The biography on the back cover of Joe Bond’s debut novel, Hope House, tells us the author “grew up around group homes and residential treatment programs.” That “around” is the only vague detail in this passionate, controlled, and ultimately moving work.

It tells the story of AWOL, a 14-year-old known for repeatedly running away from his group home in rural Kentucky. Residents at Hope House proceed through phases, from Orientation to Beginner to Progressing and, finally, Graduation. But any boy who runs away must start over again, even repeating Orientation and putting a “Beginner” T-shirt back on. So AWOL, our narrator, is stuck in an ever-repeating cycle of growth and regression. As a result, he resides at Hope House long enough to provide a substantial history of the place.

Other residents also earn nicknames: Smoove limps, Peanut’s small head is misshapen, and Freckles got that moniker because the staff won’t allow the others to call him Tits. They live in this drafty Victorian house — with water stains on the ceilings and surrounded by scrub grass and woods — to try to atone for their pasts. Chollie Ocampo set fire to Mom’s trailer; Bobby Church tried to run his father over with a truck he didn’t know how to drive; Smoove sold crack that was really drywall and got shot for it; and Damico assaulted an old man while stealing clothes.

These crimes make group-home placement seem like light punishment, but the boys’ menacing exteriors conceal a more nuanced picture: Smoove is deeply religious and prays for everyone; the clothes Damico was stealing were for his baby; and Bobby’s father was an abusive addict.

There’s very little going on in Hope House that might rehabilitate any of them. Nobody seems to attend school, minimal life skills are taught, and there’s no individual therapy. Yet there is growth and progress. The hero here is the facility’s director, Mr. Watts, whose dedication drags the place along in spite of itself. He helps the boys develop a culture of support — holding each other accountable while having one another’s backs. Even when they haze new residents, they label bad behavior in therapeutic terms — “an inconsiderate of self” or “an aggravates others” action. They identify with whichever phase of the program they’re in, wearing T-shirts like AWOL’s that indicate their progress.

Mr. Watts brings more passion than professionalism to Hope House, signing the boys up for outside jobs that earn them and the facility money, basketball tournaments they inevitably lose, and a school dance that teaches them how little they know about girls. But no matter what, he never gives up, and his unconditional loyalty is the best thing that has happened to these boys. In fact, it’s the outside world that causes them problems. Almost no parents come to visit, and those who do bring as much tension as comfort.

Graduation from Hope House means, at best, a job at McDonald’s or (more often) just a sandwich for the road after being dropped off at the Five Star Diner. It begins to make sense that AWOL continually arranges to repeat his year; he’s not bothered by the possibility of never getting out because there’s nowhere to go.

But he learns and grows almost despite himself. He recognizes the pain in others and reaches out, writing letters on behalf of boys who want to contact relatives left behind or victims they’ve hurt. He gets a chance to learn construction skills and begins to set himself up for life in the outside world.

For all the vivid detail Bond provides, he has a firm grasp on what to leave out. We know Mr. Watts gets married and divorced, but we never meet his wife. We hear just enough about staff members to know what little they have to offer, and we recognize that the community’s visceral dislike of Hope House feels like an anonymous negative force to the boys. But nothing takes the spotlight off the teens.  

Still, this narrow focus is a bit too narrow at points. For a portrait of young men caught up in the criminal-justice system in 1980s Kentucky — or, really, at any time or place in America — there’s remarkably little focus on race. We can discern that some residents are white, some are Black, and some are Latino, but AWOL never identifies them as such, and no one refers to anybody’s ethnicity. The community wants to shut down Hope House, but if bigotry is a factor in that opposition, we don’t hear about it. In a narrative built on otherwise highly credible realism, this seems like an incredible fantasy.

Regardless, the realistic details Bond conjures are palpable. There’s no doubt he has fictionalized some of them — including his characters’ colorblindness — but his powerful portrait of a particular slice of America’s underbelly paints a vivid portrait of our truth.

John P. Loonam has a Ph.D. in American literature from the City University of New York and taught English in New York City public schools for over 35 years. He has published fiction in various journals and anthologies, and his short plays have been featured by the Mottola Theater Project several times. He is married and the father of two sons; the four have lived in Brooklyn since before it was cool. His first novel, Music the World Makes, will be published by Frayed Edge Press later in 2026, while a collection of his short stories, The Price of Their Toys, came out in February.