Friday, February 09, 2024

Lights by Brenna Thummler

I got very cynical about "trilogies" very quickly, working in SFF publishing. It's hard not to: any semi-successful book that doesn't end with the death of all of the main characters - and even a couple of those - can and probably will lead to more adventures of the same people if the financial incentive is there. And the financial incentive is usually there.

But it's still a thrill, even in my cold cynical heart, to see a trilogy done well - to see it wrap up the themes of the prior books, note how the second book introduced some of those themes, and approvingly point to the way each of three books is mostly about one of the three main characters, with important roles for the other two.

And it also reminds me that a lot of the best work in graphic novels today is being done for younger readers - it shouldn't be a surprise, since that's a massive market, but "market" is not always synonymous with "quality." (Rather the opposite a lot of the time.)

Brenna Thummler closes out a trilogy with Lights, and does so really well. It extends and mostly completes the story from Sheets and Delicates; she could tell later stories about some or all of these characters, but she doesn't have to. And I think she probably won't.

Sheets was Marjorie Glatt's story: she was a middle-schooler trying to keep the family laundromat running after the death of her mother and her father's overpowering grief. Through some shenanigans, and with the help of a ghost named Wendell, she did - and got to a better place herself.

Delicates was Eliza's story - a new friend of Marjorie's early in the next school year. Eliza is neurodiverse in some way: quirky, particular, prone to obsessions, the kind of kid who stands out, especially in middle school. They become friends at the same time that Marjorie is having trouble with her old friends - they've fallen into the orbit of the local mean girl - and Eliza, obsessed with ghosts and death, also meets and befriends Wendell.

So who's left? Lights is Wendell's story. We know he's from this town on Lake Erie, that he died by drowning, that he was younger than Marjorie - eight, maybe, old enough to do things on his own but not to always do them successfully. His memory comes in flashes; we think this is common for ghosts. He doesn't remember exactly how he died, what caused it. And that's bothering him, as he has more and more memories sparked - as he remembers his nanny, his parents and their dance studio, and someone he calls the Sea Witch.

From the first book, we know that Wendell makes up stories - they're not called lies here, but we see the kind of stories he told about his life when he was alive, making mythology out of the dance studio regulars and lights and stage and everything else. Marjorie and Eliza chase down those stories, wondering if someone killed Wendell - someone who might still be around. They don't get the answer they expect, but they do learn the truth.

The whole trilogy is about death, in a way that's unusual for a middle-grade series - sure, about moving beyond a death and finding your way to the other side of grief, but deeply about death and loss. Just as central is friendship and the kinds of jealousy that close friendships among young people can bring - the old "I thought I was your best friend" question.

Thummler navigates all of that and more here, with Marjorie juggling Wendell, Eliza, and even her old friends, now circling back from the mean girl, and trying to find places for all of them in her life. I suppose every book for middle-graders ends up teaching lessons, even if it's not blatant about it - and one of Lights's biggest lessons, or moments, is the realization that no one can have "too many" friends, as long as they're being honest and true with all of them.

In the end, this trilogy is about the big things: being there for your friends, taking them as they are, understanding what they're going through, trying to help as much as you can. About being kind and helpful and connected, compassionate and open and accepting. And, more importantly, Lights is about those things mostly without blatantly sermonizing - by telling a particular story about particular people, grappling with those problems and ending up doing the right things. 

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