When I first read it, I had literally no idea of the plot or concept. I’d bought it on a recommendation from a friend over my Kindle and just pried it open while I was in Afghanistan, all ready suffering some hardships. I’m going to go about this without spoiling it.
It blew me away. I didn’t know what to make of it when I’d started reading at first, I was in the air about it, but incredibly drawn to the author’s writing style and where this was going. The willingness the story had to go into the darker side of things without being absurd or over indulging was amazing. One of the ways I measure a book or a poem is by how it illustrates emotions in a way that I feel repeatable to in the fullest and this book has nailed it, from descriptions of loneliness, pain, survival, and the torment of being tossed around through one broken household to the next. In the way of Nabakov, I thought it pulled off as a first person narrative in holding true to the mentality of a jaded child (having been one. I grew up in a violent household with all kinds of bad involved, so I felt a very familiar sting towards my childhood). As a former bookseller, I’d mocked Oprah’s book club with some silly concept that I should judge a book based on its associations rather than its cover, and White Oleander did more than show me up in that regard. Astrid was an amazing character as was her mother, Ingrid. The relationships she develops throughout the book, Ray, Olivia, and Claire are both sad and compelling. I was really heart broken through the Claire arch of the story. It really brought the same feeling of empty sadness that Solitary Blue (I don’t recall enough of it to discuss details, but I do remember the distinct feeling) gave me when I was in middle school.
It was one of the biggest surprises I’ve come across and I’m really happy for it. One of the few books I’ve randomly jumped into and had taken me in whole.
aw
oh honey
nice try
I did it for the gold star, god that’s great.
(Source: joeseline, via gendrybaratheonn)
I’m pretty sure I’d marry someone so they could get their green card. I don’t know why this has been on my mind lately.
Now I can look more professional when I do my scholarly pursuits (That’s right, I got glasses).
“Suddenly, playing with yourself is a scholarly pursuit.”
Human the Death Dance - Buddy Wakefield
On the face of her phone, Wylenne programs a message to herself so when the alarm clock rings, the screen flashes “every day is one day less, everyday is one day less.”
Jordan tattoos the words “forgive me” in thick balck letters on the inside of his arm, so that when he looks at his wrist,he will remember to not hate himself so much.
What they both keep forgetting is that there is life after survival.
After Dave left, Mary started sticking her face between the film projector and the movie screen, so that when the credits roll, she still gets to be somebody.
When Tara’s past comes back, she mashes chalk into the sidewalk until her knuckles bleed. She scribbles and scrapes until the words take shape, and this is what they say, they say, “i wanna die motherfucker, die die motherfucker.”
hold tight, if i love you, cause it might not last long.
we’re all gonna die. that’s the exciting part. it’s learning how to live for a living. That’s the tricky bitch.
Just ask Denise, whose family taught her when she came into this world, that family equals love. So, Denise took that shit seriously but after a lifetime of craving acceptance from their cruelty, she now finds herself jamming Polaroid pictures of these people into her typewriter and pounding out the last letter of the word “mercy” over and over.
She strikes the key “y”, “why why why why why.” And the answer comes in the form of a hand written letter from the moon.
It says, “This is brutally beautiful. So are we. This is endless. So are we. We can heal this.” signed, Crater Face.
P.S. See me for who I am. We got work to do.
But my father, he didn’t read moon, he didn’t speak moon, he didn’t write moon.
So there was no note left next to his body when he decided to leave this world on purpose without telling us where he was going or why.
There are still days you can catch me tape recording internal silence and playing it backwards for an empty room. Just so I can listen to his dying wish.
It’s true. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. But thank goodness, My family tree was in an orchard on a hill that rolled me to the river and that river rifted me to the rapids and those rapids rushed me into this moment. Right here, right now, with you.
It’s a mouth, this is my church. And this church is a house of healing. Hallelujah. Welcome, come on in. As you are. Have a look around…….stay out of my porn.
There are massive stacks of bad choices in my backyard, clearly, I have not yet reached enlightenment beyond a few pleading moments, but I’m trying.
And I found something here I want you to have, it’s not much, just a story, but it’s all I got. So take it.
It’s called Dylan. Dylan’s drug of choice was “more.” So Dylan took more and more and more. Until the day he woke up babbling in the pool of his own traffic jam. Realizing he is killing off the best parts of himself, and claiming he could read peoples skin.
When he looked down at his heart flap, it said “boy, go find your spine, and ride it out of here.”
Wylennes guts said “Day one.”
Jordans arm were “fully forgiven.”
Mary’s face, “The ENDless.”
Tara’s knuckles,”Healing.”
Denise’s fingers said, “C” “See see see see see.”
and Dylan said my smile it said “fix it.” So I came back here, to the mouth of the river to look at my own reflection under the moonlight and see what it says for myself.
On my whole body, it is written,
P.S. See me for who I am. We got work to do. As for crater face, I don’t speak for that guy. His skin, “brutally beautiful.”
Hand written letter from the Sun.
