…I wish I had a scar or something from the crash. Something that would make my parents see I’m not a miracle. That I’m whatever the opposite of a miracle is.
I wasn’t planning on reviewing this book today—I had a different post planned.
But, I started and finished Elizabeth Scott’s newest novel, Miracle, last night and just had to share my thoughts on it as soon as possible, especially since it’s, inexplicably, not gotten the attention that it deserves.
This quiet, yet raw, little novel (it’s just over 200 pages) tells the story of Megan (or Meggie, as most people call her) who’s the lone surivivor of a plane crash near her small town. She is found wandering on a country road, with no memory of the event. Everyone calls her a miracle—Miracle Megan.
The thing is, despite that she is physically unscathed, Meggie isn’t okay at all. She floats through life, quickly losing interest in everything: school, soccer, friends, family. And then the memories of the plane crash start to return and she stops sleeping, lost in the trauma of what she survived.
“I’m happy to be home,” I said over and over again, until it sounded like less than words, like it was nothing. ‘I’m just so happy.”
The thing was, I didn’t feel happy.
I didn’t feel anything.








