Thursday, January 21, 2021

A CROOKED TREE :: Una Mannion

 A version of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness and is republished here with permission.



"The night we left Ellen on the road, we were driving north up 252 near where it meets 202 and then crosses the Pennsylvania Turnpike." Una Mannion's debut novel opens with this unsettling event, setting the stage for a coming-of-age story infused with a desperate tension and threat of vengeance that amplify its emotional wallops. A Crooked Tree is poignantly narrated by 12-year-old Ellen's older sister Libby, 15, full of normal teen angst while also struggling with her father's death, her mother's neglect and her oldest sibling Marie's impending departure for New York.



After being forced out of the family car by her angry mother, Ellen shows up bloodied and shell-shocked at the home where Libby is babysitting. She reports jumping from the car of a disturbing man with waist-length white hair and long fingernails, having asked him for a ride up Valley Forge Mountain. Fearful of being separated if authorities discover how they live, Libby tells only Marie. But three people knowing a secret is two too many, and soon the man they dub "Barbie Man" has reason to return for revenge.



As the plot swirls towards a showdown, Mannion deftly weaves the varied plot threads into a magnificent whole. Like the crooked tree near the fort built with her best friend, Libby's mettle is bent and tested by forces spinning out of control as she tries to keep her family safe. A tale of trust, friendship and valor set against a backdrop of wicked apprehension, Mannion's work is spectacularly accomplished. 

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About Malcolm Avenue Review

I was lucky enough to be born and raised in a nifty, oak-shaded ranch house on Malcolm Avenue, a wide-laned residential street with little through traffic, located amid the foothills of Northern California. It was on that street and in that house I learned most of my adolescent life lessons, and many grown-up ones to boot. Malcolm Avenue was "home" for more than thirty years.

It was on Malcolm Avenue, through and with my family and the other families that made up our neighborhood of characters, that I first learned about and gained an appreciation for the things I continue to love the most to this day: music, animals, photography, sports, television/movies and, of course, books.

I owe a debt of gratitude to that life on Malcolm Avenue. It gave me a sense of community and friendship, support and adventure. For better and worse, life on that street likely had the biggest impact on the person I've become. So this blog, and the things I write here, are all, at their base level, a little bit of a love letter to Malcolm Avenue.

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