Talk Like A Pirate Day
Ahoy me hearties,
I see through me spyglass from me lofty perch upon the crow’s nest that Saturday, September 19th be Talk Like A Pirate Day!
Now, don’t be looking at me like I’m addled (and I ain’t been in the grog either); this is one of my favourite holidays. Right after that spook and goblin one. Shiver me timbers, y’all!
Here’s a picture of a pirate ship for ye and no, the Mizzen mast ain’t missing, ye landlubber. Don’t be flying the Jolly Roger, we ain’t surrendering yet.
Now, being a generous pirate wench, I got me some booty for ye, some bookish treasure. The Cap’n says books are as precious as doubloons ye know and don’t ye let anyone be telling ye tales otherwise.
Ye wouldn’t even know of that blaggard Bluebeard or pompous Cap’n Hook if it weren’t for books.
Those old sea dogs don’t hold a candle to the saucy wenches that really ruled the seas. You won’t find either of them down in Davy Jones’s Locker. Don’t be disrespecting em or they’ll make ye swab the deck or walk the plank.
So, without further formality I introduce to ye two of the most notorious pirates to ever sail the seas, Anne Bonney and Mary Reade.
Now this lady, Jane Yolen, she wrote a ballad, a sea shanty about the two and this fair gentleman, David Shannon drew some pretty pictures to go along with it. It’s a mighty fair tale if ever there was one.
Tis a historical tale, set centuries ago. Port Maria bay in 1720, news from afar traveled like birdsong on the air and governors and government chased the pirates down.
“And silver the coins and silver the moon,
Silver the waves on the top of the sea..”
Tis a pleasant ballad the fair Lady Jane has written and I won’t be spoiling the tale by telling it. Go out to ye local shoppe or free library and seek the treasure for ye self. For treasure chased is pleasanter than treasure given.
.
.
.
The Ballad of the Pirate Queens
By Jane Yolen & David Shannon
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 2001
ISBN: 978-0152018856
.
And if ye still think I’m addled cause a Saskatchewan Spinster couldn’t have any knowledge of Pirates bein’ we’re so far from the sea. Well, I’ll just point ye here…or blimy, ta this cute one.
Need helping deciphering me pirate lingo; go here or here or here.
Remember, Dead men tell no tales. ;-0
Fair Winds to the crew of ye.
True Love
I had two different posts planned for today and then a book made me cry three different times today. 
I should have stopped reading the first time it made me cry!
It wasn’t going to become a happier story. It was a realistic fairy tale – I should have known there would be more tears.
The subtitles alone foreshadowed this: Follow, Gone, Swan, Iron, Rose, Snow, Thief, Changeling, Confession, Faithful. Ten words. Ten images. Ten short tales reminiscent of the Grimm Fairy Tales. Old and ancient. Reeking of history.
This is the book. Doesn’t it have an enchanting cover. It is The Story Sisters written by Alice Hoffman. I don’t read everything she writes but both Practical Magic and Green Angel are particular favourites of mine.
According to the list in the front of this book, she’s written twenty-five other books. I’ve read a few more of hers but these are the ones that tear at my heart.
These books about sisters, family, true love (which I do not believe in); these are the ones I can’t put down, that fill me with regret, that I want to buy for all my sisters and nieces – to force them to read.
I want to shake these girls, these women (both the real and the fictional) and say : “pay attention, this is important.”
“In every fairy tale there were always three sisters: the eldest was brave, the middle one was trustworthy, and the youngest had the biggest heart of all.” (p. 52)
According to this, I should be the kind one, the caring one: I am the youngest of three original sisters in a family composed of two sets of sister (the three from the first marriage, the three from the second, and interspersed between us three boys). This is a fairy tale – things appear in threes or sevens or nines. Pay attention.
I am not kind or good; I am mostly nice. “She’s so nice.” It’s such an insult because to be nice is to ignore the core of who I am – to choose to put everyone else before one’s self.
“[the mother] should have never allowed a separate reality to be constructed. (p. 88) The world they lived in should have been enough.” (p. 89)
I’m a day dreamer. A maker up of stories. A reader. A bookworm. These imaginary worlds have always been saver then reality. This was the greatest gift my elders gave me – they allowed me my books and my dreams and this is what kept me alive, content, blessed.
“A secret, after all, was only a secret if no one heard it.” (p. 91)
Secrets are dangerous. Secrets change things. A secret is only a secret if someone knows you have one and wants to know it too. If no one cares that you are keeping secrets then no one cares about you. Remember, this is a fairy tale. There will be challenges. There will be secrets. There will be pain.
“In fairy tales, people rescued each other. They made their way through brambles, trickery, witchery, spells.” (p. 191)
“I only own myself, but all of me is mine.” I don’t wait for rescue. I can’t wait for rescue. I don’t believe in Princes. I save myself. Only. Always. It is scary to be alone, to not trust. To be pragmatic not romantic. In my deepest heart there are kisses and sorrow and wishes and dreams. I remember. I want.
“Maybe some love was guaranteed. Maybe it fit inside you and around you like skin and bones.” (p. 289)
Maybe it doesn’t devour you. Eat you up alive. Haunt your dreams. Break your heart and soul and being. I’ve not found out yet. I don’t think I ever will.
So, I cry over a book about risk and sisters and love in all its many guises.
And oddly enough, a book about tomatoes. Tomatoes that are green and pink and yellow and gold. Heirloom Tomatoes: Cherokee chocolates, Golden Jubilees, Green Zebras, Rainbows.
Tell me a story. Save me. Make me cry.
Ready, Set, Go…Body Type
I picked up an interesting book at the library about six months ago. No, I still don’t have it out (the most time I can get with maximum renewals is nine weeks). I was going to get it out again only to discover that it is now a restricted book – which in this case means kept behind the desk and one is only allowed to read it in the library.
You’re curious now, aren’t you? What could this subversive book be?
It’s a lovely Tattoo book about what words, letters, or characters one might decide to permanently etch onto their body. One could include it in their thesis if they were exploring psychological sizing therapy.
I learnt new words.
I now know what an interrobang is.
See, it’s there to the left. It is a ! and a ? combined.
It indicates a mixture of query and interjection, as after a rhetorical question. It is an indicator directing your attention to such rhetorical questions as “Is the sky blue”.
I also know what an ambigram is.
This is a word or phrase that appears the same right side up or upside down. Isn’t this one pretty.
And now I can also create a ligature. And no, not that kind of ligature, this kind. . .
The sort where you attach two letters together to form a new letter. In this example I combined my lower case g with an A for anonymous. But I would suggest you do a google search for examples because mine was too bad to show. Here, instead, is a clip art one that combines the letters C and E. Which is much, much prettier than my attempt at art was!
The book also has good examples of different fonts.
Fonts like Requiem, measured and solemn,
And Futura, 
linear and straight,
And the light, exotic, dancing Samba. 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
If I had the book to scan I could show you what font a young mystery buff might use to make The Killer Listens! look bold and sinister. Damn, I might just have to break down and buy myself a copy! 
Another favourite was the poet who had the twenty-six letters of the English alphabet tattooed around his ankle.
Since I can’t get the book to scan I will send you to a couple of online sites I enjoy looking at weekly.
They are NeoPagan Ink and Contrariwise: Literary Tattoos. Enjoy!
I have two nephews, twins, who are both heavily tattooed. This is where my knowledge of colours available and terminology such as sleeves comes from. One of them has a most amazing Winnie the Pooh sleeve all down his right arm. It reminds him of the happier parts of his childhood.
As well, my Big Brother Half Brother (BBHB) got a tattoo during his rebellious phrase. I saw it when it was still freshly new and painful looking. It was decades ago. I can’t remember what it was and do not know if he still has it.
The main reason I will never get a tattoo is because of the pain. Though, every once in a while, I fantasize about a Daddy Long Legs crawling into the hair above my right temple. Something small and discreet.
No matter your orientation you will not regret picking up this amazing book. Go hunt it down now and prepare for the upcoming sequel as well. Happy tattoo reading!
Body Type: Intimate Messages Etched In Flesh
by Ina Saltz
This book review has been brought to you by Weekly Geeks 2009-28 (Friday, July 24, 2009).
Because it is a long weekend up here in the wilds of Canada (plus my mom’s birthday) I am posting early.
My next post will be Sunday, August 9, 2009. See you then.
Tribbles and Bits
Yesterday, there was a scent of lilacs wafting on the wind. The Lilac season is one of the seasons I wait for in anticipation. And it is such a short season (LOL). I only have about two weeks to enjoy the Lilacs and then they will be gone and it will be summer. Hot, hot summer which is the season that I despise the most. I can not tolerate the heat. Autumn is my favorite season: the days are still long, the heat dissipates by dusk and raspberries are plentiful and inexpensive.
I don’t hate everything about Summer just the heat. The Children’s Festival will start next week and starting tomorrow my walk to work will be festooned with ribbons. Not the whole walk, just the last part by the park. They will have bright ribbons hanging over the trees which are already a canopy of green but for one week will be joined by a rainbow of ribbons and hoards of children when I go out for lunch. This week makes me wish I still had little ones in my life to enjoy the festival with.
Today is Sunday. It was a beautiful day but I did not go out into it. Except to take out the garbage. I stayed inside reading, enjoying the sun like a cat. I finished two books and the Saturday paper. I did notice when the sun went behind the clouds but I was not tempted to leave my apartment. I’m a little tempted now but it means I’d have to put on a bra and I don’t want to!
What books did I finish, you ask?
One of the books was The Necklace. This book is the story about thirteen women who buy a 15,000.00 dollar necklace to share. The book details this social experiment and how sharing the necklace affects each woman. I couldn’t do it! For one, I couldn’t spend that sort of money on jewelry (over 1,000.00 dollars each) and two, I wouldn’t be able to share something like that. Either I would want to have it safe with me always or I would prefer not to have it. I do recommend the book. I found the concept to be a courageous one; I just couldn’t do it!
The other book was Stephen King’s latest book of short stories, Just After Sunset. I think Mr. King does short stories better than he does novels. The best short story in this collection was The Things They Left Behind which is about 9/11. Here is the synopsis from Stephen King’s website and here is what Wikipedia says about it. The glasses, below, play a pivotal role in the story. 
I cried. Stephen King usually doesn’t make me cry.
So here you have it – some bits about my life but no tribbles (not this time anyway).
Urban Fantasy One
I read two interesting books over the last three days. They were both novels with playlists, a concept that I found intriguing. They were both urban fantasy; the new name for modern horror, if you will. One was about werewolves and talk radio and the other was about vampires and Rock and Roll from its beginnings to now.
Kitty and the Midnight Hour is the first book in the werewolf series and I liked it enough that I will be reading the others. It is by Carrie Vaughn, go explore her site to find out more. The playlist she included in this book is the music she listened to while writing about Kitty.
It’s the second book that I want to talk about today. Wicked Game by Jeri Smith-Ready. It is, according to the cover blurb, a novel of sex, blood and rock ‘n’ roll. Which, these days, usually means, vampires are involved. I have a fascination with vampire stories. Now, I’m no naive Chanterelle (Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Lie to Me: Season 2: Episode 7 etc.), I don’t believe vampires to be blessed or benign or real.
I like urban fantasy. I like history. This novels gives me both. I like learning something new. I don’t listen to a lot of rock music. I like folk, old country, indie stuff and many Canadian bands. I was a teenager in the seventies, rock music was still relatively new then. Rock ‘n’ Roll was everywhere so I know the basics of its history, its legends, if you will.
This story taught me a little bit more about rock ‘n’ roll; what it is, how it evolved, why it matters to so many of my generation. After reading these books, I went to YouTube to search for and listen to the songs. I had heard about half of them before. A new favourite is: Rock ‘n’ Roll Lifestyle by Cake, a band I’ve never heard of. (But will definitely be looking into further.) The playlist in Wicked Game is integral to the story itself.
I ended last week’s post with a quote. It is from a novel about, the blues singer, Robert Johnson. Robert supposedly sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads in Mississippi. To find out what that rock legend has to do with tonight’s novel go to Ms. Smith-Ready’s website and read about Monroe’s turning and then, when you’re done exploring the websites, read Wicked Game and write down when the sequel Bad to the Bone is coming out because you’ll want to read that one too!
So what, in my opinion, would make these books better. Sell me the music CD along with the book. Can’t be done, you say. Has been done, I say. Okay, arguably, it would be expensive to negotiate all the rights to the music but I think it would pay off in the long run. Anyone game to try?
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day – Reprise
My second post on my fresh, brand new blog was about the movie Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day. http://solitaryspinster.wordpress.com/2008/09/
Since I’ve seen the movie I’ve been able to read the book. Thank the Stars for outstanding local libraries where I was lucky enough to acquire both within six months of each other. To recap: the book is about a day in the life of a spinster governess working in London just prior to WWII. Very much in line with the screwball comedies of the time. It was written by Winifred Watson in 1938 and reissued by Persephone Books in 2001.
Ms. Watson grew up in Newcastle (Great Britain) and worked as a secretary until she married. She wrote six books before she retired to look after her growing family in 1941. Persephone Books reprints forgotten works by (mostly) women writers. Miss Pettigrew is a charming little volume with all of the original artwork included as well.
You may want to read my first post first as I plan to talk here about how the book differs from the movie.
The book opens with an introduction by Henrietta Twycross-Martin (no, no idea who she is) that summarizes how this book brought joyful fantasy into her mother’s life. It introduces us into Ms. Watson’s life, both when she was writing Miss Pettigrew and when it was reprinted. An optimistic story within itself.
Miss Pettigrew’s chapters are separated into hourly type sections. We start the day at 9:15 a.m. to 11:11 a.m and end at 3:47 a.m. It is an interesting life changing day for everyone involved. It differs from the movie as there is no set-up; we are thrown instantly into the meeting between Miss Pettigrew and Miss LaFosse. The book draws one in quickly and never lets go until the end. I finished the bulk of it in two days.
Instantly, Miss Pettigrew feels accepted. They talk to her. Miss LaFosse , her friend Miss Dubarry and the others look to Miss Pettigrew for solace and advice. Miss LaFosse is a grown-up child and Miss Dubarry runs a successful business. They make her over. They take her to a cocktail party, a nightclub, they treat her as an equal. Something none of her other employers have ever done. This, I think, mirrors slightly the British class system and how it works. Here, no one laughs at her for being a governess (and a very bad one at that). Here, they drink up her advice, praise her mimicking skills and her quick wit. It is a world unlike any Miss Pettigrew has ever seen.
The spinster, Miss Pettigrew, is a lot like me. She has never “been in a taxi for pure frivolity before.” She has spent her life catering to other’s needs and waiting for a life to happen. On some days, I feel I do this more than on other days.
Miss Pettigrew has arrived at the age of forty and never been kissed. She states, unequivocally, that she has never been loved in her life. Thankfully, I have loved and been loved and lost at love. I have a village of family and friends who tease and push and challenge and accept me. I choose the spinster lifestyle and relish my aloneness (most of the time).
The movie minimized the drug use that the book portrays as normal. There is cocaine and massive amounts of alcohol use. That the movie minimized this doesn’t surprise me as this is an American adaptation.
The movie also changes and minimizes the friendship between the three women (Miss Pettigrew, Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry). It introduces, into the story, conflict that is caused by two of the women being attracted to the same man. This change annoys me. I found the book’s portrayal of the women and their friendship to be more honest.
The movie added to the storyline:
- Miss Pettigrew’s true love; a young man who dies in WWI (as if she is less of a person, in the book, because she has never been loved or loved anyone herself)
- the conflict between two of the women over a man (as if true love precludes any ethics one might feel over stealing away another’s lover)
- the upcoming war was foreshadowed (the author choose to completely leave this out of the novel even though it must have been apparent when she was writing the story)
Yes, in the book Miss Pettigrew does find love. However, not until the last chapters. He is fifty-five, so they are compatible age-wise, in the reader’s mind. Man must always be older than the woman! Introducing the love story earlier in the movie minimizes and trivializes the growing relationship between the women.
In my mind, it is the women who are central to the story. It is these friendships that save Miss Pettigrew and give her what she needs most: a better sense of who she is and what she is capable of.
I would recommend the book more than the movie, However, don’t limit yourself, enjoy both. And I would love to read anyone else’s reviews of both, let me know if there are any out there in the blogosphere.
Two Books
What the Dead Know
It didn’t end the way I thought it would end. I thought I knew how this story would/should end. I read a lot of mysteries: few of them surprise me anymore. This one surprised me.
“The living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing:”
Ecclesiastes 9:5
This book is about what one dead soul knows.
Two sisters, young teenagers, disappear in 1975 from a mall and someone claiming to be one of them reappears thirty years later. This book tells us both stories. This book tells us many stories: the girls, the cops, their parents. The then & the now.
It was, for me, both a nostalgic journey and a mystery. I was a young teenager in the seventies. The fads were familiar and haunting. Now, I look back to the past with a more mature eye. I know what the world is capable of.
It is not often that the ending of a story surprises me.
What the Dead Know
Laura Lippman
New York, N.Y.: HarperCollins, 2007
Sadness
Then the thought came to Miles, like the tolling of a large and leaden bell, that Bethany was dead. This may sound strange, but in my experience it’s strange and it’s also just how it works. You wake up and you remember that the person you love is dead. And then you think: Really?
Then you think how strange it is, how you have to remind yourself that the person you love is dead, and even while you’re thinking about that, the thought comes to you again that the person you love is dead. And it’s the same stupid fog, the same needles or mallet to the intestines or whatever worse thing you want to call it, all over again. But you’ll see for yourself someday. (p.5)
(The Wrong Grave/Kelly Link pp.1-30 in The Restless Dead ed. by Deborah Noyes. Cambridge, Mass.: Candlewick Press, 2007)
Reading the Library Books First ;-)
I am in a time loop. In a bind. When I started steady work eight years ago I started buying books. You know, just in case I ran out of things to read. LOL. Three moves later, I have about two hundred books stored in boxes and in piles in Living Room and Bedroom cabinets. Books I’m not getting around to reading.
Why am I not reading the books I own? Because I am reading the Library books first! It’s a vicious cycle. I work downtown. I have nothing to do at lunch. I go to the library and peruse the new book shelf or worse yet, the one week loan period new book shelf. Which my library just introduced. Book titles in high demand have a copy or two set to a one week loan period for those of us who can read a book in that time period and/or don’t want to wait for over a hundred people ahead of us on the reserve list to read the book.
Then, of course, I read book blogs. Book bloggers are evil, evil tempters. Oh, all right, I have no resistance when it comes to books. I’ll read anything that sounds interesting. I use to write down the titles I wanted to read. Now, I go to my library website first and put the book on reserve if they have it. If not, the book information goes into my to read someday book list book! So, last year, I decided that I would only go to the library if I had a book in. Didn’t work…what part of vicious circle did I not get? Damn, Libraries are tantalizing dens of seduction; I can’t resist a good read.
This year, I’m reading the books I own alongside the library books and not buying any new books. Hopefully, by this time next year, I will have put a dent in my to be read, already own, pile of tempting, tantalizing books. Wish me luck!
Making saints out of sinners
I read an interesting book this weekend. It’s a fiction book about a subject I have no interest in at all; NASCAR. Admittedly, there are probably many in my gene pool who would love this sport. After all, my grandfather was a big fine of wrestling before it became such a spectacular showy spectacle. Myself, I don’t see the entertainment value in watching cars go fast around a track for hours and hours.
St. Dale is a southern novel about NASCAR legend, Dale Earnhardt. It is written by Sharyn McCrumb. She writes Southern Appalachian novels and Elizabeth MacPherson mysteries. I read her for her Appalachian ballad novels, which I consider Gothic, full of mysticism and magic realism.
St. Dale encompasses a pilgrimage, a journey to the sacred places of Dale Earnhardt. The racetracks that shaped who he was. Thirteen people sign up for the Dale Earnhardt Memorial Tour shortly after his death and go on to pay homage to his memory.
There are the sisters Justine, a true fan; Bekasu, a judge who is there under distress and their cousin Cayle, whose father named her after another racing legend. The newlyweds, Shane and Karen, are married on the racetrack at the tour’s first stop. The old couple, long time fans, Jim and Arlene are reliving old glories as he tries to save her from the lose of her memories.
The Rev. Bill Knight, is new to the phenomena of NASCAR, and is there to supervise the orphan Matthew, who is dying. The reverend is not from around here, he is not Southern and is our eyes and ears on this strange journey through unfamiliar Southern culture.
Terrence Palmer, a New Yorker and Sarah Nash have only just met. They are on the tour because of the generosity of Terrence’s father. Rounding out the group are Ray Reeve, who is in Agro-business and Jesse Franklin, a county auditor.
Harley Claymore, the tour guide is an ex-driver who wants back onto the NASCAR circuit.
All are seeking and experiencing miracles that they attribute to Dale Earnhardt.
The book, itself, is a twist on Canterbury Tales. For one not knowledgeable about NASCAR it serves as a short history to the sport. I can now drop names such as Junior and the Bodines and know what I am talking about. But, at the core, St. Dale is about miracles and why we, as a community, feel the need to canonize the dead. It explains, at the basest level, why Elvis and Diana (you know who I mean) captivate our lives even after their deaths. This book needs to be read and dissected alongside Canterbury Tales.
For a lighter tour of NASCAR, without all that distracting history, I would like to recommend the Alex Barnaby series by Janet Evanovich. They are set in Florida which is where St. Dale ends and are a lighter, more modern take on the subject and also loads of fun.
Green Angel
October 4, 2009 at 8:28 pm (Book Commentary) (Alice Hoffnan, book review, dystopia, environmental issues, family, Green Angel, sisters, tattoos)
At the beginning of August, I wrote a review of Alice Hoffman’s book The Story Sisters and mentioned how much I also loved her book Green Angel. So, I decided to give you that review today. It’s a bit long. I was very verbose when I wrote the review, just after I read the book.
There may be spoilers within.
If Green Angel is a Fairy Tale it is a feminist rending of one. The story focuses around Green, our heroine, who through her own fortitude, courage and resilience overcomes numerous obstacles to complete her quest. There is a smidgen of science, a hint of magic, too much hope to be a dystopia. However, does the story have enough magic in it so that we can feel comfortable calling it a Fairy Tale?
We could argue also that Green Angel is Magic Realist fiction. It is, after all, a story set within an everyday mundane world with the aura of the fantastic surrounding it. Because one cannot, after all, tattoo themselves so completely even if one were an ambidextrous contortionist. And can science explain how the body’s chemistry can turn black ink to green?
Then there are the dystopian elements that are so hard to ignore. Is the condition of Green’s life so extremely bad that there is no hope?
We bandy about these fictional terms like a talisman against the ancient gods who have forgotten us. If we can name something we can control it and thus have no reason to fear it.
If I told you only that I loved this book, that the language was perfect, that I wanted to rush right out and buy a copy for all my sisters (I have five), would you rush right out and buy a copy as well you should. If I told you only that I kept renewing the library copy so that I could still have it in my bag, on my person, until I can afford to buy my own copy of this exquisite little volume, would you understand.
Alice Hoffman wrote Green Angel. Matt Mahurin illustrates the Scholastic edition, designed by Elizabeth B. Parisi. Green pages run throughout the delicious illustrations and the book fits comfortably in the hand.
Green Angel is divided into five stories. They are Heart, Soul, Treasure, Rain and Sister. The themes are reminiscent of Cinder-Ella and Sleeping Beauty. Is this a Fairy Tale after all?
The tale told in Heart is the reality of what happened and how it happened. The tale told in Soul is what Green dreams. The tale told in Treasure tells us who and what Green loved. The tale told in Rain is what Green has lost. The tale told in Sister details the story that Green is finally able to tell.
A story involving a quest and love, with a smidgen of science, a hint of magic, and too much hope to be a dystopia.
Green and her younger sister Aurora live an ideal life above a village at the edge of a forest. Their father is honest and strong. Their mother prefers Blue Jay feathers to pearls. Aurora is wild and beautiful and can disappear like moonlight. Green is the least of them, a weed among the flowers. She is looking forward to turning sixteen. She keeps her distance from the village, is happy to be her family’s shadow. She is comfortable in the shadows, patient enough to sit for hours and watch the garden grow, see it turning green. Her family treasures her, Green says, because of her ability to grow substance from nothing … to create a garden that nourishes them all.
When catastrophe happens, Green is left alone to pick up the pieces of her life. The end of the world comes and Green survives to exist in the ashes. She must protect herself from the sooty days and parentless looters who come in the night not knowing she survived. The looters destroy the garden leaving nothing but ashes and stones. Stones that Green collects to build funeral cairns for her family. Half-blind, this task becomes her purpose, as she wishes to not feel anything. She becomes a half-dead thing in a half-dead world.
Green creates armor for herself out of her father’s old black boots and battered leather jacket. She carries stones and a slingshot everywhere. She tears the thorns from her garden’s bare rosebushes and sews them onto her clothes. She takes a needle and inks onto herself a raven, a bat, and a rose. She writes upon herself with black ink.
She loses herself in sleep and dreaming. She dreams her sister back into being, so Green herself can become, once again, patient, still waiting to be sixteen, still hopeful. Green sleepwalks through her days and each night inks tattoos upon her skin. This gives her courage to venture into the village. They thought her dead, they call her cursed. Green changes her name to Ash.
Slowly, Ash becomes friends with a neighbor, rescues a ghost white dog, feeds the birds, feeds and clothes an old nemesis, befriends a boy, dreams that her sister does not know her.
Slowly Ash changes. She trusts. She loves. Her tattoos start to change color from black to green. She replants her garden. She learns that to heal one must learn to let go.
Ash becomes Green once again. She dreams of a sister who knows her. Green cries and her tears wash the ash embers out of her eyes.
By the end of her quest Green is able to see clearly. She can see the world outside, aching and ruined, but beautiful all the same. She can miss her family, she can watch her revitalized garden grow, and she can discard her armor. Green can start to live happily ever after.
Green Angel by Alice Hoffman
New York: Scholastic, 2003
ISBN: 0439443849
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