“If you’re such a good thief, then why haven’t you stolen me yet?” [loc. 3002]
This is a YA queer romance: it is not -- despite the title -- a straightforward retelling of the myth of Icarus, who flew too near the sun. Ancrum has transformed the elements of that myth into something quite new, a story about a motherless boy and his father, about art and vengeance, about theft and love and being different.
Icarus Gallagher's mother died when he was no more than two years old. Since then he's been raised by his artist father Angus, who has trained him to become a thief and a forger. Their target is rich Mr Black, and their modus operandi is to steal genuine artworks and replace them with immaculate forgeries. Icarus -- a gifted artist in his own right -- has grown up being careful not to attract attention, not to make friends or excel at school or mention that he's tired because he spends his nights breaking into a millionaire's house. At the opening of this novel, Icarus is nearly eighteen, and he's making plans to leave. He wants to start afresh, 'far from his crimes and his father and this house'.
But one night he senses that Mr Black's house isn't as empty as expected -- and then he meets Mr Black's son Helios, under house arrest without access to phone or internet or anything beyond the walls of the house, effectively imprisoned. Helios is immensely lonely, and makes a deal: he won't tell anyone about Icarus's crimes if Icarus comes to visit him. Icarus, against his father's rules and despite his own reservations, does. Together they unravel the complex history between their families, and Icarus discovers that he does have friends despite his best efforts. And Icarus pulls off the most audacious theft of all.
This is an emotionally intense novel that deals with some difficult and potentially triggering issues: physical disability, abusive parenting, addiction, queerness .... It's also a joyous celebration of art and love, and a story about prisoners, and about recognising and appreciating the love and friendship that are present in one's life. Icarus is also, often, very funny, despite the harrowing elements. I liked it immensely and am looking forward to reading more by Ancrum, whose work I'm surprised I haven't encountered before.
“We’ve already gallivanted through medical trauma, abuse, addiction, my weird joints, extracurricular genders, almost getting off from your touching my face, a dance recital, Roman baths in the middle of Michigan—” [loc. 2800]
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