{"product_id":"pet-isbn-9780525647072","title":"Pet","description":"\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BOOK AWARD FINALIST • STONEWALL BOOK AWARD WINNER • ONE OF \u003ci\u003eTIME\u003c\/i\u003e MAGAZINE’S 100 BEST YA BOOKS OF ALL TIME\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR by \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times • Time • Buzzfeed • \u003c\/i\u003eNPR\u003ci\u003e • \u003c\/i\u003eNew York Public Library\u003ci\u003e • Publishers Weekly • School Library Journal •\u003c\/i\u003e A\u003ci\u003e KIRKUS REVIEWS\u003c\/i\u003e BEST YOUNG ADULT BOOK OF THE CENTURY\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA genre-defying novel from the award-winning author NPR describes as “like [Madeline] L’Engle…glorious.” A singular book that explores themes of identity and justice. Pet is here to hunt a monster. Are you brave enough to look?\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere are no monsters anymore, or so the children in the city of Lucille are taught. Jam and her best friend, Redemption, have grown up with this lesson all their life. But when Jam meets Pet, a creature made of horns and colors and claws, who emerges from one of her mother's paintings and a drop of Jam's blood, she must reconsider what she's been told. Pet has come to hunt a monster, and the shadow of something grim lurks in Redemption's house. Jam must fight not only to protect her best friend, but also to uncover the truth, and the answer to the question\u003ci\u003e--How do you save the world from monsters if no one will admit they exist?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA riveting and timely young adult debut novel that asks difficult questions about what choices you can make when the society around you is in denial. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[A] beautiful, genre-expanding debut\" \u003ci\u003e–The New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The word hype was invented to describe books like this.\u003ci\u003e\" –Refinery29\u003c\/i\u003e“A \u003cb\u003eunique\u003c\/b\u003e science fiction tale.” –\u003ci\u003eEssence\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eBrilliant\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With\u003cb\u003e great tenderness\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003ePet\u003c\/i\u003e questions a society silenced by denial.\" –\u003ci\u003eObserver\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“By far the most striking of the [National Book Award] finalists is PET, \u003cb\u003ea sinister morality tale\u003c\/b\u003e by Akwaeke Emezi.”  \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e–The Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eA\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eriveting and timely work\u003c\/b\u003e answering the questions about how you go about the world when the world around you is in denial.” \u003ci\u003e–Out Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eThis soaring novel shoots for the stars\u003c\/b\u003e and explodes the sky with its \u003cb\u003ebold brilliance\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews, \u003c\/i\u003eStarred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eA compelling, nuanced tale\u003c\/b\u003e that fans of speculative horror will quickly devour.\" \u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly,\u003c\/i\u003e Starred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eA riveting and important read\u003c\/b\u003e that couldn’t be more well timed to our society’s struggles with its own monsters.\u003ci\u003e\" —School Library Journal, \u003c\/i\u003eStarred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jam is also notable as a Black, trans protagonist in this \u003cb\u003eimportant narrative\u003c\/b\u003e that teens will want to read to gain some perspective on the modern political environment.” \u003ci\u003e—The\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eBulletin, \u003c\/i\u003eStarred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Emezi’s characters are diverse in race, physical ability and especially gender\u003c\/b\u003e.... Readers might see in Jam’s surroundings a version of a world that they, like Jam, might choose to fight for.\" —\u003ci\u003eBookPage, \u003c\/i\u003eStarred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A \u003cb\u003ehaunting and poetic\u003c\/b\u003e work of speculative fiction.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eAkwaeke Emezi makes their young adult debut with \u003ci\u003ePet\u003c\/i\u003e on the inaugural Make Me a World list. An honoree on the National Book Foundation's \"5 Under 35\" list, a long-list nominee for the Carnegie Medal for Excellence, and a short-list nominee for the Center for Fiction's First Novel Prize, Akwaeke continues to receive accolades for their adult debut, \u003ci\u003eFreshwater.\u003c\/i\u003e The autobiographical novel also received rave reviews from the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e, the\u003ci\u003e Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, the \u003ci\u003eNew Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e, and the \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e, among others, as well as starred reviews from \u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e. Their sophomore adult novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Death of Vivek Oji,\u003c\/i\u003e is forthcoming in 2020 from Riverhead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLearn more about Akwaeke at Akwaeke.com or on Twitter at @azemezi.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere shouldn’t be any monsters left in Lucille.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe city used to have them, of course—­what city didn’t? They used to be everywhere, thick in the air and offices, in the streets and in people’s own homes. They used to be the police and teachers and judges and even the mayor; yeah, the mayor used to be a monster. Lucille has a different mayor now. This mayor is an angel; the last couple of mayors have all been angels. Not like a from-­heaven, not-­quite-­real type of angel but a from-­behind-­and-­inside-­and-­in-­front-­of-­the-­revolution, therefore-­very-­real type of angel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was the angels who took apart the prisons and the police; who held councils prosecuting the former officers who’d shot children and murdered people, sentencing them to restitution and rehabilitation. Many people thought it wasn’t enough; but the angels were only human, and it’s hard to build a new world without making people angry. You try your best, you move with compassion, you think about the big structures. No revolution is perfect. In the meantime, the angels banned firearms, not just because of the school shootings but also because of the kids who shot themselves and their families at home; the civilians who thought they could shoot people who didn’t look like them, just because they got mad or scared or whatever, and nothing would happen to them because the old law liked them better than the dead. The angels took the laws and changed them, tore down those horrible statues of rich men who’d owned people and fought to keep owning people. The angels believed and the people agreed that there was a good amount of proper and deserved shame in history and some things were just never going to be things to be proud of.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInstead, they put up other monuments. Some were statues of the dead, mostly the children whose hashtags had been turned into battle cries during the revolution. Others were giant sculptures with thousands of names carved into them, because too many people had died and if you made statues of everyone, Lucille would be filled with stone figures and there’d be no room for the alive ones. The names were of people who died when the hurricanes hit and the monsters wouldn’t evacuate the prisons or send aid, people who died when the monsters sent drones and bombs to their countries (because, as the angels pointed out, you shouldn’t use a nation as a basis to choose which deaths you mourn; nations aren’t even real), people who died because the monsters took away their health care—­names and names of people and people, countless letters recording that they had been.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe citizens of Lucille put dozens of white candles at the base of the monuments, hung layers of marigold necklaces around the necks of the statues, and when they walked past, they would often fall silent for a moment and press a palm against the stone, soaking up the heat the sun had left in it, remembering the souls the stone was holding. They’d remember the marches and vigils, the shaky footage that was splashed everywhere of their deaths (a thing that wasn’t allowed anymore, that gruesome dissemination of someone’s child gasping in their final moments, bubbling air or blood or grief—­the angels respected the dead and their loved ones). The people of Lucille would remember the temples that were bombed, the mosques, the acid attacks, the synagogues. Remembering was important.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJam was born after the monsters, born and raised in Lucille, but like everyone else she remembered. It was taught in school: how the monsters had maintained power for such a long time; how the angels had removed them, making Lucille what it is today. It wasn’t like the angels wanted to be painted as heroes, but the teachers wanted the kids to want to be angels, you see? Angels could change the world, and Lucille was proof. Jam was fascinated by them, by the stories the teachers told in history class. They briefly mentioned other angels, those who weren’t human, but only to say that Lucille’s angels had been named after these other ones. When Jam asked for more information, her teachers’ eyes slid away. They mentioned religious books, but with reluctance, not wanting to influence the children. Religion had caused so many problems before the revolution, people were hesitant to talk about it now. “If you really want to know,” one of the teachers added, taking pity on Jam’s frustrated curiosity, “there’s always the library.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy can’t they just tell me? Jam complained to her best friend, Redemption, as they left the school. Her hands were a blur as she signed, and Redemption smiled at her annoyance. It was the last day of classes before summer break, and while he was excited to do nothing for the next several weeks except train, Jam was—as always—on some hunt for information.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re giving yourself homework,” he pointed out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAren’t you curious? she replied. Who the old angels were, if they weren’t human?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If they were even real, you mean.” Redemption adjusted the strap of his backpack. “You know that’s what a lot of religion was, right? Just made-up things used to scare people so they could control us better.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJam frowned. Maybe, she said, but I still wanna know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRedemption threw an arm around her. “And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he laughed. “I gotta go pick up the lil bro from his class and walk him home, but let me know what you find out, okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOkay. She hugged him goodbye. Give Moss a kiss for me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe scoffed. “I’ll try, but that boy thinks he grown now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToo grown for kisses??\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s what I said.” Redemption threw up his hands as he headed off. “Talk soon, love you!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLove you! Jam waved goodbye and watched him break into a jog, his body moving with an easy grace, then she went to the library to look up pictures of angels.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe librarian was a tall, dark-skinned man who whizzed around the marble floors in his wheelchair. His name was Ube, and Jam had known him since she was a toddler pawing through picture books. She loved being in the library, the almost sacred silence you could find there, the way it felt like another home. Ube smiled at her when she walked in, and Jam took an index card from his counter, writing her question about angels down on it. She slid it over to Ube, and he grunted as he read it, nodding his head, then he wrote some reference numbers underneath her question and slid the card back to her. They didn’t need to talk, which was perfect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt took her fifteen minutes to find the old pictures, printed on thin, flaky paper and nestled between heavy book covers. Even though Ube hadn’t said she should, Jam considered pulling on the white gloves nestled in the reading desk drawers to use in looking through the books, they seemed that old. But they weren’t in the protected section, so she figured it was fine to run her bare fingers over the smooth and fragile paper. The room she was in was quiet, with large windows vaulting up the walls and domed skylights pouring in late-­afternoon sun. Jam sat for a few minutes with her fingers on the images, staring down, turning a page and staring at the next one. They were strong and confusing pictures. Eventually she closed and stacked the books, then lugged them to the checkout counter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUbe raised a thick black eyebrow at her. “All of these?” he asked. His voice sounded unreal, deep and velvet, something that should live only in a radio because it didn’t make sense outside in normal air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJam nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You gotta be careful with them, you know? They’re mad old.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nodded again, and Ube looked at her for a moment, then smiled, shaking his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You right, you a careful girl. Always seen it.” He scanned the books as he spoke. “You treat the books gentle, like they flowers or something.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe blushed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t be shy about it, now. Books are important.” He stamped them for her. “You need a bag, baby?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJam shook her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“All right, now. Two weeks, remember?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hefted the books onto her hip, nodded, and left. They were a weight straining against her arm until she got home, and she took them straight to her mother’s studio. Jam’s mother had been born when there were monsters, and Jam’s grandmother had come from the islands, a woman entirely too gentle for that time. It had hurt her too much to be alive then, hurt even more to give birth to Jam’s mother, whose existence was the result of a monster’s monstering. This grandmother had died soon after the birth, but not before naming Jam’s mother Bitter. No one had argued with the dying woman.","brand":"Make Me a World","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301618929893,"sku":"NP9780525647072","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525647072.jpg?v=1767734689","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/pet-isbn-9780525647072","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}