… it should be Kirsty Eagar’s Raw Blue.

I am not a reviewer, and I don’t normally comment on fellow YA writers’ work, but Raw Blue is one of those kept-me-up-all-night novels that stays in your bones and sings in your ears long after you’ve finished it.  It wouldn’t be out of place next to Tim Winton’s Breath, except this is the ocean as healer, not as an object to be conquered, or the site of self-destruction, of risk.  The images crackle, the lines are full of the poetry of observation, the story is searing, gutting, beautiful.

This should be compulsory reading for all teenagers – especially boys.