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Jandy Nelson

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The Sky Is Everywhere Kindle Edition

by Jandy Nelson (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.5 3,151 ratings

Goodreads Choice Award nominee

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Jandy Nelson's beloved, critically adored debut is now an Apple TV+ and A24 original film starring Jason Segel, Cherry Jones, Grace Kaufman, and Jacques Colimon.

“Both a profound meditation on loss and grieving and an exhilarating and very sexy romance." —NPR

Adrift after her sister Bailey’s sudden death, Lennie finds herself torn between quiet, seductive Toby—Bailey’s boyfriend who shares Lennie’s grief—and Joe, the new boy in town who bursts with life and musical genius. Each offers Lennie something she desperately needs. One boy helps her remember. The other lets her forget. And she knows if the two of them collide, her whole world will explode.

As much a laugh-out-loud celebration of love as a nuanced and poignant portrait of loss, Lennie’s struggle to sort her own melody out out the noise around her makes for an always honest, often uproarious, and absolutely unforgettable read.

From the Publisher


	When the World Tips Over	I'll Give You the Sun	The Sky Is Everywhere

Customer Reviews	—	9,337	3,151
Price	$19.99	$6.81	$7.59
Read more by Jandy Nelson:	An explosive new novel brimming with love, secrets, and enchantment by Jandy Nelson, Printz Award–winning and New York Times bestselling author of I’ll Give You the Sun	The radiant, award-winning story of first love, family, loss, and betrayal for fans of John Green, Becky Albertalli, and Adam Silvera	Jandy Nelson's beloved, critically adored debut is now an Apple TV+ and A24 original film starring Jason Segel, Cherry Jones, Grace Kaufman, and Jacques Colimon.

Editorial Reviews

From School Library Journal

Grade 10 Up—When her older sister dies from an arrhythmia, 17-year-old Lennie finds that people are awkward around her, including her best friend. While dealing with her conflicted feelings toward her sister's boyfriend, her anguish over Bailey's unexpected death, and her sudden curiosity about sex, Lennie must also cope with her unresolved feelings about her mother, who left when Lennie was an infant. Debut author Nelson expertly and movingly chronicles the myriad, roller-coaster emotions that follow a tragedy, including Lennie's reluctance to box up her sister's belongings and her guilt over bursts of happiness. The portrayal of the teen's state of mind is believable, as are the romanticizing of her absent mother and the brief scenes of underage drinking and sexual exploration. Chapters are typically anchored by brief snippets of Lennie's writings. This is a heartfelt and appealing tale. Girls who gobble up romantic and/or weep-over fiction will undoubtedly flock to this realistic, sometimes funny, and heartbreaking story.—Jennifer Schultz, Fauquier County Public Library, Warrenton, VA
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist

Lennie has always been the companion pony to her sister Bailey’s race horse. When Bailey dies suddenly while rehearsing the lead in Romeo and Juliet, Lennie is thrust into the spotlight. A normally reserved band geek who reads Wuthering Heights like a manifesto, Lennie is not prepared to deal with her grief. Nor is she equipped to confront the affection she feels for her dead sister’s fiancé. Adding to her emotional roller coaster is the gorgeous, musically gifted new boy in town who is clearly in love with her. Lennie is sympathetic, believable, and complex. Readers will identify with her and root for her to finally make the first steps toward healing. Nelson incorporates poems, written by Lennie and left for the wind to carry away, that help readers delve deeper into her heart. Bonus: teens unfamiliar with Wuthering Heights will likely want to find out what all the fuss is about. A story of love, loss, and healing that will resonate with readers long after they have finished reading. Grades 8-11. --Shauna Yusko

Review

"This honest, complex debut is distinguished by a dreamy California setting and poetic images that will draw readers in to Lennie's world." -Publishers Weekly, starred review

"It+s romantic without being gooey and tearjerking without being campy-what more could a reader want?" -BCCB, starred review

From the Back Cover

17-year-old Lennie Walker, bookworm and band geek, plays second clarinet and spends most of her time tucked safely in the shadow of her outgoing sister, Bailey. Their mother left when Lennie was one, and their sisterhood and the support of their wacky and loving Gran and perfectly Northern Californian hippie uncle has pulled them through. So when Bailey suddenly dies, Lennie crumples. At first, it seems the only person who truly understands the depth of her loss is Bailey s ex-boyfriend, Toby. Their mutual grief turns into something that seems confusingly like romance. Then there s the nearly magical allure of Joe Fontaine, new boy in town and thrillingly talented musician, who is falling for Lennie as fast as she s falling for him. One boy is like the sun, the other the moon; one takes her out of her sorrow, the other comforts her in it. But Joe s been hurt before, and when he walks in on Lennie and Toby, Lennie is forced to take responsibility for her actions. What she discovers is not just love, but the strength to admit to her dreams of Julliard, confront her anger towards her mother, and ultimately, claim her rightful position as first clarinet not just in the band, but in the crazy cacophony of her life.

About the Author

Jandy Nelson received a BA from Cornell, an MFA from Brown in poetry, and another MFA from Vermont College in writing for children and young adults. For the past twelve years, shes been a literary agent with Manus & Associates Literary Agency, and has also taught and lectured on creative writing. Today, Jandy lives in San Francisco. Her poetry has been published in various literary journals, but this is her first novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

chapter 1

Gram is worried about me. It’s not just because my sister Bailey died four weeks ago, or because my mother hasn’t contacted me in sixteen years, or even because suddenly all I think about is sex. She is worried about me because one of her houseplants has spots.

Gram has believed for most of my seventeen years that this particular houseplant, which is of the nondescript variety, reflects my emotional, spiritual, and physical well-being. I’ve grown to believe it too.

Across the room from where I sit, Gram—all six feet and floral frock of her, looms over the black-spotted leaves.

“What do you mean it might not get better this time?” She’s asking this of Uncle Big: arborist, resident pothead, and mad scientist to boot. He knows something about everything, but he knows everything about plants.

To anyone else it might seem strange, even off the wall, that Gram, as she asks this, is staring at me, but it doesn’t to Uncle Big, because he’s staring at me as well.

“This time it has a very serious condition.” Big’s voice trumpets as if from stage or pulpit; his words carry weight, even pass the salt comes out of his mouth in a thou-shalt-Ten-Commandments kind of way.

Gram raises her hands to her face in distress, and I go back to scribbling a poem in the margin of Wuthering Heights. I’m huddled into a corner of the couch. I’ve no use for talking, would just as soon store paper clips in my mouth.

“But the plant’s always recovered before, Big, like when Lennie broke her arm, for instance.”

“That time the leaves had white spots.”

“Or just last fall when she auditioned for lead clarinet but had to be second chair again.”

“Brown spots.”

“Or when—”

“This time it’s different.”

I glance up. They’re still peering at me, a tall duet of sorrow and concern.

Gram is Clover’s Garden Guru. She has the most extraordinary flower garden in Northern California. Her roses burst with more color than a year of sunsets, and their fragrance is so intoxicating that town lore claims breathing in their scent can cause you to fall in love on the spot. But despite her nurturing and renowned green thumb, this plant seems to follow the trajectory of my life, independent of her efforts or its own vegetal sensibility.

I put my book and pen down on the table. Gram leans in close to the plant, whispers to it about the importance of joie de vivre, then lumbers over to the couch, sitting down next to me. Then Big joins us, plopping his enormous frame down beside Gram. We three, each with the same unruly hair that sits on our heads like a bustle of shiny black crows, stay like this, staring at nothing, for the rest of the afternoon.

This is us since my sister Bailey collapsed one month ago from a fatal arrhythmia while in rehearsal for a local production of Romeo & Juliet. It’s as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way.

chapter 2

The morning of the day Bailey died,
she woke me up
by putting her finger in my ear.
I hated when she did this.
She then started trying on shirts, asking me:
Which do you like better, the green or the blue?
The blue.
You didn’t even look up, Lennie.
Okay, the green. Really, I don’t care what shirt you wear . . .
Then I rolled over in bed and fell back asleep.
I found out later
she wore the blue
and those were the last words I ever spoke to her.

(Found written on a lollipop wrapper on the trail to the Rain River)

My first day back to school is just as I expect, the hall does a Red Sea part when I come in, conversations hush, eyes swim with nervous sympathy, and everyone stares as if I’m holding Bailey’s dead body in my arms, which I guess I am. Her death is all over me, I can feel it and everyone can see it, plain as a big black coat wrapped around me on a beautiful spring day. But what I don’t expect is the unprecedented hubbub over some new boy, Joe Fontaine, who arrived in my month-long absence. Everywhere I go it’s the same:

“Have you seen him yet?”

“He looks like a Gypsy.”

“Like a rock star.”“A pirate.”

“I hear he’s in a band called Dive.”

“That he’s a musical genius.”

“Someone told me he used to live in Paris.”

“That he played music on the streets.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

I have seen him, because when I return to my band seat, the one I’ve occupied for the last year, he’s in it. Even in the stun of grief, my eyes roam from the black boots, up the miles of legs covered in denim, over the endless torso, and finally settle on a face so animated I wonder if I’ve interrupted a conversation between him and my music stand.

“Hi,” he says, and jumps up. He’s treetop tall. “You must be Lennon.” He points to my name on the chair. “I heard about—I’m sorry.” I notice the way he holds his clarinet, not precious with it, tight fist around the neck, like a sword.

“Thank you,” I say, and every available inch of his face busts into a smile—whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o’-lantern happy, which couldn’t be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect. He has scores of messy brown curls that flop every which way and eyelashes so spider-leg long and thick that when he blinks he looks like he’s batting his bright green eyes right at you. His face is more open than an open book, like a wall of graffiti really. I realize I’m writing wow on my thigh with my finger, decide I better open my mouth and snap us out of this impromptu staring contest.

“Everyone calls me Lennie,” I say. Not very original, but better than guh, which was the alternative, and it does the trick. He looks down at his feet for a second and I take a breath and regroup for Round Two.

“Been wondering about that actually, Lennon after John?” he asks, again holding my gaze—it’s entirely possible I’m going to faint. Or burst into flames.

I nod. “Mom was a hippie.” This is northern Northern California after all—the final frontier of freakerdom. Just in the eleventh grade we have a girl named Electricity, a guy named Magic Bus, and countless flowers: Tulip, Begonia, and Poppy—all parent-given-on-the-birth-certificate names. Tulip is a two-ton bruiser of a guy who would be the star of our football team if we were the kind of school that had a football team. We’re not. We’re the kind of school that has optional morning meditation in the gym.

“Yeah,” Joe says. “My mom too, and Dad, as well as aunts, uncles, brothers, cousins . . . welcome to Commune Fontaine.”

I laugh out loud. “Got the picture.”

But whoa again—should I be laughing so easily like this? And should it feel this good? Like slipping into cool river water.

I turn around, wondering if anyone is watching us, and see that Sarah has just walked—rather, exploded—into the music room. I’ve hardly seen her since the funeral, feel a pang of guilt.

“Lennieeeee!” She careens toward us in prime goth-gone-cowgirl form: vintage slinky black dress, shit-kicker cowboy boots, blond hair dyed so black it looks blue, all topped off with a honking Stetson. I note the breakneck pace of her approach, wonder for an instant if she’s going to actually jump into my arms right before she tries to, sending us both skidding into Joe, who somehow retains his balance, and ours, so we all don’t fly through the window.

This is Sarah, subdued.

“Nice,” I whisper in her ear as she hugs me like a bear even though she’s built like a bird. “Way to bowl down the gorgeous new boy.” She cracks up, and it feels both amazing and disconcerting to have someone in my arms shaking from laughter rather than heartbreak.

Sarah is the most enthusiastic cynical person on the planet. She’d be the perfect cheerleader if she weren’t so disgusted by the notion of school spirit. She’s a literature fanatic like me, but reads darker, read Sartre in tenth grade—Nausea—which is when she started wearing black (even at the beach), smoking cigarettes (even though she looks like the healthiest girl you’ve ever seen), and obsessing about her existential crisis (even as she partied to all hours of the night).

“Lennie, welcome back, dear,” another voice says. Mr. James—also known in my mind as Yoda for both outward appearance and inward musical mojo—has stood up at the piano and is looking over at me with the same expression of bottomless sadness I’ve gotten so used to seeing from adults. “We’re all so very sorry.”

“Thank you,” I say, for the hundredth time that day. Sarah and Joe are both looking at me too, Sarah with concern and Joe with a grin the size of the continental United States. Does he look at everyone like this, I wonder. Is he a wingnut? Well, whatever he is, or has, it’s catching. Before I know it, I’ve matched his continental U.S. and raised him Puerto Rico and Hawaii. I must look like The Merry Mourner. Sheesh. And that’s not all, because now I’m thinking what it might be like to kiss him, to really kiss him—uh-oh. This is a problem, an entirely new un-Lennie-like problem that began (WTF-edly?!) at the funeral: I was drowning in darkness and suddenly all these boys in the room were glowing. Guy friends of Bailey’s from work or college, most of whom I didn’t know, kept coming up to me saying how sorry they were, and I don’t know if it’s because they thought I looked like Bailey, or because they felt bad for me, but later on, I’d catch some of them staring at me in this charged, urgent way, and I’d find myself staring back at them, like I was someone else, thinking things I hardly ever had before, things I’m mortified to have been thinking in a church, let alone at my sister’s funeral.

This boy beaming before me, however, seems to glow in a class all his own. He must be from a very friendly part of the Milky Way, I’m thinking as I try to tone down this nutso smile on my face, but instead almost blurt out to Sarah, “He looks like Heathcliff,” because I just realized he does, well, except for the happy smiling part—but then all of a sudden the breath is kicked out of me and I’m shoved onto the cold hard concrete floor of my life now, because I remember I can’t run home after school and tell Bails about a new boy in band.

My sister dies over and over again, all day long.

“Len?” Sarah touches my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nod, willing away the runaway train of grief barreling straight for me.

Someone behind us starts playing “Approaching Shark,” aka the Jaws theme song. I turn to see Rachel Brazile gliding toward us, hear her mutter, “Very funny,” to Luke Jacobus, the saxophonist responsible for the accompaniment. He’s just one of many band-kill Rachel’s left in her wake, guys duped by the fact that all that haughty horror is stuffed into a spectacular body, and then further deceived by big brown fawn eyes and Rapunzel hair. Sarah and I are convinced God was in an ironic mood when he made her.

“See you’ve met The Maestro,” she says to me, casually touching Joe’s back as she slips into her chair—first chair clarinet—where I should be sitting.

She opens her case, starts putting together her instrument. “Joe studied at a conservatory in Fronce. Did he tell you?” Of course she doesn’t say France so it rhymes with dance like a normal English-speaking human being. I can feel Sarah bristling beside me. She has zero tolerance for Rachel ever since she got first chair over me, but Sarah doesn’t know what really happened—no one does.

Rachel’s tightening the ligature on her mouthpiece like she’s trying to asphyxiate her clarinet. “Joe was a fabulous second in your absence,” she says, drawing out the word fabulous from here to the Eiffel Tower.

I don’t fire-breathe at her: “Glad everything worked out for you, Rachel.” I don’t say a word, just wish I could curl into a ball and roll away. Sarah, on the other hand, looks like she wishes there were a battle-ax handy.

The room has become a clamor of random notes and scales. “Finish up tuning, I want to start at the bell today,” Mr. James calls from the piano. “And take out your pencils, I’ve made some changes to the arrangement.”

“I better go beat on something,” Sarah says, throwing Rachel a disgusted look, then huffs off to beat on her timpani.

Rachel shrugs, smiles at Joe—no not smiles: twinkles—oh brother. “Well, it’s true,” she says to him. “You were—I mean, are—fabulous.”

“Not so.” He bends down to pack up his clarinet. “I’m a hack, was just keeping the seat warm. Now I can go back to where I belong.” He points his clarinet at the horn section.

“You’re just being modest,” Rachel says, tossing fairy-tale locks over the back of her chair. “You have so many colors on your tonal palette.”

I look at Joe expecting to see some evidence of an inward groan at these imbecilic words, but see evidence of something else instead. He smiles at Rachel on a geographical scale too. I feel my neck go hot.

“You know I’ll miss you,” she says, pouting.

“We’ll meet again,” Joe replies, adding an eye-bat to his repertoire. “Like next period, in history.”

I’ve disappeared, which is good really, because suddenly I don’t have a clue what to do with my face or body or smashed-up heart. I take my seat, noting that this grinning, eye-batting fool from Fronce looks nothing like Heathcliff. I was mistaken.

I open my clarinet case, put my reed in my mouth to moisten it and instead bite it in two.

At 4:48 p.m. on a Friday in April,
my sister was rehearsing the role of Juliet
and less than one minute later
she was dead.
To my astonishment, time didn’t stop
with her heart.
People went to school, to work, to restaurants;
they crushed crackers into their clam chowder,
fretted over exams,
sang in their cars with the windows up.
For days and days, the rain beat its fists
on the roof of our house—
evidence of the terrible mistake
God had made.
Each morning, when I woke
I listened for the tireless pounding,
looked at the drear through the window
and was relieved
that at least the sun had the decency
to stay the hell away from us.

(Found on a piece of staff paper, spiked on a low branch, Flying Man’s Gulch)

From AudioFile

Seventeen-year-old Lennie has always lurked in the shadows. She's happy playing music and reading WUTHERING HEIGHTS while her older sister, Bailey, shines on stage and off. When Bailey dies suddenly, Lennie thinks she should be grieving but instead finds herself torn between two boyfriends and a profusion of inappropriate responses. Julia Whelan's myriad tones and perfect pacing portray Lennie's rollercoaster feelings. Whelan plays up Lennie's dramatic reactions and contrasts them with her quieter thoughts. Overall, Whelan's narration captures a complex young woman who is following a unique and difficult path as she struggles with loss and makes peace with her conflicts. S.W. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2010, Portland, Maine

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B003A0012Y
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Speak; 1st edition (March 9, 2010)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ March 9, 2010
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 7312 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 305 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ 0593616014

Best Sellers Rank: #485,347 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #110 in Teen & Young Adult Music Fiction
- #159 in Teen & Young Adult Fiction about Death
- #162 in Teen & Young Adult Fiction about Siblings

Customer Reviews:
4.5 3,151 ratings

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Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson's critically-acclaimed, New York Times bestselling second novel, I'll Give You the Sun, received the 2015 Michael L. Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature, Bank Street's Josette Frank Award, and a Stonewall Honor Book Award. Both Sun and her debut, The Sky Is Everywhere, have been YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults picks and on multiple best of the year lists including the New York Times, Time Magazine, NPR, have earned many starred reviews, and continue to enjoy great international success, collectively published in over 47 countries. Recently, Jandy wrote the screenplay for The Sky Is Everywhere for Warner Brothers. A literary agent for many years, Jandy received a BA from Cornell University and MFAs in Poetry and Children's Writing from Brown University and Vermont College of Fine Arts. Currently a full-time writer, she lives and writes in San Francisco, California--not far from the settings of her novels. Visit Jandy at jandynelson.com. Follow her on twitter: @jandynelson or Facebook: Facebook.com/jandy.nelson. Author photo credit: Sonya Sones.

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Heather R.

Perfection

Reviewed in the United States on July 25, 2012

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Originally posted at [...]

Where do I even begin? This book has wormed its way into my heart, just like Joe wormed his way into the heart of Lennie and her family, and I think it is going to be a very long time before I am able to "move on." And I think it's going to be a very long time before I read a book that holds a candle to The Sky is Everywhere. It's funny because I used to think I didn't "do" grief books. But then I looked at some of the books I read and reviewed recently and loved, like Saving June and The Fault in Our Stars, or If I Stay, and I have come to the conclusion that I actually DO do grief books. But you know, saying that any of those books, as well as The Sky is Everywhere, is strictly a book about grief is doing each a serious injustice. All of those books, and especially The Sky is Everywhere, are about so much more.

From page one of The Sky is Everywhere I was hooked. From the beginning I knew that the story this young woman Lennie was about to tell was going to be something special. This book, it's writing, it's tone, it's mood, it's humor, it's authenticity, it's soul, is unlike anything I have ever read.
Lennie- What I love about Lennie is that even though she has experienced a life altering loss, the death of her sister and best friend Bailey, and even though she is dealing with a MOUNTAIN of survivor's guilt, she still comes across as a regular 17 year old girl. Lennie's not prefect. She's a girl who makes her share of mistakes, the kind that make you go "Ooohh...Lennie, what are you thinking?" She's such a good person, her misguided decisions made me cheer her on even more. So The Sky is Everywhere is as much a coming of age story as it is a book chronicling the loss of a loved one. And thank goodness! Because to say that this loss has devastated Lennie and her entire family, is an understatement.
My sister will die over and over again for the rest of my life. Were it not for the elements of a coming of age story, this book would be one dark, downward spiral. But it isn't! Instead it's the perfect combination of grief and hope. It's the loss of one part of life balanced with self discovery and first love.

Gram- Lennie's grandmother comprises 1/3 of Lennie's family unit, and like all of the other characters in this book, her persona jumps off the page. I love everything about Gram. I love that she's not a small, fragile, little old granny but that she is just as tall in statue as she is large in life. I love that she's an artist, painting her sad, willowy 'green ladies' and I love that she is the local garden guru, growing roses that are so intoxicating they can literally cause people to fall in love when inhaled. Mostly I love how much Gram loves Lennie, and how she was more mother than grandmother to both her and Bailey.

Uncle Big- Like Gram, Lennie's Uncle Big is a towering presence, and he's most definitely a lover and not a fighter. I love that Big is just one big ole hippy, happiest in the old growth redwoods that surround their home of Clover, California. Like Gram, and really the entire Walker family, Big is eccentric and endearing all at the same time.

Sarah- Lennie's BF is loud, loving, loyal and HILARIOUS. Packed full of feminist punch, Sarah is a perfect friend to Lennie, calling her out when she makes a major mess of things but standing by her and doing everything she can to help her make it right in the end.

Toby- Bailey's boyfriend Toby is one of the most complex characters in the story. On the one hand you want so badly to take away all of his pain and hurt and loss that he feels after losing the love of his life. And on the other you want to shake him silly at some of his actions following her death. A lot of readers have problems with Toby's character, and with his relationship with Lennie, but I'm not one of them. I completely sympathized and got it, even though I cringed while reading it.

Joe- Oh my gosh. This character (*Loud Sigh*). There are many, many reasons why I love The Sky is Everywhere. The coming of age story contained within; the element of magical realism; the strong yet eccentric family unit; the humor; the perfect setting, the undeniably gorgeous writing; and the elements of poetry and music inserted. But really, as shallow as it may be, I don't think this book would mean half so much to me were it not for the relationship between Lennie and Joe. In a recent Top Ten Tuesday, Joe earned the top spot in my list of fave Jail Bait Book Boyfriends and the reasons are many. It's his beauty, both external and internal; it's his genius musical abilities; and it's the fact that he can make everyone fall in love with him when he flashes his megawatt smile and bats his extraordinarily long eyelashes (Bat. Bat. Bat.). But I think what makes Joe so perfect to ME is that the boy wears his heart on his sleeve. He is so open, so honest with his feelings. He just puts it all out there for Lennie and everyone to see and even though this makes him vulnerable, and potentially prone to heartache, there is something so lovely about a character like this. Joe is youth and hope, and the 'joy of life' personified. When a person like that walks into the lives of Lennie and her broken family, it's impossible for them not to fall under his spell and begin to feel hopeful as well.

Bailey- Even though Lennie's sister Bailey has been dead for several weeks as the story begins, we still get a hauntingly beautiful picture of who Bailey was and what she meant to her family and friends through the memories, dreams, and poetry of her sister. This inclusion added a heartbreaking yet amazing layer to the story.

In addition to these incredible characters, Nelson has created a gorgeous backdrop set amid the old growth redwood forests: Clover, a fictional town in Northern California. And the setting is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Jandy Nelson's musical writing in The Sky is Everywhere.

Examples abound:

"Good." He brushes his thumb on my cheek , and again his tenderness startles me. "Because I'm going crazy, Lennie." Bat. Bat. Bat.
And just like that, I'm going crazy too because I'm think Joe Fontaine is about to kiss me. Finally.
Forget the convent.
Let's get this out of the way: My previously nonexistent floozy-factor is blowing right off the charts.
"I didn't know you knew my name," I say.
"So much you don't know about me, Lennie." He smiles and takes his index finger and presses it to my lips, leaves it there until my heart lands on Jupiter: three seconds, then removes it, turns around, and heads back into the living room.
Whoa-- well, that was either the dorkiest of sexiest moment of my life, and I'm voting for sexy on account of my standing here dumbstruck and giddy, wondering if he did kiss me after all."

(If you're like me you were reading that and thinking it was dorky, all the way up until Lennie calls it. Much of the writing is like this. Seemingly bordering on the cheesy or melodramatic only to have a sharp does of humor inserted to keep it authentic. I LOVE this about The Sky is Everywhere.)

Here's another:

There once was a girl who found herself dead.
She peered over the ledge of heaven
and saw back on earth
her sister missed her too much,
was way too sad,
so she crossed some paths
that would not have crossed,
took some moments in her hand
shook them up
and spilled them like dice
over the living world.
It worked.
The boy with the guitar collided
with her sister.
"There you go, Len," she whispered. "The rest is up to you."

You know what I love most about that poem? That it plays around with the notion of destiny. And there are more instances of this throughout the book (some of the best coming at the end:) But even with the concept of destiny and fate present, there's also a definite message of one being the author of one's own story. You might not think that these two contradictory ideas could tie together and work, but somehow they do. I'm being vague, I know, but I wanted to at least mention it because I thought it was brilliant.

There's even more packed into The Sky is Everywhere, more about Lennie's family, her mom in particular, but I think I've talked enough. I'll end by saying this: this book is perfection. I think that if even one of the aspects I have mentioned above were missing, one of the characters or passages of the prose altered in the slightest way, this book might not be as powerful as it is. Without all of these parts together the books would not be whole. When I think about it, I have read plenty of great books that have amazing, well developed characters. And I have read books with incredible settings. I have read books with drop dead gorgeous writing. And I have read books that have fascinating story lines. But it is a rare, rare thing to find a book that perfectly captures all of these elements. The Sky is Everywhere is one of these rare books. I wish I had read it sooner. I can't speak highly enough about it. If you are one of the few who haven't yet read it, remedy that. Soon.

5/5 Stars

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Alexandria Gryder

This is a story about a girl and her sister

Reviewed in the United States on April 7, 2015

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Originally published on alexandriagryder.com

I wanted to read this book because Jandy Nelson is such a talented writer. What through me for a loop was Lennie and Joe's relationship; it felt like I had missed something between them. But this is not a character-driven story. This is Lennie's story, so I don't think you should go into it thinking it's going to be about a boy and a girl, because this is a story about a girl and her sister. You should read it for the writing and poetry and because of how beautiful Jandy Nelson's words are. They are so provoking and meaningful, and I really did enjoy this book overall.

Lennie Walker, seventeen, is trying to figure out how to go through life without her older sister, Bailey, after her sudden death. I appreciated Jandy Nelson's writing and her ability to handle her subject matter delicately. Her poetry throughout the story is especially touching and beautiful; however, the theme of death is what I most related to. Because I was seventeen when I lost my grandmother, and I didn't know how to handle living without her.

“How will I survive this missing? How do others do it? People die all the time. Every day. Every hour. There are families all over the world staring at beds that are no longer slept in, shoes that are no longer worn. Families that no longer have to buy a particular cereal, a kind of shampoo. There are people everywhere standing in line at the movies, buying curtains, walking dogs, while inside, their hearts are ripping to shreds. For years. For their whole lives. I don't believe time heals. I don't want it to. If I heal, doesn't that mean I've accepted the world without her?”

My grandmother lived with us until she no longer did. There was never really a day when I thought she wouldn't be there, and when that day finally did find me I didn't really believe it. She was so sharp and brilliant, and she was so loving and kind. My room was always right next to hers, and I always told her I loved her and goodnight before we went to sleep. And then one day I woke up and she didn't. And my mom and dad were devastated. And my sister was a mess. And I felt like I needed to be the one who didn't lose it. I needed to be the one who still believed she would just be back at the house when we got home.

And so for a few years I believed that. I pushed her death out of my head and heart, and I just kept going through life like she wasn't missed. I would avoid conversations about her just like Lennie does with her grandmother. But it's the little things, like Jandy Nelson states, that you realize you will miss the most. They will hurt the most. It's the cereal and shampoo. It's not having her call me when I'm at the supermarket to make sure I pick up her prescription and pecans. Coming home from getting a haircut and her not asking to see it even though she was legally blind. Telling me I look beautiful even though she was biased. Talking about boys with her. Not being able to talk to her about a certain boy now. And there are days I don't think about her; and there are days that I have to catch myself from crying in the shower. Because she is so, so missed. She will never not be missed. You don't stop missing someone who meant the world to you.

“Each time someone dies, a library burns.”

It's true. We are our own libraries. We hold all of this wisdom and wonder and creativity inside us. And there doesn't seem to be any way to save the book that is our brain, and I wish I could read someone else's life sometimes, because it would probably be so scary and thrilling to see if their thoughts matched my own. To see what people say when they talk to themselves. To live all the moments my grandmother did, because she traveled more than anyone else I've ever met.

“I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the storytelling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever. You can tell your story any way you damn well please. It’s your solo.”

Sometimes it feels like my life is a little ball on a yellow string, slowly moving towards the end of the line. No way for me to venture off onto the blue or topaz or orange strings around me. Sometimes I feel as though I have no control over what is happening to me. And then there are days where I have coffee and realize I could pack all of my bags up and leave. I could just put what will fit into suitcase with my Mac and charger and pay for a ticket to wherever I want. I could live in a hotel and I could work at Ruby Tuesday's at night and intern with a publishing company during the day.

My grandmother waited to travel. She had ups and downs, and she was poor and then rich. She was single and then she was a mother and then a grandmother. She enjoyed her life so much so while she was living it that she couldn't stay any longer. She lived six lives while some of us only ever live one. And I know she would say she was in control of her life.

And I know she would say that the best things that came to her came at the end of it all.

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BINA VERMA

Stuck between the right and wrong

Reviewed in India on May 20, 2021

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A must read for someone who enjoy romanticism and also it's a about a girl mane linne who lost her sister in the recent past and is grief striken this novel is all about what goes thorogh people's mind when they lose someone they love so much. I suggest give it a try.

Cliente de Amazon

Excelente libro.

Reviewed in Mexico on January 7, 2019

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Llegó a tiempo pero algo maltratado, el libro es muy bueno y lo recomiendo.

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María Cristina

Genial

Reviewed in Spain on February 6, 2019

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Edición preciosa, historia preciosa y llegó enseguida. Y el precio, nada mal

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Erica

Great Read!

Reviewed in Canada on December 27, 2016

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Jandy Nelson is an amazing writer. Period. I highly recommend The Sky is Everywhere, especially if you loved I'll Give You the Sun - one of my favourite novels of all time.

Paola Costa

Loved it!

Reviewed in Australia on October 9, 2022

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I loved it. I kept Lennie on my mind for a few days still after finishing the book. I could really feel the pain in Lennie's heart and understand her confusion with Toby after her sister's death. Although the story starts with her sister's death it is a light and nice reading! :)

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