Scars like wings

Review by Booklist Review

Ava's world was turned upside down a year ago when she was the lone survivor of a house fire. She lost her parents and her home, suffering third degree burns that completely changed her appearance. Ava's aunt and uncle urge her to return to school and reintegrate into society, but society doesn't treat Ava kindly: she receives stares and whispers due to her appearance. With the help of fellow burn survivor, Piper, Ava slowly realizes that she needs to find a new normal and embrace her scars. What Wonder (2012) did for middle-school kids, Stewart's debut does for high schoolers, reflecting the natural desire for friendship and love despite a person's physical appearance. Stewart does an excellent job at conveying the physical and emotional pain Ava experiences: the recovery from her burns, the loss of her parents, her self-consciousness regarding her appearance, and the social pressures found in high school. Readers will find this emotional, heart-wrenching novel endearing and profound.--Savannah Patterson Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

It's been a year since high school junior Ava escaped the fire that left her badly burned and took the lives of her closest loved ones: both her parents and her cousin Sarah. Nineteen surgeries later, Ava still feels as if she looks like a "monster," but her doctor and new guardians, Sarah's grieving parents, think it's time she return to school. Unable to face her old friends, Ava enrolls in a different school, where she's fully prepared for cruel reactions to her appearance. What she doesn't expect to find are two companions who refuse to let her retreat into isolation: Piper, a fellow burn survivor who harbors a secret, and Pakistani-American Asad, who shares Ava's passion for theater. Together, they coax Ava into auditioning for the school play and letting her talents shine. First-time author Stewart writes a sensitively handled story filled with relatable, three-dimensional characters. Without sugarcoating or overdramatizing her protagonists' circumstances, she focuses on the internal challenges of survivors profoundly affected by trauma. Enhanced by journal entries and poetry, the first-person narrative movingly expresses Ava's lingering sorrow and changing outlook as she navigates her way toward a new form of normalcy. Ages 12--up. (Oct.)

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 7 Up--Ava has endured a soul-crushing tragedy--her parents and cousin perished in a house fire, leaving Ava the sole survivor but with terrible burns all over her body. One year later she is released from the hospital to live with her aunt and uncle, after enduring painful skin grafts and surgeries. Ava is encouraged to go back to high school but she resists, knowing her considerable scars will make it hard to make friends. In a support group, she meets Piper, another burn survivor from her new school, and the two girls bond while trying to navigate their new realities. Ava gets involved with the school play, but she has to endure the cruelties of some, while also discovering new allies and a resolve she never knew she had. The research that debut author Stewart did to write such an insightful book about burn recovery is evident. She capably shows how Ava and her aunt and uncle come together to form a new family unit despite crushing grief. Stewart also captures the highs and lows of teen friendship. An interesting facet of the relationship between Ava and Piper is the often unhealthy dynamic between the two, which could push teens to explore where they would draw boundaries between friends. VERDICT Ava's journey toward healing, both physically and mentally, is thought-provoking. Not all scars are evident to the eye, and this narrative will push readers to think deeply about empathy, hope, and resilience in the face of heartbreak.--Nancy McKay, Byron Public Library, IL

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Although 16-year-old Ava Lee survived a fire, she's not sure if she has the strength to survive returning to high school.Ava is the only survivor of the fire that killed her mother, father, and cousin, Sara. After a year of painful recovery, Ava's doctor and her aunt, Cora, who is Sara's mother, tell her that it's time to go back to school. Ava reluctantly agrees to try it for two weeks; after the trial period, she is determined to return to her solitary routine, taking classes online and avoiding looking in the mirror. But at school she unexpectedly befriends Piper, a fellow burn survivor with a dark secret. Together, Ava and Piper struggle to be normalor, at least, as close as they can get to it. Debut author Stewart's research into the experiences of burn survivors shows: Ava's and Piper's wit, honesty, and strength shine with authenticity, and their struggle to understand how to be "ordinary" teenagers is just the right amount of poignant. Stewart treats the appearances of her disabled charactersand, in particular, their ravaged skinwith care, never sugarcoating the truth but also never resorting to condescension or pity. Unfortunately, Asad, the only character of color in the book, is repeatedly referred to as having "hazelnut" skin, a departure that is notable because of its contrast to the descriptions of white characters. A tender, frank coming-of-age story about the pain and power of survival. (Fiction. 14-18) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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One year after the fire, my doctor removes my mask and tells me to get a life.   He doesn't use those exact words, of course, because he's paid to flash around lots of medical-degree terms like reintegration and isolation, but basically, the Committee on Ava's Life had a big meeting and decided I have wallowed long enough.   My postburn pity party is over.   Dr. Sharp examines my skin grafts to make sure I haven't inadvertently grown batwings in my armpits since our last monthly pat-down. Scars can be screwy little suckers, and since my body is 60 percent screwed up, it takes Dr. Sharp a full twenty minutes to check me over. The tissue paper covering the vinyl exam table crinkles beneath me as my aunt Cora watches attentively from the sidelines, scribbling notes in her gargantuan "Ava's Recovery" binder while her eyes follow Dr. Sharp.   He removes the bandana from my head and then my clear plastic mask, his fingers grazing my scars.   "Everything's healing beautifully," he says, without even a  hint of irony. The coldness of his fingers registers above my eyes but fades as he moves to the thicker grafts around my mouth.   "Well," I say, "you can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a p--"   "Ava!" gasps Cora, who is not only my aunt but also the self-appointed CEO of the aforementioned committee on my life.   Dr. Sharp shakes his head and laughs, revealing two deep dimples on either side of his smile, which only makes him even more like one of those McHottie doctors on TV who bang each other in the on-call room between saving lives. I blame his smoldering eyes and strong jawline for the butterfly swarm in my stomach every time he touches my grafts. It also doesn't help that I'm keenly aware he has seen me naked approximately nineteen times. Sure, it's on an operating-room table, but naked is naked, even covered with gauze and nineteen surgeries' worth of scars.   But we never address that awkward elephant in the room, just like I never mention the fact that he once literally took a chunk of my butt and stretched it across my face to make a new forehead.   Dr. Sharp hands me a small, salon-style mirror so I can admire his handiwork.   "No thanks," I say, giving it back.   "Still having trouble looking?"   "Unless I grew a new face overnight, I already know what I'm going to see."   Dr. Sharp nods while typing a note into my chart, and I sense a forthcoming committee meeting about my resistance to reflective surfaces. It's not like I haven't seen my face. I know how I look. I choose not to keep looking.   With a dimply smile, Dr. Sharp holds up my plastic mask.   "I think you'll be happy to hear that you can get rid of this little guy."   Cora squeals and awkwardly side-hugs me, careful not to apply too much pressure to disrupt the all-important healing process.   "You couldn't have given us a better gift today, Dr. Sharp. It's been a year, this week actually, since--" Cora pauses, and I can almost see her brain trying to come up with the right words.   "The fire," I jump in. "One year since the fire."   Dr. Sharp hands me the mask, which has been my constant companion every day, twenty-three hours a day for that year. Its one job: keep my face flat as it heals so my scars don't bulge out in fleshy blobs. The doctors and nurses reassure me constantly that the mask has made my scars heal so much better, although I'm unconvinced it can get much worse than the patchwork of discolored grafts I call my face.   "You'll still need to wear the body-compression garments until we're sure the scars won't interfere with your movements," Dr. Sharp says. "But I do have one more piece of good news for you."   Cora gives him the slightest nod, which tells me that whatever comes next is a direct result of an Ava's Life meeting. My invitation must have gone straight to spam.   "Now that you don't have to wear the mask, I am authorizing--and strongly recommending--that you return to school," he says.   I flip the mask around in my hand without looking up.   "Yeah, that's a hard pass," I say. "But thanks."   Jumping off the sidelines, Cora lays her massive binder by the sink and half sits on the patient chair with me, lightly tapping my thigh.   "Ava, I know you're bored with those online classes, and you're always saying how you wish things could go back to normal."   Normal.   Right. Old normal. Ava Before the Fire normal. Normal normal.   "That's Never. Going. To. Happen," I say. "I'm not going to waltz back into my old school and have everything be the same."   "You could go to the school by our house, like we've talked about. Or pick any school you want," Cora says, undeterred. "You know, a fresh start? Make new friends and begin a life here."   "I'd rather die," I mumble.   I've been doing fine at home taking classes online in my pajamas. Where no one can see me. Where no one can point and stare and whisper as I walk by like I'm deaf as well as deformed.   "I know you don't mean that," Cora says. "You're lucky to be alive."   "Right. I'm a human rabbit's foot."   Why am I the lucky one because I survived? Mom, Dad, and my cousin Sara are probably dancing through a celestial meadow somewhere or happily reincarnated as monkeys in India while I face an endless loop of surgeries and doctors and stares from strangers.   But I can't compete with tombstones. Death trumps suffering every time.   "If it were Sara, I'd want her to live a full life," she says. "And I know your mother would want you to be happy."   Her attempt to use dead people to win this argument irks me.   "I'm not Sara. And you're not my mother."   Cora turns away from me, and so does Dr. Sharp, pretending to concentrate especially hard on the computer screen rather than acknowledge the tension that fills the exam room like smoke. I hate that Dr. Sharp is here for this embarrassing toddler tantrum, but he's partly to blame for blindsiding me with this development.   Cora sniffles quietly, and I wish I could take back my jab. She didn't ask to be my makeshift mother any more than I asked to be her understudy offspring. We're both trying to navigate this sick twist of "luck" the universe threw our way.   Dr. Sharp clears his throat. "Ava, the fact is, we're concerned about your level of isolation. Reintegration is a major part of your healing process, and we all think it's time to start," he says. I refrain from asking him who this mysterious "all" includes, since my concerning hermit status is news to me. "What if you go to school for a trial period, and then we reassess our reintegration strategy? Say two weeks?"   Cora looks at me hopefully, tears still wetting her eyes, as the guilt of the lucky creeps into my chest. The guilt of the one who lived. Excerpted from Scars Like Wings by Erin Stewart All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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