I finally get it. The comparisons to John Green made by John Corey Whaley's fans? I see it now. As raw, devastating, and brilliant as The Fault in Our Stars was, Noggin matches those qualities and perhaps slightly exceeds them, a mass of painfully intense emotion that gains momentum as the story rolls toward a conclusion we're never quite ready for. The ability to thrust readers so deep into a story that they feel the main character's anxiety, tribulation, and heartbreak as if they were their own is a rare talent, and even many of the greats don't possess it. But Gayle Forman? She gets behind our defenses that way. John Green, Patrick Ness, Neal Shusterman, Sophie Kinsella, Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde? So do they. Now I must add John Corey Whaley to that elite (if not exhaustive) list of gifted writers, for what he pulls off in Noggin. I wasn't convinced after his debut novel, Where Things Come Back; I didn't understand what he was trying to say, didn't deeply feel the story. But Noggin is art at or near its peak of transcendence, a foray into hidden grottos of the human heart that hold more terrible danger than any jungle filled with flesh-eating beasts, any dark ocean prowled by monsters beyond our imagination, any remote region of outer space and its fathomless mysteries. You will not finish this novel without your own emotional scars as deep as the ones Travis Coates bears inside and out. Coming back from the dead is uncharted territory, and its pioneers are bound to face hardship like any pioneer setting foot in an unexplored land.
Sixteen-year-old Travis's resurrection from death isn't a plot surprise. It's a fact stated in the opening lines of Noggin, surreal as the concept seems. His weary body riddled with cancer but his head not contaminated, Travis was approached by Dr. Saranson of the Saranson Center for Life Preservation. A vanguard researcher in cryogenics and reanimation technology, Dr. Saranson offered his services to Travis if he were willing to be a test subject. They'd schedule a time to ease him into cryogenic suspension before the cancer killed him, and if medicine someday advanced to the point where he could be brought back, reanimation would be attempted. Reanimation of his head, that is; the rest of his body was unsalvageable, but if a body donor could be found on that hypothetical future date of reanimation, then Travis could, in theory, return. It might not have been for decades, maybe a hundred years or more, but the small chance that he could be rebooted to life with a healthy body was enough. Travis took the plunge, bidding a moving goodbye to family and friends and then transitioning into cryogenic suspension, possibly forever.
Medical advances sure come fast, don't they? A mere five years after breathing his last and entering deep freeze, Travis is thawed and his head attached to the body of a teen who died of a brain tumor. He awakens in the hospital with his parents sobbing in amazement that their son has come back to them, but for Travis it feels like only moments have passed. He wonders at first if putting him into cryogenic suspension just didn't work and they'll try again, but no: it's five years later and Travis is back to stay, with a taller, more muscular body than ever.
"Secrets...will boil under your skin until it feels like every time you speak, every time you look in the mirror, every time you hug someone or kiss someone or tell someone you love them, it feels like you're going to die."
—Noggin, P. 194
Travis realizes that life is about to become complicated, but at least he has a life to complicate. His birth certificate testifies he's twenty-one, but in every way that counts he's sixteen, so he'll resume his sophomore year of high school as soon as he's physically up to it. His old friends have graduated, so Travis won't know anyone in his class. Speaking of his old friends, where are they? The Kyle Hagler he knew would come at the first hint that the cryogenic code had been cracked and Travis would soon be restored to the ranks of the living. Wouldn't he? Days and then weeks pass without word from Kyle as Travis progresses from precautionary observation in the hospital to going home. If Kyle is too busy with college and other things to visit right away, Travis's girlfriend Cate still would, right? The girl he fell in love with in eighth grade as a result of a thousand perfect little moments would be at his side as soon as she heard there was hope that Travis could come back. But Cate hasn't stopped by, either, and Travis gets the picture when his parents break the news: she's engaged, to a guy named Turner. Five years of cryostasis wasn't so long that the people in Travis's life were dead, but it was long enough for them to make it through the stages of grief and move forward with their lives. But don't Kyle and Cate even want to see him?
"(N)o matter how often you see or talk to someone, no matter how much you know them or don't know them, you always fill up some space in their lives that can't ever be replaced the right way again once you leave it."
—Noggin, P. 124
The miracle "head kid" isn't the first successful reanimation (he's the second), but the accompanying fame is still overwhelming. He's greeted by spontaneous applause in every class the first day of school, viewed by his formerly younger peers with awe and morbid curiosity. Even kids who don't ask to see the scar where his head was implanted are secretly dying to get a look. Travis makes a friend named Hatton, who's similarly sarcastic to how Kyle used to be and with the same underlying decency that makes him worthy friend material. The chasm between Travis and the rest of the tenth grade is so wide that most students are scared to attempt crossing it, but hanging out and eating lunch with Hatton each day makes the stress of Travis's second go-round at life more bearable. Even no-nonsense teachers treat him like a breakable object and students are divided between seeing him as an omen from God or Satan, but being obligated to attend high school isn't as terrible as it could be.
The truly emotional reunions are yet to come, however. When Travis meets Kyle after weeks of waiting for his old best friend to take the initiative, Kyle is apologetic for not being there sooner. He'd let go of Travis years ago, assuming that was the end of his life and he'd have to make do without him. The possibility that Travis's head could actually be revived and popped onto another kid's torso was hardly even an afterthought to Kyle, but he's overjoyed that it worked out. He refused to believe in the reanimation even after Travis's parents phoned and said the doctors were about to try it after five years. Did they have the technology to make a real go at it? What if everyone got their hopes up and the experiment failed, or Travis came back to life only to pass away for good a few days later? Kyle didn't want any part of believing his best friend was alive only to grieve his death a second time. The thought was too horrible to give any traction until he had to face that Travis was alive and well again, somehow, and would stay that way. There are complications to their friendship now that Kyle is five years older, but the old rapport returns as though it never left, that intelligent, irreverent back-and-forth that Kyle missed more than Travis had any chance to. After all, for Travis it feels like only a few weeks since he bade Kyle goodbye before succumbing to the big freeze.
Cate isn't as easy to reconnect with. Weeks flow by like a swift river with no acknowledgement from Travis's former girlfriend, and he stews over the tacit rejection. Does she not care about him anymore? The same Cate he reminisces about so poignantly that it puts a lingering ache in the reader's heart, special days and conversations that sealed them forever as part of each other, the shared dreams, opinions, interests, and tokens of affection that were so personal they remain as meaningful now as when they were first offered? No, the Cate he loves and who he knows still loves him wouldn't let five years dismantle the beautiful tower of togetherness they built day by day. They meant more to each other than to have it all erased by the uncomfortable reality of her engagement to some older guy. When more days pile up with no signal from Cate that she's planning to reach out, Travis recruits his new friend Hatton to help find her. Cate no longer lives with her parents, but she's in town somewhere, and Travis can't wait anymore with this darkening cloud gathering overhead. It ends now.
"We have this way of putting certain ideas out of our minds...we do that. Humans, I mean. We have to bury things, hopes and dreams, so deep sometimes that it takes a little while to access those things once we need them again."
—Dr. Saranson, Noggin, P. 29
Noggin is a concept of such incredible ambition that I'd be reluctant to trust any lesser author than Patrick Ness or Neal Shusterman with it, but the emotion is surprisingly basic. The whelming flood of feelings starts at this point in the story, when Travis regains contact with Cate through a series of desperate schemes, hardly admitting to himself at first what his goal is: to convince her to end her engagement and return to him. He felt Cate's love as a reassuring promise during their early years of high school, the only years they'd have together. The breaking of that promise doesn't compute for him because his conscious mind insists that no more than a few weeks separate him from his high-school sweetheart. Cate suffered for five years after he passed away, crawling drearily through life at school, trying to earn passing grades while dying inside. She stumbled out of the lightless labyrinth of grief after so long, found a guy she could love and envision herself happy with for life, and now a part of her past she believed was dead and buried wants to pick up where they left off. Travis and Cate have very different perspectives on reality, but is there any reconciling them? What is one to do when the unquenchable flame of love burns inside with such agony that it has to be all or nothing, no weaker version of the relationship can satisfy the soul of a pursuer whose era on earth has passed him by? This is the emotional crux of Noggin, the haunting pain that reverberates eternally. It is unforgettable.
In life, relationships end. People who passionately loved each other move on for various reasons, left with memories of a time when life felt impossibly harmonic, too sweet to be reality in this jaded world. But what happens when people come back? When a relationship that meant something to you is pronounced dead, and after a while the heartbeat suddenly restarts and the person reenters your life just as you remember them, it's a miracle beyond understanding. How do we react when a love we laid to rest as surely as if we held a funeral for it is alive again, defying all logic? Have we changed? Have they? Do we determine to turn back time to an earlier era of our life, as though we haven't grown and become wiser since parting ways with them? Or are we ready for the changes that have undoubtedly come to us both, to find out if we can make the magic work as it did when we were young and first enjoyed ourselves together? The resuscitation of love can be glorious, but it can be a minefield as well, detonations waiting to maim us if we step wrong. This uncertainty electrifies every moment of Noggin, filling us with a swirl of dread and hope and elation and worry that won't let go our hearts. It's uncomfortable, hard to bear, and is some of the most effective storytelling I've encountered. But Noggin isn't only about the ambiguities of love restored after being declared dead. It paints a picture of making a comeback to anything that once meant a lot to us, even athletes coming out of retirement to play the sport that made them famous, or prodigies who burn out and forsake their talent, only to return years later and try again. The landscape of any competitive pastime is going to change while you're gone, new wunderkinds advancing the activity in ways you hadn't foreseen. Returning to relevancy after a lengthy hiatus is hard when your peers have either grown in their own abilities or left like you did but never come back. Can you fit in the new landscape as what you were, making friends with the next generation and relearning to excel as you once did? What if you're not able to regain the edge you held over your rivals? Noggin captures every nuance of these feelings, helping us relate to them through our own experiences whether or not we've had a version of Travis's return from the great beyond. It's profound on a visceral level the reader won't be able to shake for days, if not a lot longer.
Disoriented and unable to figure out what he should do with his second life, Travis is given sound advice in the hospital by a phantom nurse who may or may not have actually been there to speak with him. "You've just been handed the keys to the kingdom, Travis. Don't waste a second of it feeling sorry for yourself." Whether reanimation ever becomes commonplace or not, Travis is a miracle, and can resume life as though his body from the neck down hadn't been decimated by cancer. When you get a chance to come back after your doom was signed, sealed, and delivered, you grab that opportunity and don't let go for any reason. Whatever comes of the fresh life you've been given, joyous or heartrending, you are a blessing that others thought they'd never see again. Treat that with respect. While undergoing aggressive cancer therapy before it became obvious his life was a lost cause, puking constantly from chemo and being heavily drugged to mask the debilitating pain, Travis felt it would be a relief to let go. That's why he agreed to be Dr. Saranson's test subject, not because he expected the cryogenic suspension to work. Always being numbed to the pain by drugs was its own torture, Travis realized. "I'm not sure why so many people get addicted to pain pills because, at a certain point, not feeling anything becomes much more painful than the disease eating away at your cells." Is it preferable to feel pain or be numb to it, if relief means you can't experience the thrills of life? After months of living in a pharmaceutical stupor, Travis knows that being without discomfort doesn't mean your quality of life is good.
The emotional bond with Cate is so raw, so real, that I get teary when I reread what Travis says about the reasons he loves her. I get goosebumps, and that hollow, upset feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I want to curl up and weep. The parts about his feelings for Cate really affected me, making it easy to feel on the deepest level sentiments like this one: "For that, and for a lot of other reasons, I was better when she was around me. That's how I knew I loved her so much, because not loving her didn't make any sense once I'd known what it felt like." When those are the stakes, and everyone is telling him to let her go and move on as she has already, how can you not stand with Travis in his mission to wrest Cate back from her fiancé? We lose pieces of ourselves all life long, bits we can't get along without yet somehow learn to, but a loss like Cate can't be shrugged off. How is Travis supposed to be okay with relinquishing the love of his life because insidious cancer cells forced him out of commission for five years and Cate never thought she'd see him again? "When one of us is dying, they say a part of all of us is. I think that's why it hurts. We go our whole lives losing little chunks until we can't lose any more of them." We've seen too many pieces of Travis ripped away, and that's why it upsets us to see the most important part, Cate, being taken. We hate Turner before meeting him not because we think he's a bad guy, but because we have to believe that in those miraculous instances when things come back, something of our old life will be waiting as it was before, that the best thing we had won't be beyond reach when we awaken into a new world.
Maybe it's Cate who addresses all the conflicting concerns best. "You know, when you died, my mom told me something really important. She said it's too easy to get hung up on people the way we do. I mean, that we all get one person to be ours and that's it. We should look at it differently. We all get lots of people. And maybe we don't always get to have them the exact way we want them, but if we can figure out a way to compromise, you know, then we can keep them all." Is there more than one perfect match for our soul out there? That seems impossible to believe when you've been part of a relationship that fills your heart and then it's taken from you, but maybe there is more than one romantic dynamic we could be happy with for the rest of our life. But how does one let go of a love that has settled into one's spirit and made its home there? "I love you so much," Travis answers Cate. "I don't know how to let that go." "We're soul mates," she responds. "I know that. And so are Turner and me. And you and Hatton and Kyle. We all get people that help us make sense of the world, right? We just have to figure out how to keep them however we can. You and me, we worked. But you had to leave and I had to let other people in or I'd die too. I knew you didn't want that." Being alive means finding those friends who help us make sense of ourselves, but also risking losing them. You can't have one side of the coin without the other. Maybe, after five years of death, Travis can finally make peace with that.
"It is just an illusion here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone, it is gone forever."
—Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Slaughterhouse-Five, quoted in Noggin
This was a tough review to compose. The emotions so overwhelmed me that more than once as I recorded my thoughts, I broke down in tears. I can't explain how John Corey Whaley makes Travis's pain so uncomfortably accessible to the reader, to the point where I was afraid at times to continue the story for fear of what might happen next. Travis's fixation on regaining his relationship with Cate became so personal, it was as though the fate of the most meaningful relationship in my own life were tied to it, like maybe my own lost love would be resurrected if Travis could convince Cate that happiness without him was no happiness at all. I won't forget how Noggin touched my soul, triggering the most intense reaction I've had from a novel in a long time while ultimately reassuring me through my tears that life doesn't end because the one we love can't be beside us anymore. As long as our head is screwed on to our body, even if we had to borrow the body from someone else, there's the possibility of finding other people to "help us make sense of the world". Life can't be all bad once we find them, as much as we miss the one we lost. There's more to love about Noggin than I can say, and I believe I'll rate it four and a half stars. I could have chosen five and not regretted it. John Corey Whaley merits mention in proximity to any great in the pantheon of literature for what he achieved in this book. I could never be the same again after reading it.