Praise for TALK:
"The writing is phenomenal . . . Kathe Koja has created a memorable and
meaningful story in TALK."
-- Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy
"A richly satisfying story . . . Layers of friendships, wounds, yearnings, and secrets are expertly interwoven to create this daring novel . . . . Sure to appeal to anyone who has longed for another's affections or dared to overcome social fears, this book is destined for success."
-- VOYA
"[A] touching tale of self-discovery . . . . Koja develops the characters so well."
-- Detroit Free Press
"The action of this ambitious novel moves along briskly. The author's nicely realized denouement is both life- and self-affirming."
-- Booklist
"The novel . . . flows in a poetic stream-of-conciousness style. Kit's own questions of identity and truth lead to a dramatic conclusion - both on and offstage - as he finally discovers who he is."
-- The Horn Book [starred review]
"What Koja, who deftly handles several points of view and neatly juxtaposes scenes of the play with the narrative, does well is to let the reader clearly see her characters' imperfections, while never losing sight of their essential humanity."
-- Kirkus Reviews
Awards / Honors
- Honorable Mention, 2005 Gustavus Myers Book Award
- A selection of the Junior Library Guild
- A 2006 YALSA Best Books for Young Adults nominee
- A 2005 Teens' Top Ten nominee
Excerpt from Talk
So there I am, too-bright theater light and "What is this?" I say to Carma, flipping through the blue script booklet full of broken lines, it doesn't make any sense. "Is this supposed to be like poetry, or what? ' ...finish what you started. REED: It starts with me. It ends with you.' Why is it written like --"
"Because," with exaggerated patience, pushing back her mop of hair, even moppier than mine, "you are a dupe...Look, they give you your line and most of the line right before yours, get it? So you don't have to put the whole play in each script."
"But how am I supposed to know where I am?"
"Because instead of checking out all the cute guys in crew, you've actually been paying attention to --"
"Leads down front, please."
Her sharp elbow digging into my side: "That's you. Go."
"Go where?"
"Where they are," with another dig to send me down the slope of red carpet, endless pattern like infinity, why am I noticing this? and not the teacher, no, the director, no, Mick, Call me Mick with his arms crossed, head back, eyes half-closed but you know he's watching, leads down front which means me and Lindsay Walsh, who's standing arms-crossed next to Mick as if she's a director, too. When I walk up her gaze goes straight through me, as if there's not enough of me to make it stick, but he looks right in my face: "Kit," sharp, no, crisp, like a fingersnap. His eyes are pale gray, like water over stones. "I need you where she is. I need you two to be together. Right?"
"Uh, right." How would I know? I lean against the stage, a step beside Lindsay who keeps ignoring me; Mick stands in front of us both, swivels on his heels and "Here they are," he says, "here it is. Talk," to the people scattered in the seats, the rest of the cast, does he mean he wants them to -- oh I get it, he's saying we're the play, Lindsay and me. Is that what he's saying? But then what about them?
I don't understand any of this. But that's OK, that's why I'm here. I wanted to go someplace where I could be someone else, where I could -- lose myself. Just for a little while. So when Carma dared me -- she never thought I would, I know, which is partially why I did -- I went with her to auditions, and read for Reed, that's my part. Reed the lead. And I got it.
Mick rubs his chin. He's wearing all black, black jeans, black sneakers, black collarless shirt. "What these two are going to create," he says, "is surface tension. A whole world in a bubble. Right? And we're all going to ride along in that bubble.
"We don't have a lot of time, people: just ten weeks. And Talk is a demanding production. To say the least. There are adult groups I've worked with I wouldn't dream of using for this kind of stuff. But I believe you can do it."
"Like Doll's House," Lindsay says. "Everyone thought that would be hard. But it wasn't." She sounds bored, as if she shouldn't have to sit through the pep talk like the rest of us. Lindsay is president of the drama club, queen of the senior girls, Lola, the other lead. Lola, a resistance fighter. That's all it says on the cast sheet. Like mine says Reed, interrogator.
Mick rubs his chin again. "Read-through tomorrow, cast and crew, everybody, I want you there. Right? Three-fifteen," and "Well?" says Carma, as she zooms out into traffic, the last dregs of after-school gridlock. "So what do you think, Reed? You glad you did it?"
I put on my blue sunglasses, deep aquarium blue, the undersea world of Kit Webster and "I don't know," I say. "I didn't do it yet."
