially so for Serena Velasco and her best (and only) friend, Melody Grimshaw. Both of them have just failed Western Civ—Serena because she prefers to use her considerable intelligence and anti-authoritarian outlook to challenge her teacher’s pro-democracy viewpoints, and Melody because she believes on some level that she, like all the Grimshaws before her, is fated to never graduate from high school.

The Grimshaws have a bad reputation in Colchis, the small, economically depressed upstate New York town where they live. Serena doesn’t care about public opinion, but that’s easy for her to say. Her mother is the school principal, and her stepfather is a realtor, so although they still need to worry about money, they are worlds away from Melody and the rest of the Grimshaws. Serena knows that she could easily go to college and even get a scholarship if she only applied herself. Melody’s road out of Colchis is much less obvious. She is a talented dancer, but without means or opportunity, how can she pursue her talent and her dream?

Tolman’s debut novel is mature and sophisticated, both in its subject matter, which is frequently dark, and in its narrative structure. The chronology covers a little over a year, and the prose, especially near the novel’s end, is beautifully ambiguous. At the heart of this sometimes difficult but ultimately rewarding novel, however, is a realistic portrait of two friends coming to terms with the widening gulf between their future paths, and navigating whether and how they can reconverge.

There’s no shortage of Jane Austen retellings. But it’s safe to say that none of them are quite like Ibi Zoboi’s modern-day reimagining of Pride and Prejudice. Zoboi, whose prior novel, American Street, was a finalist for the National Book Award, continues her exploration of the complexities of American neighborhoods through a love story worthy of the legacy of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

Zoboi’s novel is set in Bushwick, a Brooklyn neighborhood whose residents—like narrator Zuri Benitez and her family—are largely working-class African-Americans and Latinos who have lived there for decades. But Bushwick appears next in line for gentrification, and Zuri’s not sure she likes the changes. Her concerns come to a head when the Darcys, a wealthy black family, move across the street, completely changing her street’s culture. Zuri can’t deny that the younger Darcy brother, Darius, is fine—but she can’t get over her resentment of what the Darcys stand for, nor can she forgive Darius’ own prejudices about the Benitez family’s very different lifestyle.

Pride is not a connect-the-dots retelling, and that’s what makes it so compelling. Zoboi utilizes Pride and Prejudice’s dramatic potential to set the stage, but Zuri and Darius’ story stands on its own. Likewise, Zoboi’s treatment of race, class and gentrification will effectively open some readers’ eyes while also resonating deeply with those who see these issues playing out in their own lives.

This article was originally published in the September 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.