ASH & FEATHER

In this illustrated novel, a teenage girl learns to truly live while confronting the reality of death.

With summer vacation winding down, 14-year-old Phoenix is looking forward to starting eighth grade. But one week before school begins, her parent, Eagle, is diagnosed with brain cancer. Reeling from the news, Phoenix attempts to separate her worlds: the one at school, where she tries to be a “normal” student (but still finds that “the cancer ghost walks behind” her), and the one at home, where she and her grandparent, Duck, try to care for Eagle during his illness. All the while, Phoenix finds that wings are beginning to sprout from her shoulder blades—making real her desire to be both “human and bird.” She finds unexpected comfort and acceptance in a new friend from school, the colorful and eternally optimistic Ing. But soon the family trio discovers that a coyote is waiting in the wings, biding its time while it tries to steal the headdress that Eagle wears as part of his cancer treatment. This savage, eternally hungry representation of death stalks the family until Phoenix slowly learns to embrace her new wings and become the kind of person—and bird—who loves without fear. Using magical realism to blend the real and supernatural, Frances writes in nonrhyming verse form, with the formatting of the words sometimes echoing the action itself (the words “bird / spiraled / down,” for example, drops down the page). Each page features unique black-and-white block prints, with some covering the whole page and others adding small narrative details on the text pages.

Frances’ words and illustrations stack upon each other to form a compelling series of images that plays upon the book’s powerful themes of love and death. One full-page print, for example, shows a black silhouette of Phoenix wearing a hoodie, all human except for one arm that is a wing and the opposite foot that is a bird claw. It’s a visual feast based on a story that seemingly draws much of its animal representation from Native American lore. This is perhaps most obvious in the character of the coyote: “Coyote crawls through the window, / eyes gleaming, teeth snarling. / ‘Come to the table, Eagle. / Let me test your blood.’/ Needles and playing cards fall from the sky.” Phoenix’s journey toward acceptance and healing involves many starts and stops, eloquently reflecting the fluid emotions that people (especially teenagers) experience during times of upheaval. Some instances may strike a chord even among those who haven’t experienced a serious medical diagnosis in their family, especially since Frances has a knack for capturing the universal difficulties of existence: “So she did the hard thing– / she let herself feel everything / she let herself burn.” While some younger readers may struggle with accepting the book’s various animals and nature as metaphors for such ephemeral concepts as death and hope, the physical representation of these ideas creates its own kind of power: “After school, / I crawl on my hands and knees / into the river. / My wings are damp. / I cannot fly. / But maybe I can swim.” Frances has crafted a modern-day folktale that accomplishes the unique feat of providing both entertainment and catharsis.

Rich language and striking visuals reveal emotional lessons about family, resolution, and love.