by Ava Morgyn
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Release date: October 1st 2019
Summary:
Olivia Foster hasn’t felt alive since her little brother drowned in the backyard pool three years ago. Then Kara Hallas moves in across the street with her mother and grandmother, and Olivia is immediately drawn to these three generations of women. Kara is particularly intoxicating, so much so that Olivia not only comes to accept Kara's morbid habit of writing to men on death row, she helps her do it. They sign their letters as the Resurrection Girls.
But as Kara’s friendship pulls Olivia out of the dark fog she’s been living in, Olivia realizes that a different kind of darkness taints the otherwise lively Hallas women—an impulse that is strange, magical, and possibly deadly.
“Ava Morgyn's passion and tenderness shine like a candle, guiding readers through the darkness of Olivia's story. Her compelling characters are made all the more real by the eerie undertow of myth. A beautiful, deeply emotional debut!”
–Sarah Porter, author of VASSA IN THE NIGHT and NEVER-
"Resurrection Girls is a powerful examination of grief and loss, captivatingly woven with magic and ultimately hope. A compassionately rendered debut."
–Emily Duncan, NYT Bestselling author of WICKED SAINTS
"RESURRECTION GIRLS is a heartbreak of a book, where love and loss writes letters to the strange things that lurk in the darkness. It's a stunning story that blends the inexplicable and the beautiful with the bittersweet."
–Rin Chupeco, author of THE BONE WITCH and THE NEVER TILTING WORLD
"A raw, poignant, unflinching examination of grief and healing wrapped up in a compelling story. Resurrection Girls is a brilliant debut."
–CJ Redwine, NYT Bestselling author of THE SHADOW QUEEN and the RAVENSPIRE series
"The lovely, assured prose draws on ancient archetypes and a lingering sense of dread to pave the way for a strange but satisfying conclusion ... Morgyn’s supernaturally tinged debut is a heartbreaking but hopeful exploration of death and grief."
–Kirkus Reviews
Excerpt:
In the beginning, the dead are always
with you. It’s almost as if they aren’t even gone, as though you could round
any given corner and see them there, waiting. For months after Robby died, I
heard his voice, his laughter catching in his throat, the sound of his
footfalls down the long hall upstairs. I could feel his towheaded locks soft
against the pads of my fingers still, and imagine his quiet breathing in the
night. It was all there, floating around me, able to be summoned forward at any
given moment. Like a balloon, I had Robby’s memory, his soul, on a string.
But
that only lasts as long as the pain is fresh. You bleed memories for a while.
And then one day you find you’ve bled them all out. And the sharp sting of loss
has waned into a dull ache.
It’s the little things that go first. The
way light would play across his face at a certain angle. The expression he made
when he pouted. The smell of him in the morning. You go to summon some detail
up from the depths and it’s no longer there. The dead drift away.
And then even the dull ache disappears,
and only numbness holds in its place. You stop trying to recall details because
the futility of it is worse than the grief. It’s no longer the loss of the
person you mourn, but the loss of the haunt. And the absence is all that is
left when you reach for your pain.
About the Author
Ava Morgyn is a long-time avid reader and writer of young adult fiction. She studied English Writing & Rhetoric at St. Edward’s University in Austin, TX, and now lives in Houston—city with the most rain, best food, and worst traffic—with her family. When she isn’t at her laptop spinning darkly hypnotic tales, she can be found making fairy houses, talking to her crystals and plants, hunting for delicious new vegan recipes, or bothering her dog. She also blogs regularly about the devastating journey of child loss at ForLoveofEvelyn.com.
Website: https://www.avamorgyn.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/avamorgyn
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/avawrites
Instagram: https://instagram.com/avamorgyn
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