7 Striking Character Voices in Coming-of-Age Novels

I wish I could remember who recommended this one to me, but it showed up in my library audiobook holds and I figured I’d trust the me from months ago who had requested it. I can happily confirm that whoever set me onto this book was right, as it’s quickly become my new favorite to talk about. Seeing Betty’s and her family’s lives spilled out across the years, witnessing their dynamics, misadventures, darkness, and traumas while eventually learning their fates, made me think about the scope of one life and what we make of it. Betty, who has a close bond with her Cherokee father and a complicated relationship with her mother, narrates her view as a middle child from a large family growing up in a small Appalachian town.

Immediately drawn to the book’s title, I admittedly still had no real idea of what to expect from the read itself. Would it be it a symbolic bird, a metaphor for childhood? From the opening pages, I was excited to learn that it is, in fact, a real bird—a sparrow—who lives in Owen’s chest and communicates with him. Fearful of discovery by the Army of Acronyms (doctors and specialists who might take him away), his mother orders him to remain hidden in their house. Inside he stays, until his fourteenth birthday. Then Owen and the bird make bold moves with harrowing outcomes. I found this debut absolutely mesmerizing to read because of its unique premise, balanced pacing, and striking imagery. 

The book begins with a description of Epitaph Day, which sets an interesting and evocative tone. Death news is announced on the radio, the two Fatumas—creatures that are half girl and half reverie—keep lonely Ayosa company, and the “throwaway girl” watches her from the window. Those are just a few visuals from this atmospheric and brilliant novel about a complex mother-daughter relationship and the search for meaningful connection. Ayosa’s mama often disappears to work as a photographer, reappearing to ask for things like a sister-making ceremony or to provide statements like, “You could not love so deeply without hating. And . . . you most certainly could not hate a person without loving them first.” Ayosa spends her time learning from books and writing down the things she can remember—and shouldn’t know—from when her mama was young or when she, herself, was born. For a place rooted in spirits, Ayosa and her world feel so alive, thanks to Oduor’s expressive and startling writing—publishing this April 12.

Don’t let THE GOLDFINCH’s size or accolades intimidate you. Theo immediately pulls you into his life with the stress and uncertainty of a lonely Amsterdam hotel room and a search for his name in the local papers. Clear that he’s in some sort of trouble, we’re then returned to his past to witness the terrible incident that shapes so many of the events to follow. Now immersed in a Manhattan setting, we meet the red-haired girl Pippa, forever bonded to him in a way he can’t fully express; Hobie, a talented artist who specializes in restoring antiques; and Mrs. Barbour, a reserved woman who becomes a mother figure. As Theo ages, we follow him to Las Vegas, to another family both biological and makeshift, and an exploration of unsupervised teenage indulgence. Theo’s tale may be windy and arduous, but Tartt makes sure it doesn’t read that way; instead, it’s an epic that follows a boy who feels as if he’s lived a hundred different lives before becoming a man. 

I always enjoy books with multiple points of view, especially those surrounding a strong person or subject. Being able to witness how others see and interact with a protagonist leaves an exciting amount of room for interpretation and unexpected discoveries. In this case, our focus is drawn to the title character, an orphan raised by her grandparents and named after a poisonous plant. An array of Indian traditions and food are being prepared for the eighteen-year-old’s engagement party, a celebration some people believe she’s too young to be having—especially her fiancé, Rajat’s, family. Complicating things is a dream about her mother, which points her toward an ocean for something unnamable but important to retrieve. Other family secrets linger and then split open after a tragedy that sends Korobi to America to learn more.  

I love the way Riley talks about her world, one made up by stringing ideas and observations together to make sense of the war and its draft invading her home at nine years old, and the kind of sacrifices she’d make—a helicopter ride, broken ribs—to keep her brother safe. She is driven and brave, creative and funny. But a brother going MIA in Vietnam will change many things, and Riley feels it’s time to move on. Now away from her memories and the people she loves, a new and strange life emerges. Riley’s wise reflections and uncharted path made me think about my own choices and expectations, and what I truly value. Change and struggle across so many years, distributed among many interesting characters, gives way to greater observations and connections, which can prove both inspiring and unsettling—a nice combination, I think, for stirring up established ideas and reconsidering meaning.  

Brooklyn in the 1940s was a tough decade to be growing up in, especially for two Jewish boys with very different familial expectations and takes on religion. Reuven lives close to Danny, but it takes a long time for them to meet; the separate traditions, yeshivas, and synagogues of the numerous Hasidic sects in the span of their Williamsburg blocks are enough to keep them from crossing paths. That is, until a fateful softball game cements their friendship, despite Danny’s father’s disapproval. The father-son relationships in this book are both interesting to explore and often hard to read—Reuven’s father talks about the “purpose of man,” while Danny’s father wants to carry on their traditions—all while living through World War II and the Holocaust at a particularly impressionable time in the boys’ lives.