Charlie is catapulted into adulthood when Jasper Jones knocks on his window on a blisteringly hot Australian night and leads him to a hidden glade where a girl is hanging from a tree, bruised and bloody. Jasper, half-Anglo, half-Aborigine and the scapegoat for all misdeeds in their small town, knows he’ll be held responsible for Laura’s death. In a “cold moment of dismay . . . disarmed by a shard of knowing,” Charlie helps Jasper hide the body. As Jasper delves to the heart of the mystery, Charlie’s life goes on as usual, despite the brick in his stomach from keeping their dreadful secret. A collector of words, he’s dismayed that he can’t find the right ones for the girl he has a crush on or to stick up for his Vietnamese-Australian friend, Jeffrey, who outplays the local bigots in cricket. Silvey infuses his prose with a musician’s sensibility—Charlie’s pounding heart is echoed in the terse, staccato sentences of the opening scenes, alternating with legato phrases laden with meaning. The author’s keen ear for dialogue is evident in the humorous verbal sparring between Charlie and Jeffrey, typical of smart 13-year-old boys. Their wordplay—“ ‘I bid you a Jew.’ ‘And I owe your revoir’ ”—requires some sophistication of readers, who may also wish they’d brushed up on cricket terms. A richly rewarding exploration of truth and lies by a masterful storyteller. (Fiction. 12 & up)
