Chad Musick’s Not My Ruckus is a brutal, potent psychological drama about abused teenagers, revenge, and friendship in 1980s Texas.

Fourteen-year-old Clare is an undiagnosed autistic tomboy with epilepsy. She has an older brother, Frank. Their parents withhold food and justify their punishments with religion. On the day that Clare befriends Esther, a neighbor who also faces cruelties, both of their mothers are involved in an alleged carjacking. The adults’ complicity in what happened leads to irreparable damage. As Clare tries to save Esther from further harm, tragic truths which bind both families together are uncovered.

With elements of modern noir and gothic horror that include a powerful man’s predatory behaviors, which impact several people in town, and a character’s misguided atonement for doing wrong in the past by permitting additional wrongs in the present, the novel goes to volatile extremes in a plausible manner. Abuse is handled in a frank way, including a near drowning and incest, with scenes unfolding like a controlled burn. Such acts result in a multifaceted text in which the lines between pure evil and abusers who have been victims, too, is blurred. The book’s teenagers struggle with their desire to flee, but they have few resources, and their relationships and mixed ideas about indebtedness bind them to their present circumstances.

Clare’s sometimes innocent yet forthright perspective is compelling from the moment she declares, “I’ve always been ready to run.” Her voice is sharp and vulnerable, and her eagerness to latch onto Esther is a poignant example of her loneliness and loyalty. She’s impulsive—just as quick to pull a trigger as she is to admit when she’s been rash—but also fixated on finding revenge. As the novel progresses, she becomes more wise, and her edges soften. Her adolescent confusions about love and other emotional states are touching, and her survival instincts, despite her repeated neglect, prompt her toward brave foolhardiness.

Some of the book’s developments arise with too little setup, including a manipulative overdose, a critical fire, and a culprit’s eleventh-hour pursuit of Clare that brings relief through the promise of finding eventual justice. Other plot threads recede; while it’s implied that the women’s lies staved off the police, the carjacking that incited the book’s complicated fallout is uninvestigated and brushed aside. Ultimately, the story is rewarding because of Clare and Esther’s friendship. Though their homes are fraught with hidden histories, their relationship is a compelling oasis for both.

With its foreboding explorations of abuse and its effects, Not My Ruckus is an incisive novel that probes dark motivations, but ends with hope.

— Foreword Clarion Reviews, 4 of 5 stars

In Musick’s debut literary novel, a flustered teenager tries to save her friend and uncover the secrets of her family.

Texas, 1980. Sporty, 14-year-old Lilac has a reputation as a tomboy. She doesn’t have any friends since her old brother stopped hanging out with her, so she happily accepts attention from Esther, a girl across the street, even though Esther’s family “wasn’t our kind of people.” When Esther kisses Lilac on the mouth, Lilac goes along with, not wanting to jeopardize the new friendship. However, that very same day, Esther’s mother is murdered while out shopping with Lilac’s mom. Lilac can tell her mother—a deeply religious and condescending woman—is lying to the police about what happened, but she can’t understand why. Her father, an accountant who dresses as a cowboy to ingratiate himself with the locals, is no help either. Lilac attempts to cover for her friend when Esther acts out following her mother’s death. At the same time, Lilac must contend with the seizures she’s been suffering from as well as with a family secret she discovers. As the story unfolds, a history of abuse, violence, and lies concerning both families emerges, leaving young Lilac struggling just to keep her head above water. Musick’s prose, as narrated by Lilac, is earnest but naïve, reflecting the protagonist’s implicit autism: “Esther had her own secrets, of course. We’d only been best friends for a handful of days, but I felt betrayed anyway. I was surrounded by secrets, drowning in them, and nobody had taught me how to swim this river.” It’s a heartbreaking story, filled with abusive adults and traumatized children, and one cannot help but feel deeply for Lilac and Esther. The subject can be emotionally difficult, but Musick never loses sight of the humanity of his characters. Through the believably brave and endearingly honest Lilac, the author explores issues of religious and sexual trauma, neurodivergence and disability, grief and loneliness.

A sharp, affecting novel of pain and love.

— Kirkus Reviews

Not My Ruckus explores the life of 14-year-old tomboy Clare, who does many things even a tomboy usually doesn’t do, from toting a gun to kissing her friend Esther (even though her family “wasn’t our kind of people.”).

Everything seemingly stems from that illicit kiss—the gunshot, the feeling that she should protect Esther, the murder, and the secrets Clare feels she must expose. Mature teens who choose Not My Ruckus are in for a real treat because, in Clare’s world, nothing is set in stone— including her motivations, strengths, and sense of place in a changing world.

Chad Musick paints an unusual portrait of a young woman who takes command of her emotions and carves a place for herself in the world which is anything but common.

From the process by which Clare and Esther build an uncertain best friend relationship to Clare’s worries about becoming a burden to her family, her acknowledgement that bully Gunnar will never bow to reason, and her foray into an adult world with Esther, readers will constantly be startled and amazed by Clare’s experiences, fortitude, determination, and forays into the adult world.

Not My Ruckus embraces many mature themes, from sexuality to murder and beyond. This is not a read for anyone looking for a staid coming-of-age piece, but the perfect recommendation for readers looking for a spunky, unusual heroine who doesn’t conform to standards of her community or her age group. It’s a vivid tale of remarkable exploits in a world that continually challenges notions of age and experiences.

Mature teen to adult readers looking for a challenging, feisty character who grasps her adult world with both hands and gives it a genre- (and mind-) bending shake will relish the creative force and life events that set Not My Ruckus in a class of its own. It’s a satisfying, highly recommended read that embraces many elements not typical of the usual young adult protagonist or story line.

— Review by D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

(Spoilers ahead!)

Not My Ruckus is a disturbing and compelling novel told from an unusual perspective. While not labeled “Young Adult,” it seems geared for this audience.

It’s 1980 in Texas, where 14-year-old Clare lives with Frank, her big but cowardly older brother; her “ample” mother and her secretive father. There are bars on the windows, locks on the refrigerator and secrets lurking in a crawl space, but Clare attributes all this to her family’s religiosity.

Clare’s only friend, Esther, lives across the street, and when the novel opens, their mothers have gone shopping together, even though Clare’s mother has long insisted that Esther’s family “wasn’t our kind of people.” The outing ends tragically, when what Clare’s mother describes as a Mexican-looking man in a “big yellow sombrero,” jumps into the car and shoots the other woman. Clare knows her mother is lying, but can’t figure out why.

Esther is savvier, but her circumstances are more dire; she’s left with her drunken father, who abuses her by day and takes her out at night dressed in unusual outfits. As the novel unspools, unsavory secrets and dramatic events haunt both Esther and Clare’s lives.

Readers see this twisted world strictly through Clare’s eyes. While the consistency is a strength, it can also be frustrating. Clare fails to pick up on subtle clues from others. She’s also impetuous and often acts rashly. She believes her parents when they say her frequent seizures are caused by the devil. In an Author’s Note at book’s end Musick offers an explanation. He writes that he’s autistic and epileptic and aimed to create a protagonist with similar problems. It would have helped to know this before the story started.

Still, readers will likely sympathize with Clare’s depiction. The action is fast-paced and the ending utterly satisfying.

Readers who enjoy stories about plucky teens in peril will find Musick’s novel well written. And because Clare’s viewpoint is so literal, the crimes are more horrific—and the redemption even sweeter.