Combining elements of Margaret Peterson Haddix's Running Out of Time (1995) and Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (2005), published for adults, this post-apocalyptic thriller will also pique the interest of Nancy Werlin and L.J. “Debut novelist Bodeen effectively builds the claustrophobic suspense with each chapter as readers slowly discover the Compound is not the refuge it seems. The audience will feel the pressure closing in on them as they, like the characters, race through hairpin turns in the plot toward a breathless climax.” - Publishers Weekly, starred review As far-fetched as the premise may be, Bodeen keeps Eli's actions true to life and uses clues planted fairly and in plain sight. Repulsed and already suspicious, Eli begins investigating his father's claims, and sets up a family death match against a man who grows increasingly irrational and sinister but no less powerful. With nine years to go before the air outside will be safe to breathe again, the food supply shows signs of running out, but Eli's father has a solution-provided they jettison all morals and ethics. Eli, the 15-year-old son of a billionaire techno-preneur, has spent the last six years with his family in the massive underground shelter his father has built, knowing that nuclear war has destroyed the world he knows-and killed his grandmother and his twin brother, who couldn't reach the compound in time. “Bodeen, acclaimed as the writer of such picture books as Elizabeti's Doll, turns out a high-wire act of a first novel, a thriller that exerts an ever-tighter grip on readers. "It's not what I expected." Mom's voice was shaky.ĭad rubbed his jaw. He startled me when he threw his arms out to the side. "I figured we'd be in here a lot." The blue from the television tinted Dad's face and blonde hair in a garish way.
Dad flicked a switch.Ī plasma television dropped down from the ceiling, blank monitor glowing. The roundness of the room was odd yet comforting. The curved walls were made of log beams the same type which criss-crossed over our heads in an intricate pattern. The place reminded me of a yurt we'd built in school, but about 80 times bigger. We paraded through an archway strung with twinkling white lights, then entered an enormous circular room. He rushed ahead of me, his hand dropping mine. Dad gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the silver door, twisting me around to follow the rest of my family. We fell asleep with visions of Weapons of Mass Destruction dancing in our heads. Other kids got bedtime stories about fairies and dogs.
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