The Memory Trees
By Kali Wallace
Published: 2017, Katherine Tegen (HarperCollins) Books
Genre: YA Fiction, Magical Realism, Mental Health
Beyond the window the morning was bright and glittering, the sky a breathless blue, and the hotels on Miami Beach jutted like broken teeth across the water, but all Sorrow could see was the orchard. There were trees whispering behind the walls of the office, and she almost believed if she turned—if she was quick—she would glimpse their sturdy thick trunks and rustling dead leaves from the corner of her eye.
I have seen this book recommended all over Bookstagram, and it is in a genre I have newly discovered that I enjoy so I waited and waited for it to come to the top of my hold list at the library. I was not disappointed.
There was just enough magic in the book, while the majority of the story line stayed within the real world. I do like when a book has a lot of the magical aspects to the book, such as The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender, but I also enjoy when it has just a touch of magic so that it could almost really happen.
:…a darkly magical novel about a mysterious family legacy, the bonds of sisterhood, and the strange and powerful ways we are shaped by the places we call home.”
As we follow Sorrow on her quest to regain her memories surrounding her sister’s death, we learn how much our present and future is shaped by our family, the history of our family, the dynamics of the family in our home, and the community in which we grow up in. Sometimes, our own actions are so influenced by previous generations, that we can wonder if we would have made a different choice if we had not had those influences and preconceived notions.
Kali Wallace has a wonderful way with words. Her descriptions were beautiful and you definitely could feel as if you were right there, within the pages, standing next to Sorrow, experiencing everything right along with her.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys magical realism or fantasy fiction.
There were no gaps in her memory anymore—the missing pieces had been here all along, cradled in the mountains and waiting—and in their absence the seams between the lonely lost child she had been and the person she was now were that much harder to find.