- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Ever since the car accident that killed his identical twin brother, Marshall Windsor has been consumed with guilt and crippled by the secrets of that fateful night. He has only one chance to make amends and set things right. He must find a thin space—a mythical point where the barrier between this world and the next is ...
Ever since the car accident that killed his identical twin brother, Marshall Windsor has been consumed with guilt and crippled by the secrets of that fateful night. He has only one chance to make amends and set things right. He must find a thin space—a mythical point where the barrier between this world and the next is thin enough for a person to step through to the other side.
But when a new girl moves into the neighborhood, into the exact same house Marsh is sure holds a thin space, she may be the key—or the unraveling of all his secrets.
As they get closer to finding a thin space—and closer to each other—March must decide once and for all how far he’s willing to go to right the wrongs of the living…and the dead.
"An eerie yet ultimately hopeful exploration of grief, guilt, friendship and redemption, Thin Space captivated me from start to finish."
"Take off your shoes and prepare to stroll barefoot through a novel richly grounded in love, loss, and the redemptive power of truth. But don't get too comfortable, because the twist at the end will knock your socks off."
Today I think about kicking down doors, shattering windows. I have a one-second flash of myself climbing down the chimney. Which just shows how far gone I am lately.
I stop at the foot of the driveway and squint at the two lines of concrete that lead back to the unattached garage. A realtor was out here not too long ago, mowing the stubble of grass that runs down the center, clipping the bushes, yanking dead flowers out of the flowerbeds. I wonder if she forgot to lock up.
The house has a basement with an outside entrance. It’s where Mrs. Hansel kept her hedge trimmers. I’m thinking maybe I can sneak inside there, slip down the stairs before anyone sees me. Once, my brother and I broke into our own house that way. His idea. No way am I going to stand out here in the cold, he said. Dad’ll get over it. Big grin and he was already stomping his boot against the latch.
Before I can lose my nerve, I sprint toward the backyard, keeping in the shadows along the side of the house. The basement doors jut out from the ground like a storm cellar. When I give them a tug, they don’t budge. Without thinking, I kick the metal handles.
Shit! I have to grit my teeth to keep from yelling. I hop around on one foot, holding the throbbing one in my hands. I can’t deal with another injury right now. Shattered leg. Split forehead and chin. Bashed up nose. I’ve had enough battered body parts. But I instantly regret the thought. I’m the one left alive. Who the hell am I to feel sorry for myself? Anyway, my stupid foot isn’t broken.
The school bus rumbles around the corner and I hobble back up the driveway, and then half stagger down the street toward my stop. Big shocker, Lindsay and Heather are standing there yakking it up. “Hey, Marsh,” they drone in the same nasally tone.
I ignore them and tramp up the grooved bus steps, slick and cold under my bare feet. I plunk down in my usual seat, one foot still pulsing from that kick at the door handle.
Why am I such an idiot?
The bus jerks forward and we’re almost past Mrs. Hansel’s. I blink at the for sale sign in the front yard and wonder when they’ll be holding another open house.
They had one a few weeks ago, and I marched up the walk like I knew what I was doing—didn’t even ring the doorbell. You don’t have to during an open house. I strode right into the front room and made it halfway across, halfway toward the place where the hospice people had set up the bed.
The floor slants in that house, sloping down from the entryway over to the fireplace. I raised my bare foot, thinking that the floor slanted right where I wanted to go, like the house was leading me to the spot. For just a second, the bed was there again, the white blankets spilling over, Mrs. Hansel propped up, her thin body sinking into the pillows. I could see her bony finger shaking. I can make a thin space, she said. You’ll see. There’s going to be a thin space right here in this room.
But just as I was about to put my foot down, the realtor came around the corner from the dining room. I must’ve been grinning like a doofball because I could picture it, being whisked away. One second swaying on the tilted floorboards, the next second gone. Well, that would scare the living crap out of the realtor, to see me sucked out of the room.
Now, just thinking about how I blew my chance ticks me off all over again. I should’ve shoved past that lady and kept going, stepped in, pressed down—
The bus jolts to a stop in front of the school and I have to brace myself to face another day here. Remind myself why I’m doing it. What the point is.
This morning, it’s searching the gym. I’m covering the place diagonally today because it hits me that the up and down pattern I’ve been doing might’ve led me to miss some spots.
As far as thin spaces go, the gym has strong possibilities. You hear about it on the news: Kid passes out after a basketball game. A hidden heart problem. Never heard of it happening at Andover High, but hey, it could’ve. The school is old. My grandparents went here. Mrs. Hansel did too, now that I think about it. Occasionally women have strolled around here pregnant—which is the key detail and the thing that makes finding a thin space so freaking hard.
When Mrs. Hansel first told us about it, my brother and me, that was the sticking point. Or really, that was the part my brother kept circling back to. Last spring when Mrs. Hansel was just the weird old lady who lived down the street. We were only helping her to get our school-required service hours. Mow her lawn. Lug boxes out of the attic. And the whole time she was blathering about thin spaces.
They’re like doorways, according to Google, places where the wall between this world and the next one is thinner. Where the dead can come back. And where living people can enter the world of the dead.
But here’s the thing you can’t google: How to make a thin space. Mrs. Hansel told us it all came down to your soul leaving your body in the same spot it came through. That’s what makes a place thinner. She had it stuck in her head that her point of entry was the front room of her house, so that’s where she planned to die.
My brother had jumped all over that. You were born in this room? he’d asked. But Mrs. Hansel had just smiled. No. She wasn’t talking about birth. She was talking about souls. “Quickening” they used to call it, when a pregnant woman first feels a child move in her body. Then she and my brother went off onto some ethical tangent about when life begins, and I quit listening.
Which is too bad. Because now it’d be nice to know a few more details.
I’m finished with my slide through the gym. The diagonal method, big surprise, got me nowhere. Slim-to-none chance that a soul came through in the boys’ locker room, but I weave my way around the whole place just in case. I head into the shower area where my feet slap tiles, still wet from morning showers. The football team must’ve just finished their AM workouts.
Last year around this time my brother and I were down here every morning. We had to ride our bikes to school in the dark. I always griped about it, but he’d just laugh at me, tell me to quit whining, and call me “little brother,” our private joke, since he was really only three minutes older.
But I don’t want to think about last year. I push out of the gym and trudge down the hall, walking the wall’s edge. Apparently, no one ever left the world leaning against a school wall. No one ever died standing in front of my locker either, but for the hell of it, I open the door and stick my foot inside. Even as my skin hits the metal bottom, I think, Jeez, is it possible that someone could die inside a locker? I whirl my head around, considering. If there’s even a small chance, I’m in trouble. I’ll have to poke my foot into, what? Eighteen hundred lockers? Not counting the half-size ones in the gym.
I almost laugh. Even if someone did die in a locker, no way that same soul came into the world there. I can’t imagine a pregnant woman, even the rare pregnant girl around here, stuffing her stomach into a locker.
I pull my foot out and shuffle to class.
Morning’s a haze, and then somehow, it’s lunchtime. Of course I’ve already slid my feet all over the cafeteria. The food’s so crappy that I’d been hoping someone over the years would’ve succumbed to it. Choked on it. Been poisoned by it.
No such luck.
Whatever. I plunk down at the end of the theater-people table and dump out the contents of my lunch bag. Well-balanced as always, thanks Mom! PB and J on whole wheat. An apple. Bag of baked chips. While I eat, I rub my feet back and forth across the grimy floor squares.
Because here’s what I’m thinking: Let’s say someone, a pregnant school secretary hypothetically speaking, once walked through this cafeteria. Crossed the floor, rubbing her stomach, eyeing the snack machine, and then she feels it: a twitch, the first kick of her baby. Flash forward sixteen years to that same kid. A theater buff, we’ll call him. The kid sitting right now at the other end of the table, about to crunch into a Cheeto. So here’s my twisted thought: maybe he has a fatal allergic reaction to overly processed food. He flings himself backward right there, right on that exact spot where his mother, the school secretary, once stood.
I bite into my apple, eyeing the Cheeto kid, who, although kind of pale in his black turtleneck, doesn’t seem to be on the verge of leaving our world any time soon. Plus, now that I think about it, he’s not from here. He’s one of the few people who moved to Andover later. Third grade was when that guy first showed up in our perfect town.
Wishful thinking, I tell myself. There’s no thin space in the cafeteria. There’s no thin space in the whole damn school. It’s in Mrs. Hansel’s house, and I’m going to have to get back in there if—
I snap my head up and squint, confused for a second by the hulking guy swaying over me. Chuck Gardner. Long-lost football buddy. Old sparring partner on the field.
“Hey, you can hardly see that scar on your face anymore,” he says. “Uh, so, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to—well, some of us are going out after the game tonight and . . . ”
He plows on, not looking at me, his eyes fixed somewhere over my head. A part of me wants to help him, throw him a bone for making the effort. Not many people bother anymore.
“Nothing big. Just some of the guys, like before when we . . . ”
But another part of me wonders if I should stop him, point out the obvious: Look, Chuck, our friendship, like everything else these days, is over.
He glances over his shoulder and I can’t help it. I follow that glance, all the way over to the snack machine, where the football players sprawl out watching this potentially dramatic scene. Without planning to, I scan the football groupie table where the girls I used to know (Kate, Logan, I refuse to acknowledge you) are pretending not to stare.
I seem to catch every eye as I pivot my head. Even the damn theater people have stopped talking. Pale, turtleneck, Cheeto guy doesn’t even bother to pretend. He’s blatantly gaping at me.
I imagine him clutching his head, gasping for air. One of those ticking time bombs you hear about, walking around with a brain aneurysm and one day the vein or artery or whatever bursts right here in the cafeteria. In the same place where his pregnant mother once walked.
And sick as it is, all I can think about is how freaking awesome that would be. If there were a thin space right here, and I dropped my foot down and got pulled into it, like a vortex, jerking me out of my seat. Leaving behind my nutritious lunch scraps and the staring people and the—
I blink at Chuck, who I’m surprised to note is still swaying over me. My hand is gripped around my apple so tightly that my knuckles are white. For a wild moment I consider throwing it at him, imagine the fruit bouncing off his forehead. It might wake him up. Get him to really look at me.
I shake my head a few seconds before opening my mouth. “I’m busy tonight,” I say. And I’m a little surprised at how my voice sounds as I croak out the words.
“Busy,” Chuck repeats.
I nod. That’s right. I’m busy looking for a way out of this world, okay, buddy?
But I don’t say that, of course, and then, thank God, the bell rings. I stand up, hurl my apple in the trashcan, and push past Chuck, sliding my feet the whole way along the dirty floor until I’m out of there.
Posted March 3, 2014
This book was a page turner and I could not put it down, I felt I was searching for answers along with Marsh
Through his journey and feeling his pain and anger. I love a book that makes me sit back and say ah ha at the
Ending. Good read and highly recommended.....
Posted December 12, 2013
I loved this book from beginning to end! It is listed as a YA book, but I think adults will like it as well. If you are a parent, you will find many issues you can discuss with your YA reader! Bravo to Casella for her first novel!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 27, 2013
If this book is on your TBR pile, it's time to move it up to the top. And if it ISN'T on your TBR list, put it there now.
THIN SPACE is the story of a boy who is lost. Not in the physical sense of the word, but in that emotionally crippling way only a tragic loss can deliver. The death of his twin brother has put Marsh in a bad place and he sees only one way to make himself whole again--find a thin space and make his wrong, right. He's secretive about his plans and his parents and fellow students look past his odd behavior and write it off as part of his grieving process. And then along comes Maddie, the new girl who may be just the person to help Marsh get what he so desperately seeks.
Can we talk about Marsh and Maddie for a minute? (Guess so. It's my review, after all. :) I freaking LOVE the way Casella wrote this relationship. This is not a romance novel, so don't expect a storyline that starts as one thing and then goes off into kissy-kissy territory. Marsh treats Maddie EXACTLY the way I would expect someone in his situation to treat a girl that has something that he so desperately wants. He's kind off a jerk about it, actually and you know what? It works.
Before I started reading this beautiful book, I read a review that said this book contained a twist. I went into this story believing that I would catch said twist and not be surprised by the ending. I analysed all the words, all the conversations, read into foreshadowing that may or may not be there and guess what? Totally did not see the twist. Don't even try to guess it. I'll bet you five licks of a tootsie pop that you won't guess it. It's brilliant.
And, oh! One last thing: You should probably grab a fuzzy red blanket to cuddle into while you read this one. I felt cold for most of it. Casella does almost TOO good of a job making you feel like you're in those frigid scenes with Marsh. *shivers*
Posted September 10, 2013
I read this book having another story in mind. From the blurb I was expecting more of a love story. I expected to feel disappointed that I didn't get the huge romance I thought might happen. I was wrong, on all counts.
Marsh is a troubled soul, he wakes up in hospital battered and broken. His twin Austin is dead! The story from page one was written in a haunting fashion that will grip and pull you in.
From Marsh's bizarre behavior (not wearing shoes) the the looks and stares he gets at school have you aching for him. His pain is palpable.
The only thing he wants, the only thing he needs is the thin space. A portal that will allow him to cross into the place where the dead are. He wants to set things right with the twin he feels he wronged. Then he meets Maddie, she doesn't look at him like he is crazy nor treats him differently. In fact, when Marsh tells her about the thin space she goes all out to help him. Angering her brother and upsetting Marsh's once girl friend.
About 2 thirds into the story I thought I'd guessed the story, but wasn't sure. Then I get to the end and I realized I hadn't guessed it (well I did, but that wasn't the real twist)
The clues were all there.
I felt that author must have suffered real loss to write it so wonderfully, it was gentle, fragile and at times I had a lump in my throat. If you are looking for something just a little bit different, something slightly supernatural then this is it. If you want to know the truth behind the lies we weave you'll have to buy it on September 10th 2013
Posted September 2, 2013
This is powerful! This is haunting! This is why I love to read! Thin Space by Jody Casella is like being trapped in a dream, and until someone finds the way to pull you out, it goes on and on. Honestly, I have read this twice, it was that good, that intriguing and I picked up even more to like about it the second time around!
Grief, guilt and loss can blur our existence, warp our perspectives and cause us to block out the truth, while searching for unknowable answers, believing in a Thin Space between the living and the dead, something an elderly neighbor swore existed. Marshall, grieving over his guilt in the loss of his twin, undergoes a huge mental change that manifests itself in unusual and odd behavior. He needs to “talk” with his brother, make things right, but no one believes in the Thin Space, until Maddie comes along. Does it exist? Can Marshall lay his ghosts to rest? What about Maddie?
Jody Casella has packed a lot of story, strong characters and enough tear-jerking intensity into her writing, that you are almost sad to get to the last page, as I said, I’ve read this twice and can, without a doubt, see read number three on the horizon! Ms. Casella has created a fresh and deeply moving story that will stick with you long after the last page with its great pacing, well-developed characters and a touch of the supernatural!
An ARC edition was provided by NetGalley & Beyond Words Publishing in exchange for my honest review.