I haven’t ugly cried over a book in a hot minute, but man, I sure ugly cried over this one. This is one of those books that everyone recommends to you and for whatever reason you dig your feet in that it’s probably not going to be for you but you politely say, “Thanks for the recommendation” and then go on about reading anything but that book. Does anyone else do that? And then invariably, when you sit down to read the book that your friends (who know you!) recommended, you’re shocked that you loved the book? Well if I’m alone in that phenomenon, don’t tell me.
I have only ever lived in Pennsylvania and I’ve always lived 35 minutes outside of Philly (minus college and a summer stint in OCMD). While clearly not a Philadelphian, I am, and always have been aware of Kensington and the death grip that opioids have on that part of the city and if I’m honest, a good portion of our state. Part of the reason that I’m aware of this is that I’ve lost many friends to heroin. These beautiful, wonderfully funny, smart people were ripped away from me. It took some time and growing up on my part to not be angry with them for leaving me, for “choosing addiction”, for relapsing, for “giving up”, for dying “on me”. It took a little bit more time to realize that none of this actually involved me and that my self-centered victim viewpoint wasn’t helping a damn person, but those who have lost people might’ve had similar feelings once or twice.
In this book, we follow Mickey, a patrol cop whose beat is partially Kensington. On a patrol, she and her partner come across the body of a young woman dead near the train tracks. Because the deceased was an addict, her partner calls it in without considering the obvious signs of strangulation. When Mickey returns to the station she asks to not be partnered with him again and begins connecting the dots between the deaths of several young women from the area; all young, all female, and all addicts…hoping that the next body found will not be her younger sister Kacey who has been living on the streets since her teens and whom Mickey hasn’t seen in at least a month. Mickey begins her own investigation using her ties to the neighborhood, which sometimes works against her.
My summary doesn’t do the book justice. It’s about generational trauma. It’s about the opioid crisis. It’s how the two often go together. It’s about the selfishness I mentioned earlier–how it’s hard to not to hate the addicted person because you love them so much and how that whole duality can harden a person in ways that aren’t fully understood. It’s about how people view the crisis; for some it’s a sideshow, you might know this but there are whole TikTok/Youtube/Instagrams dedicated to filming and degrading people living in Kensington because nothing showcases the grossness of humanity than to humiliate someone when they’re at the lowest point of their lives rather than learn their story or help them with their pain; for others it’s seeking ways to help that seem unorthodox-like providing clean and safe places for people to use; this book shows us both types of people. Long Bright River felt like a Dennis Lehane novel, if Dennis Lehane used Kensington and Philadelphia proper as a backdrop. The characters felt like real people to me. I’ve definitely sat on a stoop with people exactly like the ones portrayed in the novel and I’ve had my heart broken in the same ways as some of the characters as well. The book doesn’t give the answers, but it does provide a little hope while not promising anything…just like life. It’s not a perfect book, the last fifty pages aren’t as tight as the rest of the book, but it’s a solid read.