Review: "We Became Wild" by H.D. Carver

We Became Wild by H.D. Carver
Published June 2026 via Norton Young Readers
★★★

Val is dead—and Lottie had a hand in it. Wracked with grief and guilt, she and her other best friend, Messina, set out on the Pacific Crest Trail, Val's ashes in tow, to escape their pasts, their demons, their home lives. Officially, they're hiking towards something. Unofficially...they both have a lot to run from.

I love a long hike and I love a long-hike book. Lottie and Messina don't set out on the PCT for themselves, exactly; it's something Val had dreamed of doing, and about their only consistent source of information is Val's annotated copy of Wild. They have packs full of supplies, but to say they go in unprepared is an understatement: They are dangerously unprepared, with a lack of knowledge that has potentially lethal consequences. They don't have a viable map; they're in the desert without sunscreen; they don't know how far they might have to walk without water or what a water cache is. The PCT is not for the faint of heart, and well, while neither Lottie nor Messina is the faint of heart, it's also not something that should be approached without forethought and preparation. And yet: Here they are.

This is not a light book. Quite aside from the girls' grief over the loss of Val, they have a lot of reasons to want out of their present-day lives—neither of them has a happy home life, and Messina in particular knows that going home is really not an option. The girls are best friends, but neither of them is in a position to trust anyone with their secrets; at most, they can acknowledge how much they haven't said. They become stronger on the PCT, stronger and to some degree more knowledgeable and more capable (though they're always pretty much flying by the seat of their pants), but the extent to which they become happier or learn to trust each other (or trust themselves!) more is limited at best.

It's messy. These girls' lives are messy, and not in a way that can be untangled through a restorative tromp through nature. (Don't we all wish!) Their physical experience is messy too; there's enough mention of vomit and farts and period-blood-as-warpaint that I checked to see if the writer was a man (old habit that I learned when I was reading Camino books by the handful—women and nonbinary people puke and fart and get horrific weeping blisters and so on, of course, but in my unscientific opinion they're less likely than cis men to write about those things in detail). I think I struggled a bit with both of these things; I really don't enjoy detailed discussion of bodily function (this isn't even that detailed, it's just pretty present), and I also wanted some emotional relief or levity. It makes some sense that there isn't that levity: Their best friend has just died! Messina is constantly looking over her shoulder in fear! They both badly need therapy and responsible role models and a promise of stability. (Also water and electrolytes, both of which are in short supply throughout the book.) In that context, it's probably not realistic to expect a great deal of levity and joy from them...just, when some things did get easier, it was so late in the book, and with so little that came before to indicate something positive to come. The messiness and darkness aren't bad things, and I'd certainly prefer a grungier take to one that is all sunshine and roses (and romance). In the end I'd probably call this a mood read; best if read when in the mood for trauma and grief and grit and grime.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.