Book Reviews, Literary Fiction Reviews

A review of The Boy Who Loved Trees by M.M. De Voe

Reviewed by Cristina Deptula

The Boy Who Loved Trees
by M.M. De Voe
Brooklyn Writers Press
October 2026, Hardcover, 408 pages, ISBN-13: 978-1734097382

Something intriguing about life in my 40s is that sometimes I can remember historical events I read about in novels. M.M. DeVoe’s The Boy Who Loved Trees, the story of a teen Lithuanian-American immigrant who takes an educational trip through his Soviet-occupied homeland in the 1980s, is one such book. I remember hearing as a child about the collapse of the USSR and the Baltic states’ regaining their independence, but reading about the events from the perspectives of Lithuanian nationals provided a completely different perspective.

Our main character, 16-year-old Artie Avilis, confronts questions of identity, privilege, and responsibility throughout this coming-of-age story. How can he stay true to himself as a Lithuanian whose working-class parents saved for years to send him on this trip when the excursion is sponsored by vigilant Soviet occupiers? As part of a family who’s escaped to the U.S., what does he owe others facing poverty and oppression back in his native land? Where’s the line between resistance and teen bravado? To what extent will he be defined by his father’s failings or his place in history? And, where can he fit in as a gay teen when LGBT identity is not fully accepted, either by the religious and traditional Lithuanian community or by the Soviets?

The plot of The Boy Who Loved Trees keeps moving at a rapid pace, befitting a story about energetic teens suddenly discovering freedoms unknown in many of their home lives. I laughed as I read about drunken nights on the town, impromptu hotel parties with joking and accordion music, clever mocking of the Soviet guides’ educational tours of cultural sites, pranks, and youthful sexual escapades. Yet, the fast pace also gives the story a sense of urgency, as Artie and his new friends have only so much time in Lithuania before returning to their regular lives. When he sees people living in poverty beyond the tourist sites, Artie wishes to go beyond flag waving and teen rebellion to help at least a few of the Lithuanians he’s met, The story follows his thoughts, worries, and growing sense of responsibility as an expatriate.

Although we see the inner journey of Artie and a couple of his closest friends, the story steps out of introspection enough to show us a good view of the 1980s-era occupied nation. Train stations, nightclubs, folk music, hotels and tourist sites, and the countryside and ordinary people’s homes paint a portrait of a nation with a vibrant culture, even under occupation. That culture shows up through the line drawings and traditional folktales that intersperse the chapters, highlighting how Lithuania’s heritage began well before and would outlast Soviet presence.

Artie remembers how his mother told him happy endings to some of the stories when he was a small boy, but follows up as a teen with the “real” endings, which are often darker and more complex. This complexity follows Artie throughout the story, as he discovers layers of depth and problematic truths about various characters, including a relative working for the KGB, his own father, and himself. While he never receives easy answers, he holds onto his conscience, his ability to witness history, and his accordion, which comes to represent not only his cultural inheritance, but his ability to synthesize and create and make something out of a confusing and sometimes harsh world.

The title, The Boy Who Loved Trees, comes from a folktale where a young boy flees his home and family as he feels more akin to endangered wild nature. Like this boy, Artie has left his family for a time to seek out his own community. And, through his experiences and choices, he realizes more about who he is and determines to forge his own path.