Reynolds's introspective narrative poem, with a young man at home during quarantine as its speaker, shares the stage with Griffin's emotive collagelike illustrations done in Moleskine notebooks and reproduced on the pages to make it look like a real teen's journal. The first-person text is presented in three parts, or "breaths." In "Breath One," the narrator says he's "sitting here wondering why / my mother won't change the channel // And why won't the news change the story / And why the story won't change into something new." Along with concerns about the world outside, he thinks about his father coughing behind closed doors, his sister talking about protests, and his brother lost in video games. When the wonderings get to be too much, the narrator reminds himself to breathe "in through the nose // out through the mouth." By the end of "Breath Three," the narrator realizes that his "oxygen mask" for living through this uncertain time is the people he loves and the moments they share. The poem and images create an authentic-sounding adolescent narrator trying to grapple with the confusion and fear of the double pandemic (COVID-19 and systemic racism) he is facing. The book ends with a conversation between the two Jasons about their collaborative process for creating this work during the pandemic. Nicholl Denice Montgomery March/April 2022 p.(c) Copyright 2022. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Author Reynolds and artist Griffin, friends and previous collaborators (My Name Is Jason. Mine Too.), explore recent events in America through a poetic multimedia partnership told in three "breaths." As a journal-like volume opens, a nameless Black narrator takes readers into their thoughts with what becomes a variable refrain, wondering "why/ my mother won't change the channel// and why the news won't/ change the story// and why the story won't/ change into something new." Spare lines that emphasize the weight of recurrence also describe the figure's sister planning to attend a protest in the wake of George Floyd's murder, their brother's attention indivertibly set on a video game, their father's violent coughs, and the frustration of "how we won't cure the sick/ because we won't wear a mask/ and wash our hands." The combination of experiences sends the narrator into a spiral, hoping to catch a breath ("I should be.../ looking for an oxygen mask"), then eventually toward succor within the actions and personality of family ("Maybe that oxygen mask/ was hidden on the hinges/ of my mother's mouth"). As Reynolds's lines depict Black people facing police brutality, Covid-19, and general concerns regarding safety, Griffin's captivating collages literally and metaphorically capture a constant state of worry and panic, leading to visual moments that encourage the reader to find solace and inspiration in the everyday. An interview between the creators concludes. Ages 12--up. (Jan.)

Reynolds and Griffin's searing indictment of the status quo is expressed in the voice of a young, unnamed Black man, whose timely comments resonate beyond the personal to the universal. Divided into three parts called "Breaths," the text begins as the boy ponders why his mother won't change the TV channel from repetitive news stories, what keeps his brother glued to his video game, and the implications of his sister's plan to attend a protest. Breath Two introduces the boy's sick father, who, isolated in his bedroom, can't stop coughing. Breath Three finds the boy feeling suffocated and searching for an oxygen mask, eventually finding lifelines in small but meaningful details around him. Reynolds' text--printed on strips of white paper affixed to notebook pages--comments on a seemingly changeless world on fire, on protests in the wake of George Floyd's murder, and on the seeming omnipresence of COVID-19--all of which reflect a world without the freedom to breathe. It's a bleak picture but not one without hope of change. Griffin's remarkable mixed-media collage pictures that employ a palette largely of black and red are a perfect complement to the text, capturing its tone and style exactly while expanding and enhancing the poetic words. The result is an important combination that expresses the zeitgeist of a troubled time. It's essential reading. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: There's nothing Reynolds can't do, and his readers know it. This creative, timely reflection will be particularly admired by teens seeking change.

A profound visual testimony to how much changed while we all had to stay inside and how much--painfully, mournfully--stayed the same. Reynolds' poetry and Griffin's art perform a captivating dance on pages of mixed-media collage and emotive reflection on the pronounced threats facing a contemporary Black family. In "Breath One," the opening of the verse narrative, the unnamed boy protagonist struggles with the onslaught of TV news coverage of the systemic violence and death experienced by Black people--coverage that is both overwhelming and insufficient. The television then forms the backdrop of the narrator's concerns for his bedridden father, who is struggling with an acute respiratory illness while isolated in a bedroom. The art is sometimes spare and monochrome before shifting to a bright and striking palette as Griffin deploys aesthetics that enliven the rich flow and rhythm of Reynolds' words. The two skillfully go back and forth like rap duos of old, each with a distinct voice that enriches the other. The result is an effective critique of the ways we've failed as a society to care for one another. By "Breath Three," however, a complicated optimism shines through for a family that perseveres through closeness and connection despite what is broadcast from their TV. While grounded in 2020, many of the issues touched on explicitly are very much not over and not even new, making this remarkable work both timely and timeless. Artful, cathartic, and most needed. (conversation between creators) (Illustrated poetry. 12-18) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.