West of the Sea

by Stephanie Willing Narrated by Stephanie Willing

Overview

Tae Keller meets Tracey Baptiste in a tale of generational trauma, told with a cryptozoological twist.

Paleontology-loving Haven West and her older sister, Margie, have hardly talked with their mom since she retreated into a deep depression. Each morning Haven wonders if it's going to be a “good” or “bad” day, and the only thing that seems to occupy her mom is collecting fossils for her bone garden.

But one night, after an ominous moonlight heart-to-heart, her mom disappears-right before Haven discovers she's inherited a monstrous family trait. It turns out that she is the latest in a long line of cryptids, a past her mom has been hiding. Suddenly, the Texas terrain is full of ghostly dinosaur silhouettes and Haven is breaking out in scales at all the wrong moments. Even worse, she doesn't know whom she can trust with this information. 

Since the only person who could guide her through this has vanished, Haven sets off on the road trip of a lifetime with Margie and their new friend Rye in tow. Together, they're determined to find her mom and finally get some answers, hopefully before Haven's secret is revealed . . .

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

★ 05/29/2023

Willing’s sparkling debut incorporates profound family dynamics, ghostly dinosaurs, a shape-shifting cryptid, and Celtic mythology, culminating in a suspenseful, innovative read. Eleven-year-old Haven West’s mother has been “a mood ring stuck on the blues” since Haven’s grandparents died suddenly a year ago. Mama has been acting strangely as well; she spends long hours in the bathtub, and Haven often catches her muttering things like “my shape is trapped in the rock, what we need is in the air, but my power is in the water.” Even more oddly, when Haven saw her last, Mama looked like a humanoid lizard. Then Mama vanishes. Accompanied by her environmentally conscious teenage sister Margie and kind, puzzle-solving tween neighbor Rye Wilson-Ruiz, the trio steal a food truck and set off across Texas to search for Mama. Their quest turns dire, though, after Haven briefly transforms into a lizard herself, prompting questions about the siblings’ heritage. Willing skillfully balances the narrative’s inherently fantastical underpinnings with a nuanced cast whose grounded challenges—including issues surrounding coming out and mental health—add ample heart to this road-trip adventure. The West family is white; Rye is Black and Latinx. Ages 8–12. Agent: Alexandra Levick, Writers House. (Aug.)

From the Publisher

Love for West of the Sea

* "Willing’s sparkling debut incorporates profound family dynamics, ghostly dinosaurs, a shape-shifting cryptid, and Celtic mythology, culminating in a suspenseful, innovative read."—Publishers Weekly, starred review

"Intriguing mythology with a prehistoric twist and an endearing family focus."—Kirkus Reviews

“Part road trip adventure, part family reckoning, Willing’s debut ambitiously approaches loss, mental illness, identity, neurodivergence, and adolescence and executes them with compassion and depth.”—Booklist

School Library Journal

08/01/2023

Gr 5 Up—Palentology-loving Haven, 12, is fascinated with fossils and bones, so much so that one dry summer she knows she saw something that was not part of nature—at least, not of current nature. Living in a small town in Texas with her family, she has a carefree life as a typical girl. One day when her mom does not come home, she knows something is not right and is determined to find her. As her journey starts, she uncovers secrets that she and her mom share the ability to turn into amphibious creature called the kitskara. With this discovery, Haven, joined by sister Margie and friend Rye, sets off to find her mother and seek answers to understand herself, as she really is. This is a coming-of-age story for tweens who love mythology and fossils, that shows how growing up is always going to be awkward—but no one is alone in that transition. Willing gives clues to Haven's quest not only to find her mom, but to discover how she fits in her family. The book is heavy with paleontology terms that would be suitable for older middle grade students. VERDICT This adventure novel with heart will have kids rushing to learn more about the ancient creatures featured throughout Haven's journey. Recommended.—BreAnn Weeks

Kirkus Reviews

2023-05-24
Amid literal and emotional droughts, two sisters must find their mother and themselves during a road trip.

Eleven-year-old Texan Haven and her older sister, Margie, are connected in odd ways to magic by their Scottish heritage. Their maternal grandparents came from Orkney, and Margie and Mama share red hair and eyes that change color with their moods. Meanwhile, Haven has started seeing the ghosts of prehistoric animals whenever she touches fossils, which her mom has an uncanny knack for finding. Her mom has been depressed and distant since her parents died a year ago, and after Haven glimpses her looking frighteningly inhuman, Mama leaves in the middle of the night. Meanwhile, Haven discovers that whenever she comes into contact with salt water, she transforms into a kitskara, or scaly cryptid that can breathe underwater. To get answers and find Mama, Haven and Margie (who has her learner’s permit) join new neighbor Rye, who volunteers his dad’s coffee truck for the search. Black and Mexican Rye, who’s upset that his parents moved them from Austin to the middle of nowhere, is up for an adventure. On their journey to the Gulf of Mexico, Haven’s developing powers dovetail well with themes of preserving past love while making room for change. Though Haven’s closeness with Rye feels rushed, the sometimes-contentious but overwhelmingly supportive sibling dynamic grounds this story about healing and growth.

Intriguing mythology with a prehistoric twist and an endearing family focus. (Fiction. 9-13)

Product Details

BN ID:	2940176585056
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	08/15/2023
Edition description:	Unabridged
Age Range:	8 - 11 Years

Read an Excerpt

1

Country girls don’t get scaredwhen things go thump in the night. There’s always some critter out there making noise and trouble. So when I heard the scratching out back, I didn’t think too hard on it.

A low rumble, a scrrritchy sort of sound, and my brain put two and two together: there was an owl with a tummyache scratching at my window. It made perfect sense.

Scrrritch.

Wait, no, it didn’t.

Thump. Scrrrritch. THUD.

I shoved myself upright and rubbed the sleep grit out of my eyes.

There was a face at the window. It had a long, snaky neck and a sharp, pointy beak. Looking at me.

My heart jumped up past my throat and choked off a scream.

But then I slumped against the headboard. I knew that face. It was Harry. My dang peacock. Presumably hoping for breakfast in the middle of the night.

He had no sense of time. He had no sense period, but then, neither did I.

Moonlight spilled over the bed, illuminating me and the fossil I’d fallen asleep holding. I’d scooped this stony relic off one of Mama’s cairns in the weak hope that she’d come looking for it.

I’d actually thought stealing a fossil would do something, like get a reaction.

Mama could smell a fossil five feet out of the ground, so it stood to figure she’d be drawn to this one too, and then I’d get to say goodnight to her before she locked herself in the bathroom to soak in the tub for hours. Again. If I got really lucky, maybe she’d even smooth my hair, or sing me our old lullaby, or scold me for messing up her stack of stones. I wasn’t picky. I’d take anything other than how I became invisible to her at night.

Scritch.Thump.

A draft of cold air rustled the room, and I pulled the quilt up around me. I was almost twelve, not a little girl anymore. I shouldn’t need Mama to come say goodnight to me. It would be better if I learned to not need her, like my big sister, Margie, had.

Scritch scritch SCRATCH.

“Ugh, I’m coming,” I said. Keeping the quilt, I scooted out of bed and stomped over to where my peacock watched me through the window. I pushed the pane up until there was only the screen between us.

Harry scraped and rustled inside a decrepit old wheelbarrow that Mama had parked under my window and made into a flower box. She was always taking broken things and turning them into something beautiful. At least, she used to.

“Harry, it is not breakfast time,” I told him.

He clucked and spread his fan of tail feathers. He was only one year old, so it wasn’t impressive, but I never let on. There was a lot he didn’t know. He’d been born in the drought, and if it ever rained, he’d probably think the sky was falling.

“Yes, you’re very handsome, but not even the handsomest birds get fed before six a.m.”

I scolded him, but I wasn’t really mad. I got it. Sometimes I woke up lonely too and went hunting for a snack.

The night air smelled warm and dry. I wasn’t sure why I’d felt such a chill in the room when I woke up. I let the quilt fall to the floor.

I looked past Harry to our wheat fields. They rustled in endless silver waves under the moon. But the stalks were weak and not as tall as they should be. If the drought didn’t break, we’d be out a year’s harvest, and the lines in Papa’s face would get deeper. Mama would sink even quieter, Margie would get angrier, and I’d . . . I’d be fine.

Harry pressed his face against the screen, and I pushed my hand against the shape of him. He chirruped.

The house was silent. I listened for the soft splish—splash sounds of Mama soaking in the tub down the hall, but she must’ve gotten out while I was asleep. Or maybe she’d dozed off in there. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Thunder rumbled, and I realized I was squeezing the fossil tight in my right hand. I hadn’t noticed I was still holding it.

I frowned. If there was thunder, there should be clouds. And if there were clouds, the moon wouldn’t be this bright.

“Go back to the coop, Harry,” I said. “Papa’s gonna feed you in a few hours.”

Harry closed his fan, bobbed his head, and jumped to the ground.

And that’s when I saw the dimetrodon in the vegetable garden.

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