The Moth Girl

by Heather Kamins

Overview

Flying doesn’t always mean freedom.


Anna is a regular teenaged girl. She runs track with her best friend, gets good grades, and sometimes drinks beer at parties.

But one day at track practice, Anna falls unconscious . . . but instead of falling down, she falls up, defying gravity in the disturbing first symptom of a mysterious disease.

This begins a series of trips to the hospital that soon become Anna’s norm. She’s diagnosed with lepidopsy: a rare illness that causes symptoms reminiscent of moths: floating, attraction to light, a craving for sugar, and for an unlucky few, more dangerous physical manifestations.

Anna’s world is turned upside down, and as she learns to cope with her illness, she finds herself drifting further and further away from her former life. Her friends don’t seem to understand, running track is out of the question, and the other kids at the disease clinic she attends once a week are a cruel reminder that things will never be the same.

From debut author Heather Kamins comes a beautiful and evocative story about one girl’s journey of choosing who she wants to be—in a life she never planned for.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780593109366
Publisher:	Penguin Young Readers Group
Publication date:	03/08/2022
Pages:	272
Sales rank:	700,666
Product dimensions:	5.40(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.10(d)
Age Range:	12 - 17 Years

About the Author

Heather Kamins is the recipient of an Artist Fellowship from the Massachusetts Cultural Council, and her short fiction has appeared in Guernica and elsewhere. The Moth Girl is her first novel. She lives in Western Massachusetts with her husband, two cats, and the variety of woodland creatures who stroll through her yard.

Read an Excerpt

By the beginning of October, cross-country practice was excruciating. Smilla and my parents were asking more frequently if I was okay, and my lies were becoming less convincing. I made up some excuses for Coach Antee about pulled muscles and twisted ankles, and it was a huge relief when all he did was give me a lecture about following his guidance and have the trainer tape up my ankles.

I kept forcing myself to go to practice, though now I was consistently at the back of the pack. So I mostly found myself alone as I ran, trying to focus on my surroundings instead of the pain.

On one chilly afternoon, the aches were especially bad, and they kept growing. And there was something else, too, something new. My feet felt uneasy, foreign, as though the arches were twisting, the muscle memory of running fading from my body. My toes curled the wrong way; my heels flexed. I felt the shock of the ground each time one of my feet landed, and though I tried to control my stride and keep it tight, I found myself bouncing much more than I meant to between steps. My feet searched for the ground, but it was like walking on the moon, my skittering skips not quite in my control.

Before long, the pain began to rise from my toes, fizzing upward through my legs like bubbles through a soda straw. I stumbled forward, trying to shake it off, but it kept growing. It singed me from the depths of my tendons and bones, all the way out to my skin. It traveled through my ankles and calves, my knees and thighs, and as it overtook my waist, it felled me like an old tree. I remember falling, a slow, endless descent in some direction I couldn’t name, but I have no memory of hitting the ground.

***

I was moving through space in an unsettling way, twirling and fl ailing, my arms and legs reaching out for something solid but finding nothing. There was noise, somebody shouting my name, and a blur of branches and fallen leaves as I whipped my head around, trying to return to consciousness and orient myself. It grew hard to breathe, and I became dizzy, and then the sensation came back to me, that tearing pain through my lower legs, its tendrils constricting around my muscles. I tried to cry out, but no sound came. Faces appeared around me, and then there were hands holding my arms and legs, straightening me out.

Still dizzy, I finally brought the scene around me into focus. I was upright, and Coach Antee was standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. I had never seen him look worried like that, even when other kids on the team had been injured. A small crowd of my teammates gathered around us, and Coach called out for them to stand back and give me room. They did, all but Smilla, who pushed closer, coming up to one side of me and taking my left arm so that Coach could take my right. The two of them held me steady as I took one harrowing step after another through the woods and back out onto the field.

Jennie, ever the helper, sprinted over to us just as Coach and Smilla were settling me onto the bench by the soccer field. “I called her mom,” Jennie told Coach, setting down my backpack, which she must have retrieved from the locker room. “She said she’ll be here in ten.” The concern on Jennie’s face was unsettling, and I looked away.

“All right, everybody, back to the track. Do relays until I get there,” he said, and everyone but Smilla jogged away, casting a few glances over their shoulders at me.

The sharp pain in my legs had subsided to a low, persistent throbbing, and I felt shaky and weak all over. “Are you okay?” Smilla asked, even though we both knew I wasn’t. She sat next to me.

“What happened?”

“I-I don’t know.” It was still hard to get enough air into my lungs to push out words. “My legs started hurting, and”—I took a deep breath—“I just passed out, I guess.”

She swallowed, as if scared to say what was on her mind. “You know you weren’t . . . on the ground, right?”

“What?” I tried to make sense of what she was saying, to stitch it together with my own experience.

Her face looked pained, as if about to break the news that a loved one had died. “You were floating.”

“Floating.”

She nodded and reached one hand out in front of her, holding it three feet above the ground. “About this high.”

Editorial Reviews

Praise for The Moth Girl:

“Beautifully written . . . Through the lens of a fictional illness, the novel depicts universal experiences of living with chronic illness.” —BuzzFeed

“Kamins knows her territory, and Anna’s emotional experience rings true. Readers . . . will be well served by this detailed, convincing, and timely depiction of learning to live with chronic illness . . . Effectively shines a spotlight on how the onset of chronic illness reshapes one teen’s world.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Quiet but powerful . . . Perfect for readers of Judy Blume’s novels who are looking for an air of magic.” —Booklist

“Recommended for readers seeking to ­understand living with a chronic condition—their own or someone close to them.” —School Library Journal

“Compelling.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

From the Publisher

03/01/2022

Gr 9 Up—A strange incident at track practice causes Anna's friend Smilla to observe, "You're floating." It's a sign that Anna has a chronic illness—invented by the author (and explained in an afterword), whose novel explores permanent and life-threatening illness. Weekly hospital visits and blood work, discussions of pain management medications and their proper doses, and group therapy become the norm for Anna. She loathes talking with doctors about her symptoms, such as trembling limbs, fatigue, and a craving for sugar, because they reveal "all these ways my body [is] betraying me." Anna must slow down—which means quitting the team and prioritizing her health over schoolwork—to survive. She feels alone, and that's not far from the truth: Her parents, although steadfast, are preoccupied by the stress of taking care of her. Friends (who, like the protagonist, are white) either can't face the gravity of Anna's diagnosis or see it as a curiosity. Opening up to another sick teenager in her therapy group releases Anna from the hurt that her isolation and fear have caused. Next steps include embracing her art and repairing the relationship with Smilla; neither is a cure, but both help Anna remember who she is and who she still can be. VERDICT A tenth grader's sudden diagnosis of a fictitious condition gives readers an opportunity to see what it takes to manage a chronic illness; also recommended for readers seeking to understand living with a chronic condition—their own or someone close to them.—Georgia Christgau

School Library Journal

2021-12-15
A teen girl struggles to adapt to the disease that’s upending her life.

Winning the year’s first cross-country race feels great. Anna usually trails her best friend, Smilla, but lately she can summon boundless energy and speed, though her hands feel shaky and her feet and legs are painful afterward. Hoping to power through the pain and fatigue, she downplays these symptoms until she passes out during practice and, upon awakening, discovers she’d been floating in midair. A devastating diagnosis follows. Lepidopsy is incurable; symptoms include mothlike fluttering and floating, skin changes, and sugar cravings. The drugs that help control symptoms have side effects. Anna’s efforts to minimize her growing symptoms fail, especially when she overexerts herself. When Smilla’s encouragement feels like toxic positivity, Anna shuts her out, turning to classmate and gifted artist Kristi, whose harsh cynicism is initially a relief. Writing in her author’s note about being diagnosed with lupus as a teen, Kamins knows her territory, and Anna’s emotional experience rings true. Readers who can suspend disbelief to embrace the premise of the fictional disease will be well served by this detailed, convincing, and timely depiction of learning to live with chronic illness. Main characters default to White.

Effectively shines a spotlight on how the onset of chronic illness reshapes one teen’s world. (Fiction. 12-18)

Kirkus Reviews