Every child, every teenager, every adult, knows the feelings of despair and loneliness that come from not fitting in, from having secrets to keep, from struggling to figure out the difference between the person who looks good and the person who is good. But what if that was going on and the whole world was toxic? What if you had the normal teenager worries, but, layered below, was a whole host of not-fitting-in, a basic disconnect and allergy to the world itself?

That is where Mackie Doyle’s life is in Brenna Yovanoff’s The Replacement. He’s a Replacement. An intruder. A fairy, switched at birth with a human child. A being left to struggle in a world that rejects every part of him, but, still, somehow, also just a teenage boy, with friends, enemies, and a crush on one of the prettiest girls at school. It’s this conflict between instinct and birthright, between what Mackie is and what he desperately wishes to be, that sits at the heart of this debut. For all of his allergies to iron and steel, in spite of his too-dark eyes, even though he cannot step on consecrated ground, Mackie, at the start of the novel, is very human. He grumbles his way through homework; he hangs out with his older sort-of sister; he has a huge crush on a pretty girl. But he is also terrified, because if anyone outside of his family finds out he’s a replacement, his life may be in danger, and in a town with a history of fairy involvement, he doesn’t have to do much to risk discovery.
The rest of the characters in The Replacement are also well thought out and compelling. From Mackie’s best friend, Roswell, to his sister, Emma, each of the characters feels solid, and even the fairy folk, when they make their appearance, feel an integral part of the world that Yovanoff has so carefully built. It should be difficult to make a town that is both convincingly part of the modern world (high school parties) and a fairy tale (the people under the hill), but both exist with aplomb here, and it’s fascinating to explore the town’s history and struggle, with Mackie, to do what is right for all of the inhabitants. This story, Mackie’s life, is all about balance: wants and needs, nature and nurture, the good of the few, the good of one. This story, Mackie’s life, is also about solitude, being alone in a crowd, and darkness:

I dream about fields, dark tunnels, but nothing is clear. I dream that a dark shape puts me in the crib, puts a hand over my mouth, and whispers in my ear. Shh, it says. And, Wait. No one is there, no one is touching me, and when the wind comes in around the edges of the window frame, my skin is cold. I wake up feeling lonely, like the world is big and freezing and scary. Like I will never have anyone touch me again.

But, for all the darkness, there is still significant light, for all of the fear, there is still laughter, and music, and fun. In the end, this story is also about love, about what ties a family together, about what requirements and restrictions being cared for, and caring, puts on you. About what it means to be never quite what was expected, and not yet quite yourself.

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