The Living is a far cry from Matt de la Peña's 2016 Newbery Medal-winning picture book, Last Stop on Market Street. Bringing a fresh, cinematic perspective on the awesome scope of disaster stories to teen literature, Matt de la Peña crafts an extraordinarily immediate adventure novel from page one, portraying the romance of an ocean cruise with palpably atmospheric delight. He gets all the little details right to build the ambience of the scene: the carefree demeanor of super-rich passengers on a luxury liner, the slick, professional card dealers standing by twenty-four hours a day to engage customers in gambling action, the cavernous dimensions of the ship, which provide plenty of space for clandestine behavior and conversations onboard. Matt de la Peña has cracked the code for creating scenes that feel raw and out of control, thrusting the reader into the position of the lead characters so the story feels as uncontrived as if we were the one pushing the action, and that's a rare accomplishment for any writer. We feel the inevitability of approaching calamity even as the ship glides smoothly through tame waters, a gargantuan hulk that seems impossible for nature to sink, and we know the disaster is going to be that much worse when it slams us with the full fury of the natural world scorned. At the height of the ship's regal prime, we stare dozens of stories down from its balconies into the mysterious black ocean and feel a little fear for the power of waves that can rise hundreds of feet from the depths to obliterate the stoutest vehicle made by man. We uneasily imagine freakish creatures lurking below the opaque surface: razor-toothed, electrified, and separated from their human prey only by the marine steel of the floating hotel that carries them. The rich won't maintain their elevated station forever, we sense from the opening of this novel. Nature will pull an equalizer sooner or later, and when it does, its wrath will spare no one.
When a teacher hooks Shy Espinoza up with summer employment on a cruise ship to bank some cash for future college expenses, he's all for it, though he feels guilty leaving his family in their time of grief. Shy's grandmother just succumbed to a fast-acting virus known as Romero Disease, a vicious plague that bloodies victims and robs them of their rational mind before killing them a day or two after symptoms appear. Shy figures that for the duration of the cruise he won't have to dwell on what Romero Disease cost his family, until he meets Carmen, a fellow teen employee who recently lost her father to the same cruel malady. Their shared ordeal brings them together as close friends, and Shy, at least, feels more for Carmen than friendship, though his bad luck is far from over. On Shy's first voyage, a VIP passenger leaps from the highest deck to the ocean dozens of stories below. Shy restrains him for a moment when he sees the man attempting suicide, but his girth is too much for Shy to support until reinforcements arrive, and he tumbles to his death in the choppy waters. Investigators easily conclude that Shy bears no culpability in the suicide, but he isn't finished answering questions about the incident.
After Shy's friend Kyle, a tenured staff member on the cruise liner, pulls Shy aside to alert him there's a man in a black suit on the ship asking questions about him, Shy grows uneasy. The authorities got all the information out of him that he considered pertinent, but the jumper told him more than he's shared. The man rambled on about being the face of corruption and implied he'd personally wronged Shy, but Shy had never met him. Now he's wondering if the VIP was involved in something illegal that has other powerful individuals concerned he may have told Shy too much before ending his own life, and Shy has enough troubles without getting caught in a web of corporate crime. His relationship with Carmen has been tenuous since the night Shy gave in a little too much to his attraction to her and she initially responded in kind before shrinking away from the heat of passion, stricken at the thought of betraying her fiancé back home. Now Carmen hesitates to hang around Shy, and he has to rebuild the bridge. He'd be miserable if Carmen gave him the cold shoulder under ordinary circumstances, but with the man in the black suit stalking him, he needs her support more than ever. When Shy's fun-loving roommate, Rodney, calls him to their cabin to see that someone broke in and ransacked the place while they were both on duty, Shy's dread weighs even more heavily. Something serious is up with the black-suited man, and it could be dangerous for Shy and his friends. He seeks refuge with Carmen, trying to persuade her to give their friendship another go, but she's still wary that spending time with Shy could compromise her engagement.
Even veteran crew members appear unnerved when reports of a whopping storm hit the wire. The ship's emcee informs its patrons of precautionary measures to minimize the storm's impact, including temporarily closing all outdoor decks and evacuating large interior dining areas. Passengers will be safest tucked away in their cabins when the monster squall descends on the big boat. Shy and the other employees aren't afforded that luxury; they're responsible for shutting down the decks and securing anything that could get blown off the ship, and Shy can see on the horizon as he battens down the figurative hatches that the maelstrom is a huge one. But the cruise liner's prognosis isn't called into question until radio bulletins from the West Coast report an earthquake the size of which the United States has never seen. The Big One has arrived, and its rage is absolute. The coast is in ruins, major cities such as Los Angeles and Seattle practically razed to the ground. Wildfires are torching California, Washington, and Oregon, and Romero Disease has reared its gory head to infect thousands of new patients. The death toll is estimated at more than a million. Shy's family lives right outside San Diego, and Carmen's isn't far away. Most of the crew and passengers are from the West Coast, and none of them know if their loved ones are alive.
The worst effect of the unprecedented earthquake is the unreal tsunamis it's triggered, walls of salt water rising hundreds of feet as they gain momentum over the ocean...headed directly for the cruise liner. Watching the monstrous sea climb from its bed and overtake the ship is a terror Shy won't forget the rest of his life, however long that lasts. The hardiest ship made by man is no match for the ocean gone mad, homicidal waves destroying every vestige of the ship's protection and instantly slaying the unprepared. Life has reverted to man versus nature, challenging the resourceful to figure a way to continue breathing through the next minute. The ocean has many ways to murder a man, allowing no opportunity for the petty prejudices and grudges people form under ordinary circumstances. To make it through this disaster, enemies have to pull together as the roiling seas buffet them and lightning slices the water all around, a cosmic death lottery ready to send a billion volts into the loser. Not dying is the survivors' only goal, but secrets are still at work behind the canvas, waiting to seize control again should anyone withstand the tsunami and its aftermath. Not every survivor deserves to live, and not everyone who endures the storm will outlast the stunning duplicity of evil humans, motivated by greed and the desire to elude punishment for their lawlessness. Whose lungs will still draw breath by page three hundred eight of this book, alive to contend again with forces natural and contrived in the concluding volume?
What makes The Living special is the intelligent intricacy of its connections. The smallest snatch of overheard conversation between two ostensibly unimportant parties can turn out to be significant later, as storylines crisscross and the complexity of the big picture clarifies. Matt de la Peña concocts story surprises with impressive creativity, and pulls it all together with some of the most effective atmospheric writing I've read in a YA novel this side of Patrick Ness, Neal Shusterman, John Green, and Alexander Gordon Smith. The feeling can't be adequately conveyed in a review; you have to pick up the book and experience it yourself, but you'll soon see what I'm talking about as the narrative pulls you in and picks up speed like a runaway railcar moving too quickly for you to jump off. Matt de la Peña's talent is obvious, and he gets the most out of it in The Living. Besides the torrid pace of the action and unforeseen twists the plot takes, the writing demonstrates the emotional depth and wisdom of a Newbery Medal author, digging deeper into the cataclysmic situation to mine useful thoughts for when one is faced with crisis in real life. Shy is as panicked as anyone when the tsunami bowls over the ship like a professional football linebacker crushing a five-year-old, but the cruise service is paying him a good wage to look after its passengers even under dire circumstances, and Shy is ready to come through for them. He discovers as he shifts focus from his own impending mortality to assuaging the fears of customers that thinking first of others calms him, too. It's a way of retaining a small measure of control amidst bedlam. After reuniting a tearful kid with his distraught mother, "Shy decided something: This was what he had to do. Help people. Because when he helped people, he didn't try to guess what was happening and he didn't worry. He just acted." I've rarely heard better advice. When we brood over our own concerns in life, they can eat us alive, stress munching our insides like a killer shark. It eases the mind to focus instead on soothing the ills and anxieties of others, pouring our energy into helping them feel better. By genuinely thinking first of them we build stronger relationships than normal, and attain higher perspective on the travails that torment us. However dramatic or mundane your affliction, there's no elixir for what ails you like caring for others.
Disaster beyond the scale of what we think possible is an absolute equalizer among human beings. We construct fences and bow to invisible class distinctions that divide us from one another in society, but a ravenous tsunami can wipe them out and send us back to start on life's game board. Shy considers this when he winds up sharing an emergency boat with an oil tycoon whose puffed-up demeanor has shrunk now that the most precious things in his life are gone and he's as vulnerable to death as Shy. "Maybe that's what a nasty shark bite did, Shy thought. It stripped away all the arrogant thoughts people had about themselves." When the shark is large and savage enough to do you real damage, the lofty towers you've built no longer seem as stable as you deluded yourself into believing. We're all frail humans prone to error, wrongdoing, pain, and death, and no amount of prestige is a get-out-of-jail-free card to the human condition. A gory shark bite, literal or metaphorical, changes our perspective in a flash.
"It all came down to this. The darkness. The loneliness. The mystery. The fact that everyone's days were numbered, and it didn't matter if you were in premier class or worked in housekeeping. Those were only costumes people wore. And once you stripped them away you saw the truth. This giant ocean and this dark pressing sky. We only have a few minutes, but the unexplainable world is constant and forever marching forward."
—The Living, P. 196
Shy has a hard time maintaining appropriate distance from Carmen; he wants to respect the boundaries of her betrothal, but what he feels for her makes that difficult. How do you restrain yourself from being close to the one you love, the one you wish you were promised to wed? This is one of several scenarios in which Shy struggles to do right by others, but being worthy of your beloved can mean acting gallantly when you'd rather be a no-good pirate. A dying ship passenger who lost his own beloved reminds Shy in his final hours that glamor and riches only go so far in impressing a girl; if you haven't won her heart, you've earned nothing of lasting value. "'Be the right person,' he said. 'Gifts are more meaningful when they come from the right person.'" Relationships are no less complicated in the wake of brutal natural catastrophe, Shy discovers. But disaster can clear up our feelings and show us what we must do to be the right person for those we love.
The Living isn't much like the legendary 1997 motion picture Titanic, but the stories share an unfailing respect for the enigmas of the ocean, a magical sense of the sea's power to effortlessly alter the course of human lives. I could almost hear James Horner's haunting musical score in the background as I read, the writing so evokes the vast majesty of the impregnable sea. At no time is this more evident than when Shy is stranded in the middle of the agitated ocean extending to the horizon in every direction, seemingly infinite. "And as his mind continued drifting away from his body, he had one final realization. The world itself was alive, too. It swirled around you and sped past your eyes and ears, so fast you could never see it, but slow at the same time, like a tree growing taller in a park. And all the sounds you heard—the wind whipping past your ears and the ocean's whispering and the trickle of whitecaps against your boat—that was the earth's blood pumping through imperceptible veins, and some of those veins were nothing more than people". Matt de la Peña's facility with words is enchanting, a huge part of how he was able to spin this promising story concept into literary gold. Not many could have done it so well.
Ubiquitous use of foul language renders The Living questionable reading material for younger kids, but it's such a strong novel that if you can ignore adult language, you should give it a read. Matt de la Peña won his Newbery Medal for a picture book, but The Living proves he knows what he's doing as a novelist. It's arguably even better than Last Stop on Market Street, which I loved. The cover blurb is from James Dashner, and I can see why he was selected: their writing styles are similar in certain respects, but different enough that they can admire each other's work without the praise suggesting narcissistic satisfaction with their own writing. There's one more book to come with this cast of characters—The Hunted hit shelves in 2015—and I eagerly anticipate reentering their heart-pounding adventure. I'd probably give The Living three and a half stars, and if I wasn't sold on Matt de la Peña before, the mortgage on me as a loyal reader is now paid off in full. I can hardly wait to find out where this storytelling superstar will take me next.