In Jason Reynolds' latest masterpiece, LONG WAY DOWN, readers follow Will, whose brother has just been murdered, on an elevator ride as he tries to figure out what it means to be a man, a brother, and a friend. On his way down, he must decide whether or not to get deadly revenge on the person who killed his brother.
While I have loved all the previous books of Reynolds' that I've read, LONG WAY DOWN is something new from the beloved author: a novel told in verse. The poetry sings off the page, and the powerful scenes between Will and his 'ghosts' will stab you right in the heart. As with most novels that are told in such a tight space of time, the tension is nearly unbearable, and readers may wish to block off a couple of hours to read LONG WAY DOWN in its entirety. With the verse format, this makes for a quick, but emotionally lasting, read.
My favorite aspect of LONG WAY DOWN is the theme of justice. In Will's world, and in his brother's, justice looks a certain way. But as Will talks with each person from his past who appears in the elevator, that brand of justice may have helped lead to his brother's death in the first place. At the same time, there are layers of family, respect, and masculinity that all collide in Will's head and heart, causing his decision to be as difficult as it is monumental.
Previous fans of Reynolds will have no trouble marking LONG WAY DOWN as another top-pick with its heavy emotion, tense scenes, and beautiful language. Given the length of the story and the contemporary themes, LONG WAY DOWN is also an ideal selection for reluctant readers.
An ode to Put the Damn Guns Down, this is National Book
Award finalist and New York Times bestseller Jason
Reynoldsβs fiercely stunning novel that takes place in
sixty potent secondsβthe time it takes a kid to decide
whether or not heβs going to murder the guy who killed
his brother.
A cannon. A strap.
A piece. A biscuit.
A burner. A heater.
A chopper. A gat.
A hammer
A tool
for RULE
Or, you can call it a gun. Thatβs what fifteen-year-old
Will has shoved in the back waistband of his jeans. See,
his brother Shawn was just murdered. And Will knows the
rules. No crying. No snitching. Revenge. Thatβs where
Willβs now heading, with that gun shoved in the back
waistband of his jeans, the gun that was his brotherβs
gun. He gets on the elevator, seventh floor, stoked. He
knows who heβs after. Or does he? As the elevator stops
on the sixth floor, on comes Buck. Buck, Will finds out,
is who gave Shawn the gun before Will took the gun. Buck
tells Will to check that the gun is even loaded. And
thatβs when Will sees that one bullet is missing. And the
only one who could have fired Shawnβs gun was Shawn. Huh.
Will didnβt know that Shawn had ever actually USED his
gun. Bigger huh. BUCK IS DEAD. But Buckβs in the
elevator? Just as Willβs trying to think this through,
the door to the next floor opens. A teenage girl gets on,
waves away the smoke from Dead Buckβs cigarette. Will
doesnβt know her, but she knew him. Knew. When they were
eight. And stray bullets had cut through the playground,
and Will had tried to cover her, but she was hit anyway,
and so what she wants to know, on that fifth floor
elevator stop, is, what if Will, Will with the gun shoved
in the back waistband of his jeans, MISSES.
And so it goes, the whole long way down, as the elevator
stops on each floor, and at each stop someone connected
to his brother gets on to give Will a piece to a bigger
story than the one he thinks he knows. A story that might
never know an ENDβ¦if WILL gets off that elevator.
Told in short, fierce staccato narrative verse, Long Way
Down is a fast and furious, dazzlingly brilliant look at
teenage gun violence, as could only be told by Jason
Reynolds.
No excerpt available.
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