Sometimes a story just sticks. You know the feeling? You finish the last page, click the light off, and suddenly every shadow in your bedroom looks a little too much like a person. Jennifer R. Hubbard’s Try Not to Breathe book is exactly that kind of experience. It isn't just a standard YA novel; it’s a heavy, oxygen-depriving look at what happens when the brain decides it’s had enough of reality. If you’re looking for a light beach read, honestly, keep walking. This one is about the grit. It’s about Ryan, a guy who tried to end it all and failed, and now he’s navigating the weird, stagnant aftereffects of that choice.
It’s raw.
Most people talk about teen angst like it’s just slamming doors and loud music. Hubbard doesn't do that. She gets into the quiet, suffocating nature of depression. The title itself—Try Not to Breathe book—is a literal and metaphorical instruction. It’s that feeling of holding your breath, waiting for the next disaster, or maybe just waiting to feel something other than numb.
What Actually Happens in Try Not to Breathe?
Ryan is our narrator. He’s spent time in a mental health facility after a suicide attempt. Now he's out, but "out" doesn't mean "fixed." He’s back in the real world, which feels more like a foreign planet. He meets Nicki, a girl who has her own fascinations with the macabre and the abandoned. They spend time in these desolate, crumbling places. It’s a vibe. It’s moody. But more than the plot, it’s the atmosphere that kills.
The book deals with the concept of "The Cave." For Ryan, it’s both a physical place and a mental state. We see him struggling with the social politics of high school, which feel incredibly trivial compared to the literal life-and-death stakes he just escaped. Hubbard writes Ryan with a voice that is strikingly honest. He isn't a hero. He’s just a kid trying to figure out how to exist in a body that he previously tried to discard.
The Nuance of Recovery Nobody Mentions
People love a "happily ever after" in mental health stories. They want the protagonist to take a pill, go to one therapy session, and suddenly see the world in Technicolor. Try Not to Breathe book says "no" to that. Recovery is messy. It’s two steps forward and three steps back into a dark room.
Ryan’s relationship with his father is particularly strained and realistic. There’s this awkwardness—this walking on eggshells—that happens when a family has survived a crisis. They don't know how to talk to him, and he doesn't know how to be talked to. It’s cringey in the best way possible because it feels like a real conversation you’ve overheard in a hospital waiting room.
Nicki is another layer. She isn't the "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" who exists just to save him. She has her own baggage. Their connection is built on a shared interest in the things society usually tries to hide or knock down. They explore abandoned buildings. There’s a metaphor there, obviously. They are both abandoned buildings in a way.
Why Critics and Readers Are Split
If you look at reviews on Goodreads or StoryGraph, you’ll see a divide. Some people find the pacing slow. It is slow. But that’s the point. Depression is slow. It’s a slog. It’s a Sunday afternoon that never ends.
- The Realism Factor: Hubbard doesn't sugarcoat the "ideation" phase. She describes the mechanics of Ryan's thoughts with a precision that can be triggering for some.
- The Lack of "Action": If you want a thriller, this isn't it. This is a character study.
- The Prose: It’s sparse. Short sentences. Punchy. It mirrors Ryan’s exhaustion.
One major point of contention is the ending. No spoilers here, but it isn't a neat bow. It’s a "maybe." In the world of the Try Not to Breathe book, a "maybe" is actually a huge victory. It’s a realistic depiction of how we manage long-term mental health struggles. You don't get cured; you just get better at managing the weight.
Comparing Hubbard’s Work to the YA Landscape
When this book hit the shelves, it was part of a wave of "gritty" YA. Think Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson or It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini. What sets Hubbard apart is the lack of sentimentality. She doesn't want you to cry for Ryan; she wants you to sit in the dirt with him.
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The setting—waterfalls, caves, old houses—acts as a secondary character. The environment is damp and cold. You can almost feel the humidity in the pages. This sensory writing is why the book sticks in your brain years after you read it. It’s tactile.
Misconceptions About the Plot
A lot of people think this is a romance. It’s not. Sure, there’s a girl. There’s a connection. But if you go into this expecting a "love saves all" trope, you’re going to be disappointed. The primary relationship in the Try Not to Breathe book is Ryan’s relationship with himself. Nicki is a catalyst, but she isn't the cure. That distinction is vital. It’s a more responsible way to write about mental health for teenagers.
Key Themes to Watch For
- The Weight of Silence: How much goes unsaid between parents and children.
- The Geometry of Grief: How Ryan maps out his pain through physical locations.
- Agency: The terrifying realization that you are responsible for staying alive.
Honestly, the way Hubbard handles the "aftermath" is what makes this a staple. Most books end at the crisis. This book starts there. It asks: "Okay, you’re still here. Now what?" That is a much harder question to answer.
What to Do After Reading
If the Try Not to Breathe book left you feeling a bit heavy, that’s normal. It’s a weight-bearing story. To process it, it helps to look at the specific imagery Hubbard uses—specifically the water. Water is everywhere in this book. It’s a force of nature that can both cleanse and drown.
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For those who found the themes resonant, exploring the works of authors like Courtney Summers or A.S. King might be the logical next step. They play in the same sandbox of "difficult" emotions and non-linear healing.
If you are a writer, study the way Hubbard uses setting to reflect internal states. She doesn't say "Ryan felt empty." She describes an empty room with peeling wallpaper and let's you do the math. That’s "show, don't tell" at its peak.
Actionable Insight for Readers:
If you're struggling with the themes presented in the book, remember that fiction is a mirror, not a map. Use Ryan’s journey to spark conversations about mental health in your own circles. Sometimes, talking about a fictional character is the easiest way to start talking about yourself. Reach out to a professional if the "Cave" feels a bit too real. Read the book with a friend and discuss the ending—it’s the kind of conclusion that requires a second opinion to fully digest.