Number-one bestselling author
Grace knows that everyone lies. She also knows that she’s living one.
To the outside world, she is part of the perfect family: devoted parents, loving brother. She is a girl with the world at her fingertips. What the world doesn’t know is that it’s all a lie, a carefully constructed one.
She is part of a family of con-artists. Adopted at a young age, she is part of the con. In exchange for her work, she has a family, such as it is. It’s preferable to the life she left behind, one of foster care and abuse. Now she has safety, as long as she follows the rules.
They travel all over looking for the next mark, the next job, the next person to steal from: money, art, bonds, nothing is safe Grace is used to this, for it’s the only life she’s ever known. However, sometimes, she wishes she were just a regular teenager, able to have friends, to have a life of her own.
It’s always the same, though. They move in, set up house, find their mark and pull their con. Then they move on, leaving everything and everyone behind. Or, in Grace’s case, almost everything.
She knows it goes against the code of the con-artist, but she has a small wooden box containing items from her different pasts to remind her of who she was and who she is. Grace knows that it’s wrong to hold onto anything from a previous con, but she holds on to her keepsakes nonetheless as if she’s gathering pieces of herself.
Everything changes when they find themselves in Playa Hermosa. The mark is a wealthy family and the heist will be their largest yet. She has one job: get close to the son, Logan, to find an in into the family.
She integrates herself into school, makes friends with others and all is going according to plan. What she didn’t count on was falling for Logan. He was supposed to be just another part of the heist. She had used boys to achieve her means before, but had never fallen for one.
This time, the emotions she feels for Logan are all too real. She has trouble distinguishing between the Logan she loves and Logan the mark.
Things begin to unravel for Grace when one of the other high school students finds an old high school photo ID that Grace was stupid enough to take to school with her. She had been using it as a talisman of sorts to give her strength.
Now it could mean her downfall…
In short, I was blown away by this book. Lies I Told isn’t just a novel that you read. It’s a novel that you feel, that seeps into you; one that leaves you feeling a kind of shell shock when it’s over. What I loved most about it was the underlying sense of unease worked all throughout the novel. You can’t escape the sense that something will go wrong.
That’s an incredible feat for any author to carry throughout a whole novel. Michelle Zink manages to do this with aplomb, never letting up the suspense for a moment. Add to it one of the most moving young love stories I’ve ever read and you’ve got yourself a winner.
This is Zink’s first novel that has no fantasy elements whatsoever and it’s an incredible success. You can tell that she’s done her research for this novel, nothing feels too heavy handed or fake. She brings you into a family of con-artists and it’s like we’re there with her. We sense the danger, the unease, the upset.
What really worked for me was the characters and how real they were. Logan, Parker and Grace were the stand outs for me. Logan goes beyond the standard book boyfriend in the YA genre and is a real man, full of compassion and honesty. Parker is a surprise for me. He knows what he must do but fights against it. He’s in a constant state of breakdown.
Grace is the real stand out for me, though. She isn’t really a heroine but an ant-hero. However, you can’t help but feel for her, following her along on her struggle to do what is right and what her heart wants. Michelle writes so well that you can’t help but be pulled into Grace’s plight, loving Logan right along with her and dreading what she must do.
This was a thrill ride the whole way through and the ending will leave you breathless. Lies I Told is really the best book that Michelle Zink has written, and I’ve read them all. This is Zink’s most accomplished novel, her most adult YA. It deals with themes that aren’t normally dealt with in YA literature and succeeds because of this.
I can’t wait to read Lies I Told all over again.
full of clouds
and my spirit
is the wind.
The clouds are
shaped like you.
I can see
the outline of
your chin, the
strong set of
your jaw, it’s
disapproving frown seeming
to mock me
as it did
so many times
before. Lately, I’ve
started to forget
you. The timbre
of your voice
when you got
angry, the colour
of your eyes.
What your middle
name was or
your birthday. Those
details ceased to
matter, though I
thought they would
be burned into
my mind forever.
The more I
forgot, the more
I was able
to let go.
As I look
at the clouds
inside my head,
they begin to
disassemble, the wind
of my spirit
growing ever stronger,
a storm without
lightening. I watch
the growing breeze
and wonder why
what you thought
of me mattered
so much, why
I’ve carried pieces
of you around
with me like
a hair shirt
made of needles.
Why I’ve based
my self-worth on
someone who isn’t
worth anything to
me anymore; who
didn’t treat me
like I was
worth anything at
all except a
convenience. I stare
at the clouds
as they continue
to shift and
watch as the
outline of your
face begins to
disappear, the shape
of your brow
begins to lessen.
Thunder from the
clouds that make
your shape and
form let out
a rumble of
thunder and there
is a streak
lightning in my
head that flashes
sharp like a
knife. I take
a deep breath.
“I let you go.”
I whisper softly.
“As I forget you, I let you go.”
My spirit grew
brighter than a
star, shining brilliantly
upon the clouds.
It began to
gather force, creating
its own wind
to push away
the gathering storm.
The spirit wind
ran at the
growing mass of
darkness and pushed
the clouds away,
forced them to
break apart until
there was nothing
left but smoke
and vapour. I
looked up at
the bright blue
sky within me
and my entire
body felt full
of the light
that had always
been within me.
“I’ve let you go.”
I said and
took comfort from
how free of
clouds the sky
was.
I’m talking about
my writing, about
the novel I’m
working on, the
poems that I’m
writing, the short
stories I’m bringing
to life. I
see myself in
the dream and
my face looks
so lively, animated.
I happen to
look down at
my feet and
see that, for
some reason, I’m
wearing dance shoes.
They are leaving
ink stains on
the floor as
I walk along
with my companion.
Then I look
closer and see
that the floor
is made out
of paper, that
I am leaving
footprints shaped like
words behind me.
I wake, only
for a moment,
wondering what the
dream meant. When
sleep finds me
once again, I
find myself in
another dream. I’m
talking to a
fellow writer about
the dream I
just had. I’m
looking at her
in bewildered confusion.
“I just don’t understand what the dream meant.”
I tell her.
“I don’t understand what it was trying to tell me.”
She gives me
a look of
patience, as if
the meaning behind
the dream should
have been obvious.
“I think the meaning is pretty clear. You’re a writer. You can’t keep your words bottled up. You have to dance across the page.”
I wake with
a start, wondering
at the almost
dream within a
dream, at what
my subconscious was
telling me. I
feel the urge
to write, I
need to write.
It is who
I am.
box sitting on
the table. It
was an ordinary
kind of box,
beige and plain,
but there were
markings on the
side, as if
if had travelled
all over the
world. I looked
at the box.
“What’s inside?”
You smiled at
me and said:
“You’ll have to open it to find out.”
I pulled the
box closer, surprised
by how light
it was. I
shook it, hearing
nothing inside. I
looked at you.
“What’s inside?”
You only smiled,
the facial gesture
brightening your face.
“You’ll have to open it to find out.”
So, carefully, I
opened the box.
Light poured out,
filling our living
room with gorgeous
light, brighter than
any sun. The
light didn’t blind
served to make
you look more
beautiful. I
looked to you.
“It’s beautiful. Where does it come from?”
You didn’t hesitate
when you answered.
“It’s my love for you, given physical form. I wanted to get you a gift and this was all I could come up with.”
I sat back
in your arms
and watched the
light play on
the ceiling, chasing
the shadows away.
I thought back
to how I
was, what I
had been, what
parts of me
I had left
behind. I was
a richer man
for having your
love in my
life in body,
mind and spirit.
I looked at
you and kissed
you gently, softly.
“You are the gift.”
I said quietly.
“I can’t imagine any better gift than you.”
The light from
the box grew
brighter as my
love light mixed
with your own.
We sat there,
entranced by the
glow of what
we had created
together.
legend that says,
once upon a
time, we were
two people that
shared a body.
Two heads, two
hearts. The Gods
got angry and
split us into
two, forever separate,
the soul grieving
for the lost
part of themselves.
Most of us
spend their entire
lives looking for
the other half
of themselves, the
missing piece of
who they are
and what they
could be. Some
don’t even know
what they’re looking
for, just that
they know something
is missing, that
there is a
hole, wider than
a dessert or
the deepest chasm,
inside of them.
We spend our
lives looking for
that spark in
someone’s eyes that
speaks of recognition
and puts a
spark within our
own eyes. Some
never find their
soul mate, they
never find the
other half of
their heart. I
am lucky to
have found both
of these in
one man, or
to have him
found me. When
he gave me
his heart, I
gave him mine
in return and
when they were
joined as one,
the skies themselves
sang out in
joy. My soul
sings out with
glee as our
hearts become one
and light from
within it shines
forth, lighting our
way ever forward,
the light growing
brighter with each
stitch of the
needle and thread
pulling our hearts
closer together until
it becomes one.