Nick Lake's reputation as a YA novelist was secured when he won the 2013 Michael L. Printz Award for In Darkness. His subsequent thrillers and mysteries would add shine to his name, but eclipsing the accomplishment of In Darkness was not necessary for him to have a noteworthy career. There Will Be Lies hit the market in 2015 surrounded by hype, teasing the same sort of mind-blowing plot revelations as E. Lockhart's We Were Liars. Nothing compares to a novel like that when it works, all the seemingly disjointed pieces slowly coming together to form a picture of the shocking truth that had been artfully concealed to that point. We Were Liars was like that; so was Robert Cormier's I Am the Cheese, Gary Paulsen's The Rifle, and Neal Shusterman's Skinjacker trilogy. There Will Be Lies was potentially four hundred fifty-four pages of the same, a master storyteller outwitting his readers on every page toward a conclusion that would leave us speechless. It's rare for an author to pull that off, but when they do, it's a pleasure beyond description.
Shelby Cooper, age seventeen, doesn't seem so different from other girls. She lives only with her mother, who is reluctant to let Shelby out of her sight for even an hour or two, but most parents are overprotective to some degree. Shelby has always home-schooled, and hasn't interacted much with others her own age. Her mother warns her about men, the dark thoughts they harbor toward girls, so Shelby is careful never to trust men if she can help it. Her structured life comes apart when she's hit by a car while waiting outside the library. The injuries are fixable, but Shelby's mother is an anxious mess during the hospital stay. When it's time to check out, her mother abruptly packs Shelby into a rental car and peels out of the hospital, trying to put the place behind them as quickly as possible. Shelby is slightly woozy, but it's obvious something strange is going on. What is her mother hiding? Why was she so nervous answering insurance and identity questions at the hospital? Shelby has a bad feeling the car accident was the start of her nice little life unraveling.
The nest of dark secrets around Shelby begins to be cleared out, and the lies hit closer to the heart of who she is than she could have guessed. Her quaint, quiet existence with her mother is a façade that had no visible cracks, but now they're multiplying at a terrifying rate and if Shelby can't slow the damage, the entire edifice will collapse before her eighteenth birthday. Shelby is aided in her discoveries by an older boy named Mark she knew from the library, who now communicates with her when she's asleep, in a land called the Dreaming. Mark helps Shelby puzzle through the lies that have defined her life, leading her on a fantastical quest to reclaim reality as she knows it. But is the Dreaming real, or another delusion on top of all the others? That's one of many mysteries for Shelby to solve if she's to salvage a normal existence for herself. Whatever her real life turns out to be, saving it will be anything but painless or easy.
There Will Be Lies has some terrific freestanding thoughts, worthy of a Printz Award author. When Shelby questions if the Dreaming is real, Mark insists it is. The Dreaming isn't the same as a dream, but even dreams are real, he says. "A dream...is real to you. While it is happening, you are not aware you're dreaming, correct?...So it's a kind of reality. Just a reality personal to you." I want to believe him. I've had dreams that I badly needed to be real, and if there's even a kernel of reality to them, I'll take comfort in that. I think we all would. Almost two hundred pages later, there's this astute commentary on broken hearts: "There are things that, when they break, they keep on functioning, just in some other, lesser way. Like an elevator: it breaks, and it's a room. An escalator: it breaks, and it's stairs. The heart is the same. It breaks, and you might not even notice, because you still feel things, you still have emotions. But there's a dimension missing, like for the elevator; it still works as a room, but it has lost its vertical axis of motion, and it's the same with a heart: it breaks, and yeah, you can still have feelings, you can still feel sorry for someone, or angry, or sad, but there's something that's lost, a motion, a dimension. It breaks, and it's just an organ, beating." The profundity of a broken heart is sobering, indeed.
Lies have molded everything Shelby thinks she knows, and confronting those mistruths and choosing her own beliefs is essential to figuring out who she really is. It dawns on Shelby that kids cling to their parents' worldview, blindly accepting their rationale because it gives order to their own young lives. "The spell of telling children what to do is this: they believe that if they don't, they will be hurt, they will fall prey to the monsters under the bed, they will be lost. They believe." It's an absolute trust that parents don't deserve because they, too, are imperfect humans with limited knowledge, but there's no way around it. That level of control over another person's innermost convictions should be regarded reverently, and never abused. Before her old life went to pot, Shelby was a natural with a baseball bat, regularly practicing at the batting cages against machines that pitched eighty miles per hour. She never missed a ball, rocketing each pitch back at the machine with exponential velocity. She sensed there was a lesson in this exercise, but doesn't grasp it until the end of the book. "Something can be moving in one direction, smoothly, swiftly, something like a ball, or, oh, say, A LIFE, and then a bat swings, at the perfect moment, swings true, and hits that something, and it constricts...And its energy is reversed, and it fires off in the opposite direction, completely the other way to what has been, to what seems meant to be...But here's the lesson: The ball—the life, whatever—is STILL THERE. The energy hasn't destroyed it, the impact, the explosion, hasn't erased it from the world. It still exists, it's just in a different place altogether. A place it didn't expect to end up in...All the time, when I batted, I felt like it was meditation, like it was control. Like, swinging the bat at the perfect time, before you even see the ball—like that was a metaphor for something, for some kind of Zen peacefulness. What I didn't realize was: I got the metaphor wrong. I was not the bat. I was the ball. THAT—that is the lesson of the batting cage." You often won't see the bat before it hits you, but it's what you do with your new trajectory that determines the course of your life after that. Tragic or joyful, those sudden changes in direction reveal who we are, and we have to be ready to react.
Nick Lake is a good writer, but There Will Be Lies wasn't the mind-bender I expected. The plot revelations are less intense and pervasive than I thought, lacking the wow effect I'd geared up for. I didn't get every aspect of the story, either, particularly the Dreaming. But you won't finish this book without encountering ideas that could change your perspective on life, preparing you for those turning points that sneak up and permanently alter the trajectory you're on, moments only recognizable in retrospect as seminal to who you became. I might consider giving There Will Be Lies two and a half stars, and if what you value in a novel is big ideas and evocative writing, I suggest you try this one. It's an experience, for sure.