Dear Martin by Nic Stone

The systemic injustice perpetuated against Black Americans has been thoroughly documented in nonfiction and dramatized in television, film, and other media. On one level, the conversation is nuanced and complex, but at the same time the conversation is pretty simple: racism ensures unequal opportunities for purportedly equal Americans. Fiction can help to engage young people in these conversations, which is where books like The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas and Dear Martin by Nic Stone come in.

Dear Martin is a story about Justyce, a promising young Black man on his way to Yale. The book opens with him trying to get his drunk half-Black ex home safely by taking away her keys and loading her into the back of her car. An officer assaults him, cuffing him and accusing him of nefarious crimes. Stone balances the story of Justyce’s trauma from the encounter alongside his love triangle situation—his hot ex Melo and his debate team partner, SJ, of whom his mom would not approve because she’s White. We see the day-to-day exchanges at Justyce’s prep school, where vocal White boys like to loudly pretend that racism in America is over. The story takes a turn midway through the book—Justyce and his best friend Manny are at a stop light when a White man pulls up beside them, demanding that they turn their music down. The conflict escalates, and as Justyce reaches to turn the music down, the man shoots them both, fatally wounding Manny. The rest of the book is the fallout, the trial, and Justyce trying to work things out.

In terms of police violence narratives, I’d place Dear Martin ahead of The Hate U Give on the grounds of pace alone. Where The Hate U Give starts with a traumatic scene and then takes its time reaching a conclusion, Dear Martin moves forward at a rapid clip. Sometimes, that clip is even too quick—particularly with respect to the climax and resolution, but as a ‘teachable’ book I think it would retain more engagement from students, even if it sacrifices some of the Black joy that peppers Angie Thomas’ work.

To keep the tight clip of the book, Stone is put in a position of more rapid intensification. At times, I really appreciate that. For example, the court case gives a sample of critical conversations instead of an extended back and forth. At other times, the intensification seems a little bit convenient. For instance, at the climax of the book one of the antagonists is killed off suddenly without any ramp-up, which is pretty deflating, and, while true to life in its irresolution, feels a little narratively unsatisfying. There’s another scene where Justyce is roped into a group Hallowe’en costume of ‘stereotypes.’ He presents himself as a thug, but one of the White kids in his group goes as a Klansman. It doesn’t feel in character with Justyce, even if he is trying to fit in.

While the book has some level of the inescapable cringe of YA dialogue, the characters generally felt sincere and likable. The White boys are a little too villainous; the gang members a little too TV-movie, but in the closing scene of the book I found the interaction between Justyce and Jared at Manny’s grave genuinely moving.

From a formal standpoint, the book keeps things fresh. Stone alternates between chapters written in third person, describing Justyce’s daily goings on, and letters that Justyce writes to Martin Luther King Jr. as part of a reflection exercise. There are also sections that revert to a screenplay format replete with snappy dialogue and parts that offer one-page news reports. The style is somewhat inconsistent, but I really appreciated the big swings Stone took for a young adult fiction novel, blending theatre and reportage and the epistolary form.

I also like Stone’s use of symbolism throughout the book. There are a few different reasons that she draws attention to Justyce’s wrists—starting with handcuffs before moving on to some tender moments with SJ and a gifted watch that had been intended for his dead best friend. The resonances are a nice treat for observant readers.

The debates that get illustrated cover a range of complications and contradictions in the Black experience. I think most of the conversations would be familiar to readers, but they get presented in a way that I could see teachers engaging productively with students to address social issues. It’s always tricky when navigating using a text like this as a core novel. As a White teacher, is it my place to force Black students to read about and discuss traumatizing experiences with their predominantly White classmates, especially when the book makes reasonably frequent use of the n-word? Am I shirking my responsibilities by not teaching the book and having White students open their eyes to injustices? These questions are tough ones to navigate that can only really be answered contextually in the moment.

All things considered, Dear Martin is an engaging text that has a lot to offer to young readers. The book isn’t without its faults, but Nic Stone covers a lot of ground in what amounts to be just a few hours of reading. Fiction is a vehicle for more deeply understanding the reality of others and Dear Martin is a really nice portrait of the systemic injustice we need to continue to rail against. 

Keep up the good fight!