Izzy, Willy Nilly is pitch perfect emotionally. That's where I'd start. There's a lot more to say about this book: there's a lot of nuance, a lot just under the surface - and the reason it's all so powerful is because it feels so real. And it feels so real because it's pitch perfect emotionally.
This is a book that doesn't pull any punches. It's the story of the immediate aftermath of Izzy losing her leg in a car accident, and it's lonely and painful and exhausting. And difficult. Really, really difficult.
Izzy's new reality springboards a personal growth journey. And the great thing is that you're allowed to see Izzy growing and changing - becoming more introspective, thinking about racism and classism, skin color and disability - and while that's presented as a result of Izzy's disability, and the idea is certainly floated that she might not have changed had she never been in the accident, the person Izzy was before is never vilified. She would have missed out on a lot; the narrative makes that clear. She never would have been friends with Rosamunde or Adelia; she'd have gone on thinking Lisa was people smart and Suzy was smart and a good friend and Lauren was missing that boyfriend. But she's never depicted as evil or shallow or worthy of condemnation, just as having a narrow existence.
That lack of vilification is very refreshing, because it represents a degree of nuance missing from current YA fiction.
There's more nuance in the way Izzy is unlucky and knows it - that she never made it home safely, that she wasn't one of the 75% who doesn't need amputation - and in the way she is lucky and knows it: in her parents and her doctor and her charge account at the Treasure Trove.
And there's more nuance in the way she starts seeing vulnerability: hers and her parents' and Lauren's and Rosamunde's. And, notably, Francie's and Adelia's.
This isn't only the story of Izzy's new insight, though: it's the story of the tremendous amount of pain and loneliness and adjustment now in Izzy's life. The way everyone tries to understand but mostly doesn't quite manage to, the way their attempts to understand are complicated by their own pain or guilt.
Izzy's emotional responses are interesting. She occasionally recounts sleepless nights, but she mostly projects onto a small mental Izzy, which suggests an emotional distance. I think it ties into Izzy's examination of class: there's Jack, whose anger is discomfiting, and Rosamunde, whose tears - in a hospital! - give Izzy's mother cause to comment. Because reacting violently or bursting into tears - or leaning on car horns - is Just Not Done. And so Izzy appears to cope, and only cries at night when no one can see her. And is commended for adjusting so well.
There's also Shakespeare commentary (no way I wasn't going to mention that, right?) which I loved. Rosamunde points out that Shakespeare's had a great reputation for centuries, so it must be due to something - and then she and Izzy try to figure out what it could be. And while I will always support personal interpretations of works, I also love the idea of considering others' opinions, too. Of looking outside yourself and searching for validity in other people's points of view.
Which strikes me, while I type this out, as a fitting microcosm of Izzy's personal journey.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention Tony and Deborah and Izzy, Willy Nilly's treatment of ambition. There's Deborah, who gets into Stanford and is elated, and Tony, who misses her already because he doesn't have ambitions to leave. There's Izzy, who originally wants to go to college, get married, and have a family, just like her mother. And there's no judgement in the narrative. No sense that Deborah is an overachieving career woman, no sense that Izzy is a failure because she doesn't want a career. There's just the sense that characters are given space, not censure. Even Rosamunde, whose sharp eyes and tongue miss nothing, isn't bitter, just keenly observant.
And then there's the cherry on top of the social commentary, which is Izzy's final anecdote: when she faces Marco and does what she points out no one did for her. It's the beginning of change, and it can be started, she realizes, even by someone missing one leg. And it's her insight - her power - that forces Marco to see past the disability to the person she is. It's the same with Tony, who forgets her crutches, and the same with Izzy herself, who sees that mini Izzy in a long skirt: missing a leg, still a whole person.
This is a great story, and a rare story, and I'm so happy so many of you read it. I wish everyone would. We need more YA like it.