LEARNING TO SWIM

In episodic free verse, Turner tells of the summer she was raped repeatedly by a neighbor boy. The six-year-old narrator relates both joyful and horrifying scenes in short lines of three or fewer beats: “the motor purrs and drips, / we speak softly / as if in church,” “and I am cutting you / into little pieces / that I will bury / in the meadow / outside / when there is no moon / and no stars.” Each scene is completed in less than a page, and as the verses are printed only on odd pages (facing blank white), each stands alone sharply, then fades to the next, as if they were episodes in a home movie, with Turner’s ever-present rhythm running in the background like the projector’s motor. Her language is regular and prose-like, and though no one poem stands on its own, the entire narrative works together as one. The book is divided into three sections, “sailing,” “sinking,” and “swimming,” harking to the tenacious metaphor of the title. Two longer poems, in italics and in Turner’s adult voice, ceremoniously commence and complete the exorcism of the memoir. Though not as strong as the main narrative (and not necessary to it), they provide a contextual entry for the teenage audience the book is intended for (and will appeal to, despite the character’s age). Teen readers will appreciate this work not just for its story, but for its illustration of the writing process and the power one can wield with words. Three national 24-hour help lines are listed in the back. (Fiction. 12+)