Two teenagers in a mental health ward fall in love in Grey’s lyrical and introspective novel.
Elizabeth “Zibby” Holloway is at the start of a six-week stay in rehab for her eating disorder. In the program, she meets Nico Hawthorne, a 17-year-old boy suffering from depression and anxiety. Throughout their daily schedules of jigsaw puzzles, mealtimes, and tending a basil plant they’ve named Atlas, the teens form a quiet, almost wordless bond. As they progress through healing and relapses before their eventual release, Zibby and Nico provide support, purpose, and inspiration to each other. This is tale of first love that exists in a liminal space, and Zibby and Nico’s story acts as a quiet reminder of how a single relationship can affect someone for the rest of their lives—even if they only knew them for six weeks in a hospital ward. Grey deftly captures the thought processes of her characters, with a keen focus on the monotonous day-to-day schedule and landscape of the ward: “The room feels less like a room and more like a waiting space between worlds.” The prose is frequently evocative, although it sometimes lingers on description at the expense of plot progression. The titular cartography theme is quickly established in an intriguing way and followed throughout. There is a feeling of repetitiveness, however. Every chapter seems to open with a flowery description—of a nurse’s desk, for instance, or the bean bags in group therapy—and conclude with a small epiphany. It’s a device that’s powerful at first, but unfortunately overused. It also occurs at the expense of developing Zibby and Nico’s relationship, which is built so much on unspoken moments that it feels nearly unrealized. That said, Grey delivers an emotional story and handles the heavy subject matter with grace.
A heartfelt, if sometimes-overwritten, story of a first love’s lasting impact.