THE PLACES WE SLEEP

A girl in a U.S. military family navigates the days and months following Sept. 11, 2001.

Tennessee is only the most recent place that seventh grader Abbey has lived: Her dad’s an Army sergeant, and his career means the family has moved frequently. DuBois uses free verse for Abbey’s first-person narration, skillfully conveying her protagonist’s pained and halting thoughts, occasionally integrating a lone, subtly meaningful rhyme. Themes weave loosely: Abbey’s first period (arriving “like a punch to the gut / like a shove in the girls’ room”); the terrorist attacks; grieving a beloved aunt, lost on the 86th floor of a New York tower, the entire building “also missing”; sublime peer friendship and run-of-the-mill peer bullying; Abbey’s artwork; longing for roots. As Dad deploys to Afghanistan, the stress and suffering of military families are written with breadth and warmth. Potential suffering of humans on the other side of that war receives only one dubious and dismissive mention, however. Abbey’s Muslim, Kurdish American classmate, Jiman, is kind and artistic, and Abbey eventually befriends her. However, Jiman and her family might be the only characters of color in this small Tennessee town, and Jiman is portrayed as so confident, dignified, invulnerable, and inscrutable—rarely reacting even when facing racism and Islamophobia—that she exists mostly for Abbey’s (and readers’) edification.

A sensitive portrayal of art and roots pulled under by a narrow cultural perspective.