The Play: Harry’s Story by Brian Montgomery follows Harry Groves from a brutal childhood in a violent, neglectful home through years of bullying at school and then into the creation of “The Play”, a grassroots musical project that turns his pain, and the pain of his friends, into something hopeful and loud. The book moves from Harry’s life with his little sister Sara, through her death at the hands of their parents, into foster care, healing, and eventually a youth-led performance movement that tackles bullying, racism, homophobia, transphobia and mental health head on, both on stage and in real life. It starts in a damp social housing unit and ends on the road with a touring show and an epilogue that stresses survival, persistence, and responsibility to the next generation.

Reading it, I felt like I was being dragged into a storm right alongside Harry. The early chapters are very emotional. The scenes of abuse at home and the cruelty at school are not softened. They feel raw and, at times, hard to look at. I found myself angry at the adults who look away, and at the same time very protective of Harry and Sara. The moment when Sara dies, and Harry learns what happened in that small office at school, left my stomach in knots. The writing there is simple, direct, and emotional, and that choice makes it land even more. Later, when Harry begins to write “for Sara” and then turns that grief into a musical project, I felt a real lift. The book does not pretend that art magically fixes everything. It shows a long, messy grind full of small wins and big setbacks, which made Harry’s eventual success feel earned rather than easy.

I also connected with the way the book treats the wider cast and the bigger ideas. The bullying in this story is not one-note. It covers racism, religious abuse, queerphobia, class, disability, and online cruelty, and it lets those kids have voices, songs, and arcs instead of keeping them as background. Chapters like “Bullies Not Welcome Here,” “Redemption”, and “The Reformed Trio” shift the lens and allow room for change and accountability, even for characters like Mathew Jones and Liam Harris, who start as almost pure villains. That choice won me over. It shows how harm comes from systems and pain, not only from “bad kids”. I liked the mix of prose, bits of lyrics, and the behind-the-scenes feel of building a show. Sometimes the narration tells me what to feel instead of trusting the scene, but the honesty behind it comes through so strongly that I was willing to go with it.

By the time I reached the epilogue, with Harry looking back on the funding fights, the rejections, and the moment he turns down a big film deal to protect the “heart” of The Play, I felt proud of him. The project has grown into something bigger than one boy’s story. It becomes a touring movement that belongs to every young person who steps on stage or sits in the audience and finally feels seen. That final note of “still standing” feels earned.

I would recommend The Play: Harry’s Story to teens and adults who want a frank and heartfelt story about abuse, bullying, grief, and recovery, and who can handle some very heavy scenes along the way. It’s a good fit for youth workers, teachers, and parents who want to understand what some kids are living through, and for young readers who feel invisible or silenced and need to see that their stories matter and can be turned into something powerful and public. If you are ready for a story that hurts, then reaches for hope and community and the power of performance, this book is worth your time.