Author and poet Amber McBride's bewitching, breathtaking debut, Me (Moth), won a slew of awards and was a National Book Award finalist. Her third novel-in-verse for young adults, The Leaving Room (also a National Book Award finalist), is a mere hair's breadth away from the majesty and sheer power of her debut.
Gospel is a Keeper, a being made of "only atoms,/ matter & some otherness." She lives in "a closet that you can't escape" that she has covered with paintings and filled with soft furniture, making sure the kettle is always on and the kitchen stocked. Gospel doesn't know how other Keepers greet their Leavers, "but only children come to [Gospel's] Leaving Room.../ & children require dessert, moonsets & warm blankets." It is Gospel's job to convince the dead to move on through the Leaving Room, though she herself, soulless as she is, may never leave: "there/ are/ no/ doors." And then, suddenly, one appears.
McBride is without doubt a talented poet, but it is her plotting, world building, and the way she formats her work that makes The Leaving Room an extraordinary, irresistible read. The book is broken into eight parts, each with a title, name, or stage of grief, a description, and a number that shrinks as the story continues: "Stage 1: Denial/ (Maple, Age 5)/ 03:30/ Denial, n.:/ Avoiding the exactness of reflections." McBride's text is brilliantly sparse as it builds its central mystery, but there is wholeness in the space between the words, a place that binds. This book is for young poets and children and teens who love the written word. --Siân Gaetano, children's and YA editor, Shelf Awareness