GONE LIKE YESTERDAY

A young Black college-prep coach searches for her missing brother alongside one of her students in this mesmerizing magical realist debut.

Zahra Robinson has grown accustomed to the moths. They “appear out of thin air…in moments of distress but in moments of calm too,” sometimes one at a time and sometimes in clusters, but they are always singing songs that few besides Zahra can hear. She’s tried to tune them out since moving to New York, but a coincidence (she makes a connection with Trey, a cab driver seeking college prep help for his niece, Sammie) followed by a crisis (her grandmother calls to say that Zahra’s brother, Derrick, who was always preoccupied with the moths, has disappeared) forces her to start listening again. Zahra agrees to help Sammie, a Trinidadian American high school senior who is navigating her identity while attending a fancy prep school, dealing with her crush on a classmate, and trying to handle the frustrations of writing her college essay. When Trey hears that Zahra has to go to Atlanta to look for her brother, he offers to drive her under the guise of taking Sammie to visit Spelman. Soon all three are embroiled in familial revelations and the ghostly mysteries swirling around the house where Zahra and Derrick grew up. Williams has a keen eye for detail and a lyrical voice, and her exploration of personal and collective histories is marked by maturity and compassion. The magic of the novel’s moths is truly imaginative, making it a disappointment that pacing issues prevent the propulsive third act, in which the magic crescendos, from resonating quite as deeply it should.

An uneven but profoundly beautiful novel that takes legacy seriously, from a promising new writer.