Miles Morales Suspended

Jason Reynolds

46 pages 1-hour read

Jason Reynolds

Miles Morales Suspended

Fiction | Novel | YA | Published in 2023

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Important Quotes

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism.

“[A]nd the old ladies coming

from rubbing pennies

against scratch-offs before

the kids rule the bodega,

buggin’ out, talking tough

like smiles are a dead giveaway,

but not juice stains or barrettes.”


(Chapter 1, Page 9)

This passage uses vivid imagery and free verse to capture the rhythms of Miles’s neighborhood and ground the novel in the protagonist’s lived experience. The contrast between “talking tough” and the overlooked innocence of “juice stains or barrettes” shows how children who are Black or Latino are often perceived as being older or more threatening than they are. The enjambment mimics natural speech and movement, reinforcing the authenticity of the setting. This moment establishes Miles’s deep connection to his community and illustrates the cultural awareness that shapes his worldview.

“In a school like Brooklyn Visions Academy, desks are easily replaceable. Dignity is not.”


(Chapter 1, Page 26)

This stark, cynical line uses parallel structure and contrast to critique the school’s institutional priorities. By juxtaposing replaceable objects with irreparable human dignity, the sentence exposes the fact that even high-end scholastic systems often value order and property over students’ humanity and emotional well-being. The blunt, declarative tone mirrors Miles’s growing clarity about the nature and prevalence of injustice in his world, and it also reinforces the idea of school as a mechanism of control.

“Did you know


American tarantulas


use their hair as weaponry?”


(Chapter 1, Page 31)

This “Spider Fact” functions as a metaphor for marginalized strength, subtly paralleling the idea that Black identity, which is often scrutinized or weaponized by others, can also become a source of power. The line breaks slow down the pace, giving the fact weight beyond the realm of trivia. By embedding this information in poetry, the novel foreshadows Miles’s habit of using this medium to process his thoughts as he learns to see his differences as assets.

“School is all about versions of a story.”


(Chapter 1, Page 37)

This statement addresses the issue of narrative control, suggesting that educational institutions often prioritize society’s most dominant perspectives while silencing others. The ambiguity of the word “versions” implies the existence of bias, omission, and revision in a place that has historically been tasked with discerning and teaching the essence of fact and truth. As Miles becomes aware that history and discipline are often filtered through the biased lens of authority, this idea contextualizes his later conflicts with Mr. Chamberlain over the teacher’s blatantly racist distortions of Black history.

“They told Miles to just keep trying.

And it sounded like, Do your time.”


(Chapter 1, Page 39)

The exaggerated spacing visually mimics Miles’s emotional isolation, and the phrase “Do your time” deliberately creates a connection to the idea of incarceration, suggesting that Miles views his obligation to attend the academy and tolerate its injustices as a tangible form of imprisonment. In essence, this well-meaning advice feels punitive to him. This line critiques the concept of respectability politics, suggesting that compliance is framed as a virtue, even when it demands people’s silence.

“With liberty and justice for all,

suspended for not playing small.”


(Chapter 2, Page 69)

This line uses irony to expose the contradiction between traditional American ideals of and Miles’s own lived reality as an Afro-Puerto Rican teenager awash in a world of culturally ingrained bias. The phrase “not playing small” reframes Miles’s punishment as the consequence of showing the moral courage to combat racism. By contrasting patriotic language with unjust discipline, Miles critiques his school’s systemic hypocrisy, making it clear that for those from marginalized groups, the act of speaking out often carries significant consequences.

“Miles wasn’t sure what Tobin was doing in ISS, but he knew he hadn’t gotten in trouble for the same things he, Alicia, and Brad had because Tobin wasn’t in Mr. Chamberlain’s class.”


(Chapter 2, Page 75)

This observation subtly builds suspicion around Tobin while reinforcing Miles’s growing critical awareness. In addition, the passage reveals that Miles has his own personal biases, for he unknowingly stereotypes Tobin as a typical “teacher’s pet” who could never even conceive of getting in trouble.

“Miles wasn’t sure he was a good equat-er. Or maybe he felt like the equator. Like some kind of dividing line, always under fire. And there was no equation for that.”


(Chapter 3, Page 90)

This metaphor transforms math into a lens for identity, showing Miles as both connector and boundary. The pun on the word “equator” emphasizes the image of a dividing line, implicitly highlighting his position between the worlds of childhood and adulthood, silence and resistance. The lack of an “equation” emphasizes that his lived experience cannot be reduced to formulas.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.”


(Chapter 3, Page 98)

This quote functions as intertextual symbolism by connecting Miles’s journey to the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The metaphor of light versus darkness reinforces the importance of embracing nonviolent resistance and seeking moral clarity. Positioned within Miles’s reflections, this image becomes a guiding philosophy, suggesting that even Miles’s empathy and creativity are forms of resistance.

“Someone done turned the flame on high

without me hearing the tick tick tick of the stove.”


(Chapter 5, Page 122)

This simile captures the sudden onset of Miles’s spider-sense by likening danger to an unnoticed escalation. The household imagery contrasts with the urgency of the moment, grounding the superhuman ability of spider-senses in the protagonist’s everyday experiences. The imagery of flames and the absence of warning suggests that in real life, threats often emerge without clear signals, and this idea reinforces Miles’s need for constant vigilance.

“Miles had been thinking about Austin a lot. About how he was an unfinished story. A book slammed shut. A judged cover. But a sturdy spine. This was also why Miles thought about whether or not Austin and everyone else locked up with him had good books to read, and why they might’ve needed them.”


(Chapter 6, Page 139)

This extended book metaphor humanizes Austin and critiques the grim reality that incarceration often leads to negative public perceptions. The fragmented sentences mimic the sense of different life chapters, reinforcing the idea that Austin’s experiences are still ongoing and that somewhere within Austin is the strength to improve his life. Miles’s concern for his cousin’s access to books reflects his belief in achieving inner growth through language and learning. This passage reveals Miles’s compassion and celebrates his refusal to accept oversimplified narratives about people in prison.

“Miles considered the barbershop—because you gotta consider the barbershop—and how his barber, House, and all the men who hung out there seemed to show him different things. Who to be. Who not to be. How to move. How not to move.”


(Chapter 6, Page 145)

This passage presents the barbershop as a symbol of informal education and cultural inheritance, which contrasts sharply with the rigid authority of Brooklyn Visions Academy. Miles’s short, declarative phrases about the men in the barbershop reflect his understanding that the most valuable knowledge is passed communally, not institutionally. The phrase “you gotta consider the barbershop” establishes this setting as essential, reinforcing its role in shaping Miles’s identity.

“And is it the banana’s fault that it had aged this way?”


(Chapter 6, Page 149)

This rhetorical question uses the banana metaphor to critique people’s tendency to blame individuals for systemic outcomes. By framing the banana’s bruises and imperfections as natural and inevitable, Miles challenges any narrative that labels certain people as being inherently broken or dangerous. The simplicity of the question is deceptive, for Miles is essentially demanding that others confront society’s flawed methods for assigning fault. This moment marks Miles’s growing resistance to the habit of internalizing shame about himself, his family, and his community.

“A three-second prayer:

Let there be light.”


(Chapter 6, Page 160)

This line uses an allusion to the Bible to invoke creation, hope, and moral clarity in a moment of uncertainty. The briefness of the “three-second prayer” emphasizes the fact that light functions symbolically as truth, understanding, and safety, combating life’s confusion. The line also reinforces Miles’s reliance on hope and intention.

“I think it’s time

Brooklyn and Harlem do.

Brooklyn and Harlem due.”


(Chapter 7, Page 182)

This poem uses wordplay and repetition to blend Miles’s emotional desires with his sense of moral obligation. By shifting from “do” to “due,” the poem transforms the reunion of these two iconic communities into a historical necessity. The line also reflects Miles’s increasing confidence in naming the aspects of society that must change for the better.

“Poems were like smaller bangs. Making many new worlds.”


(Chapter 8, Page 191)

This metaphor compares poetry to controlled explosions, emphasizing the power of creative transformation. The onomatopoetic word “bangs” suggests that poetry itself can land with extensive impact and force, and the phrase “many new worlds” exhibits poetry’s ability to reshape people’s perspectives on life, creating new versions of social awareness.

“A wad of web no bigger than a single stick of chewed gum shot from under Miles’s sleeve across the room, sticking to the front of Coach Holt’s desk.”


(Chapter 8, Page 193)

The simile comparing webbing to chewed gum grounds Miles’s superhero abilities in the everyday imagery of a teenager’s life, reinforcing his youth. This comparison contrasts with the seriousness of the moment, as Miles navigates danger casually but skillfully. The precision of the action reflects his restraint and control, which are both key aspects of his maturation as Spiderman.

“Jamaica Kincaid. A good name.”


(Chapter 8, Page 197)

This minimalist line emphasizes the power of naming and recognition. Miles’s appreciation for the author’s name shows his instinctive respect for her literary lineage, and the simple gravity of his tone honors the cultural community amongst Black writers, reflecting his growing awareness of authorship, voice, and representation.

“Sometimes we erase things

to create new meaning in what once was.


Other times we erase things

to be demeaning to what once was.


The way you know the difference

is in the ease in which you do it.”


(Chapter 8, Page 210)

This poem contrasts constructive versus destructive versions of erasure to draw a clear moral distinction. The repetition reinforces the idea that erasure is never neutral; depending upon the intention behind the act, it can indicate power, care, or disregard. With these words, Miles recognizes that meaning is shaped by opposing forces of truth and denial.

“[S]cribbling scribbling,


turning the Jamaica lady’s story

into damn near nothing.”


(Chapter 8, Page 217)

The repetition of the word “scribbling” conveys Miles’s frantic, careless motion, emphasizing the destruction of the act. The phrase “damn near nothing” is a reference to the loss of the original text, emphasizing Miles’s sense that the erasure poem is inherently disrespectful of the author’s original work. This moment visually and thematically foreshadows Tobin’s role as a literature-destroying villain, as well as a force of consumption and erasure.

“I’m only here

for telling the truth.”


(Chapter 9, Page 228)

The line’s simplicity gives it moral strength, framing truth itself as both a purpose and a risk. The enjambment isolates the second line in order to emphasize the importance and vulnerability involved in “telling the truth.” This statement positions Miles as a witness rather than a troublemaker, showing his commitment to honesty even when consequences for such a display are severe.

“The question is why do you,

Mr. Chamberlain, so desperately

want to bury us alive?”


(Chapter 9, Page 240)

This metaphor equates education with suffocation, and Miles exercises his moral conviction by openly accusing his racist teacher of actively harming his students. By addressing Mr. Chamberlain directly, he breaks away from traditional power dynamics and asserts his agency. The image of being buried alive refers to the cruel force of systemic oppression, which seeks to silence marginalized communities.

“And now that’s all the paper said. 234 letters, blurred into six.


Spider.”


(Chapter 9, Page 245)

As the narrative gives a dry, factual description of the paper’s typography, the serious tone emphasizes the importance of this particular moment. In this scene, Tobin refers to Miles as a “savage spider” and effectively threatens him. As a result, Miles has no choice but to defeat Tobin just as he would defeat any villain.

“What makes you think books are going to do anything for your hoodlum cousin, Austin? He’s a lost cause. Just like your uncle and most of your neighborhood and…you.”


(Chapter 9, Page 258)

Tobin’s cruel words exemplify the use of language to dehumanize others, for he invokes the derogatory term “hoodlum” to reduce Austin to a cruel stereotype. Tobin’s dismissive tone also reflects the false idea that someone who commits a criminal act is incapable of ever growing beyond this decision.

“You ever had

a teacher


who gave teaching,

a bad name


by calling students

bad names?


(Yeah. Me too.)”


(Chapter 10, Page 293)

The cynical but conversational tone of this verse invites people to consider their own experiences, creating the sense that everyone has experienced systemic injustice from the school system at one time or another. The poetic form contributes to the intended function, for the line breaks slow the rhythm, inviting a slower, more deliberate reflection on each phrase. The parallelism between “teaching” and “bad names” shows the hypocrisy inherent in the education system.

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