Hayley Chewins delivers a visceral, unflinching exploration of teenage girlhood in I Am the Swarm, a novel that crawls under your skin and refuses to let go. Known for her previous works The Turnaway Girls and The Sisters of Straygarden Place, Chewins has crafted her most ambitious and emotionally raw narrative yet—one that transforms the traditional coming-of-age story into something altogether more primal and necessary.
The story follows fifteen-year-old Nell Strand, whose family carries a peculiar curse: magical abilities that manifest differently in each generation of women. When Nell’s magic finally arrives, it comes not as gentle ladybugs dancing across piano keys, but as an entire ecosystem of insects that embody her suppressed emotions. Wasps for rage, beetles for shame, moths for despair—each creature a physical manifestation of feelings she’s been taught to swallow whole.
The Architecture of Anger: Understanding Nell’s Emotional Landscape
What makes I Am the Swarm particularly compelling is how Chewins uses magical realism to externalize the internal turmoil that so many teenage girls experience but are conditioned to hide. Nell’s insects aren’t merely fantastical elements—they’re a brilliant metaphor for the way unexpressed emotions can literally consume us from within. The wasps, in particular, serve as a powerful representation of justified female rage that society deems unacceptable.
The prose itself mirrors Nell’s fragmented emotional state, written in verse that pulses and breathes with the rhythm of suppressed fury. Chewins’ poetic language captures the claustrophobic intensity of adolescence, where every slight feels monumental and every emotion threatens to overwhelm:
“The wasps are black-hole huge, they’re a mouth,
they’re eating the sun and the garden.
I think about the boy.
What he would say if he saw this.
If he saw the disasters that can come out of me.”
Family Dysfunction as Catalyst: The Strand Women’s Burden
The Strand family dynamics form the emotional backbone of the narrative. Nell’s mother Odette, whose age fluctuates daily due to her own magical curse, creates an unstable foundation where Nell often becomes the de facto adult. Her older sister Mora’s magic manifests as music that can only be heard through self-harm, leading to increasingly dangerous behaviors that culminate in hospitalization.
Chewins excels at depicting the ripple effects of one family member’s struggle on the entire household. Nell’s role as the “good daughter” becomes a prison of expectation, while her parents’ inability to address the family’s mounting crises creates a vacuum where abuse can flourish unchecked. The author’s portrayal of family therapy sessions rings particularly true—those sterile rooms where real communication seems impossible despite professional intervention.
The Predator in Plain Sight: Confronting Sexual Abuse
Perhaps the novel’s most harrowing element is Nell’s relationship with her piano teacher, Mr. ____. Chewins’ decision to leave him unnamed is brilliant—he becomes every predator who uses authority and trust as weapons. The gradual escalation of inappropriate behavior feels disturbingly authentic, from seemingly innocent touches to more overt violations of boundaries.
The author captures the confusion and self-blame that victims often experience with devastating accuracy. Nell’s beetles—manifestations of shame—appear precisely when she feels complicit in her own victimization. This psychological complexity elevates the narrative beyond simple victim/perpetrator dynamics to explore the murky territory of coercion and manipulation.
Poetic Brutality: Chewins’ Distinctive Voice
The novel’s verse format serves multiple purposes beyond stylistic flourish. The fragmented, breathless quality mirrors teenage stream-of-consciousness while allowing for moments of startling beauty amid the darkness. Chewins has a particular gift for making the mundane feel loaded with significance—a family dinner becomes a battlefield, a piano lesson transforms into psychological warfare.
The author’s background as both writer and musician (she’s the singer-songwriter for EIGHT THOUSAND BIRDS) infuses the narrative with authentic musical knowledge. Nell’s relationship with her piano and her songwriting feels genuine rather than performative, adding another layer to her identity beyond victim or survivor.
The Boy Who Sees: Romance as Healing
Nell’s relationship with Shay provides necessary counterweight to the novel’s heavier themes. Unlike typical YA romance, this relationship serves primarily as a vehicle for Nell’s self-discovery rather than wish fulfillment. Shay’s ability to see and accept Nell’s magic—literally and metaphorically—offers a template for healthy intimacy based on authenticity rather than performance.
The romantic subplot avoids many common pitfalls of the genre. Shay isn’t positioned as Nell’s savior, nor does romantic love solve her problems. Instead, his consistent presence and genuine interest in knowing her completely provides a safe space for Nell to begin integrating her fractured self.
Systemic Failures and Silent Complicity
Chewins doesn’t limit her critique to individual perpetrators. The novel indicts entire systems—schools, families, communities—that fail to protect vulnerable young women. Teachers who compare Nell unfavorably to her troubled sister, classmates who spread cruel rumors, adults who choose willful blindness over difficult conversations—all contribute to an environment where abuse can flourish.
The author’s portrayal of institutional failures feels particularly relevant in our current cultural moment. Nell’s school guidance counselor remains notably absent, her father prioritizes work over family crises, and even well-meaning adults like her grandmother operate from limited understanding of trauma’s complexities.
Minor Criticisms: Where the Swarm Falters
While I Am the Swarm succeeds on multiple levels, it occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own ambitions. Some secondary characters, particularly Nell’s father, remain frustratingly underdeveloped despite their significant impact on family dynamics. The novel’s pacing also suffers during certain middle sections, where the accumulation of traumatic incidents threatens to overwhelm rather than illuminate.
Additionally, while the magical realism generally serves the narrative well, some readers may find the insect manifestations repetitive or heavy-handed as metaphors. The constant stream of beetles, wasps, and moths occasionally feels more exhausting than enlightening.
Cultural Resonance and Literary Merit
I Am the Swarm arrives at a crucial cultural moment when conversations about female rage, sexual assault, and mental health have gained unprecedented visibility. Chewins contributes meaningfully to this discourse by refusing to sanitize or sentimentalize these experiences. Her unflinching portrayal of adolescent trauma feels both timely and timeless.
Readers familiar with Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak or Shout will recognize similar themes, but Chewins brings her own distinctive voice to the conversation. The magical realism elements align her work more closely with authors like Jandy Nelson (The Sky Is Everywhere) or Nina LaCour (We Are Okay), though Chewins’ approach feels more visceral and confrontational.
Final Verdict: A Necessary and Powerful Addition to YA Literature
I Am the Swarm is a good reading for its sheer emotional honesty and literary craftsmanship. While it may not be a comfortable read, it’s an essential one—particularly for readers seeking stories that validate rather than minimize the complexity of teenage girlhood. Chewins has created a work that functions simultaneously as cathartic release and call to action.
The novel’s greatest strength lies in its refusal to offer easy answers or neat resolutions. Nell’s journey toward self-acceptance and voice remains ongoing at book’s end, acknowledging that healing is a process rather than destination. This realistic approach, combined with Chewins’ poetic sensibility and unflinching examination of difficult themes, creates a reading experience that lingers long after the final page.
For readers seeking authentic portrayals of trauma, family dysfunction, and the particular challenges of growing up female, I Am the Swarm delivers with rare power and grace. It’s a book that trusts its readers to handle difficult truths while offering hope that survival—and even joy—remain possible despite life’s darkest moments.