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368 pages, Paperback
First published April 12, 2012
“Is this some kind of My Fair Lady thing where you win a prize by turning a guttersnipe into a countess?”
She smiled. “I love that movie.”
Of course she did. Girls like Bridgette always loved that movie because it made the world seem pretty and made them believe that even though they were rich and clean, they didn’t have to be morally bankrupt.
It was, in my opinion, a piece of shit. No one ever handed you a fairy tale.
I found myself getting pulled into the easy rhythm of their back and forth, of their banter. This is what it’s like to be part of a family, I thought. To belong to people who care about you. As we laughed together, some part of me that had been inert suddenly flamed into life, filling me with the joy and wonder of a child reaching through a crowd for a favorite toy she thought was lost forever.I really liked almost every character in the book. They all felt realistic, it's somewhat of a soap opera, but to a lesser extent, which is perfectly fine, since we all have our mental image of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. But it felt more realistic. Not a caricature. The cast is diverse. There are actually people who aren't white in this book...and they didn't feel like token minorities.
That feeling of belonging was gorgeous, like a mirage, tantalizing, false, and dangerously out of reach. It wasn’t a good idea for me to get close to these two. I didn’t want them to like me, and I didn’t want to like them. We would all be safer if they stayed wary.
Expendable, I reminded myself. This was an act, and you are expendable.
The wide, dark corridor was silent, still. Empty.Altogether, an altogether enjoyable book. Not without its moments of absurdities...
Completely empty.
But the handle on my door had moved, there had been whispering, I’d seen—
The spirits will have their revenge, I heard the medium’s voice.
This was not spirits, I told myself. There are no ghosts.
I stopped halfway out of the yellow sweater to gape at her. “Did you just narrate an emoticon?”But as a whole...I enjoyed it enough not to care.
“AURORA SILVERTON IS A HOTTIE I’D PSANK HER ANY TIME,” I read. “Great. Someone wants to p-sank me.”And for this:
“It’s a typo for spank.”
“It’s a synonym for stupid.”
“Superfluous. Fancy word. Where did you pick that up?”And especially for this (even though reading this now brings tears to my eyes):
“I have a library card.”
“The memory brought back the timbre of her voice and the tickle of her hair on my chin as I put her to bed that night and the feeling of belonging to someone, mattering to someone, having someone whose first smile in the morning was for you. Someone who slipped their hand into yours when they were scared and trusted you to make them feel better. Someone who knew you, the important things about you, and loved you anyway.”But Eve isn't everything I love about Ghost Flower, even though she is the thing I probably love the most about it. I mean, fuck this.
“[...] Before he agreed to take me on, I was doing that thing where you talk about yourself by your first name? Horror face! Blaze completely saved me from me.”So now that I kind-of-told-you-but-mostly-gushed about the stuff that I love, I have to end this gush fest for a second with a pretty major complaint. The Name. As in The Name. I can't tell you which name I mean because while it wouldn't spoil anything major, it would spoil something for you. But The Name. I can't stress it enough. The Name. That's all I'll say. It's like a trick to make you go read this book because it can't be for the rest of my review, just for The Name, you know.
I stopped halfway out of the yellow sweater to gape at her. “Did you just narrate an emoticon?”
“I’m testing out catchphrases.”
Dear Ghost Flower,
Until I read you the next time and think of you when flying through Michele Jaffe's book catalogue:
Hugsbye (Coralee style),
Rose
I am an imposter. A fake. A fraud. But everything that follows is the truth and nothing but the truth. I have no reason to lie anymore.
I fell in love with him at that moment. It was like the pin being pulled out of grenade, the tiny little ping that turns something inert into something dangerously combustible.