Slipping (review)

Initially, it isn't much of a blow to Michael when his father's father dies, as his family hasn't been in touch with the old guy since Michael, now in eighth grade, was seven years old. The matter becomes more immediate to Michael, though, when he begins to know things Grandpa knew, share Grandpa's tastes, and see Grandpa's reflection in mirrors instead of his own. What Michael is doing is "slipping," dipping into the river between life and death, and while that's great for his grandfather, who has unfinished business with the living that keeps him from resting, it leaves Michael increasingly at risk of entirely slipping away in the river. Bell capably crafts the family dynamics and human behaviors that led to Grandpa's initial estrangement and now replicatate themselves with his son; her portrait of a household where short, cello-playing Michael feels lost in his perfect older sister's shadow is understated but credible. Michael's narration is matter-of-fact and unfussy, so his worries—about his family, about his situation, about the fact that his former best friend is leaving him behind for cooler schoolmates—make him sympathetic rather than pathetic, especially since his perceptions are clearly correct. The book also manages to move Michael closer to everybody without overdosing on the warm fuzzies, so it ends up as a genuinely thoughtful but never embarrassingly sentimental look at the way guys, grown and otherwise, can have a tough time being close to those they care for the most.