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352 pages, Hardcover
First published March 8, 2016
“Poisonous rivulets of hate and fear spread beneath the town’s sidewalks and buildings and strangled the beauty that had once bloomed through Elston.”
"Because we're living in corrupt times, Hanalee. Even the best intentions can sound cruel when spoken aloud."
"Hate doesn't even begin to describe what's happening. (...) People in this state are controlling who can and can't breed, Hanalee. They're eradicating those of us who aren't white, Protestant, American-born, or sexually normal in their eyes. They're 'purifying' Oregon."
“Hate is a powerful demon that worms its way into the hearts of fearful men.”
“Put your shirt on.” I inched toward the door. “I’m not standing in a shed with a half-naked boy.”
“They’re operating on women, too, and the fact that your skin is dark will only make them want to stop you from having children all the more.”
"'To keep us all safe, we can't afford to associate with a mulatto any longer.'
I sank back against the stone and felt my vertebrae become no stronger than a blade of river grass."
"My arms went cold. 'What are you even talking about? What body parts are people in prisons removing?'
Joe bit down on his pink bottom lip until the skin turned white. 'Castration.'
Diversity Rating: 4 – This is Our World
Racial-Ethnic: 5 (Hanalee is the biracial daughter of a black man and a white woman; her identity is central to the story)
QUILTBAG: 5 (Joe’s identity as a gay man is also central to the story)
Disability: 0 (Hanalee’s dad has a telltale limp as a ghost, but that’s it)
Intersectionality: 4 (between them, Hanalee and Joe say a lot about race and sexuality that’s still relevant today)
“Do you hope to get married someday?” he asked.
“As long as I don’t fall in love with a man the wrong color.”
He exhaled a steady stream of air through his nostrils. “I think love and wrong are two deeply unrelated words that should never be thrown into the same sentence together. Like dessert and broccoli.”
Silence reigned over the world outside the window above the sink, and only a hint of the glow of whiskey stills peeked above the tops of the trees. Or maybe I only imagined that faint glimmer of orange. Maybe the world slept uneasily, holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do next.
“I brought flowering almonds for you,” she said, and she handed me the flowers, which she had wrapped in a white handkerchief and secured with a ribbon the same pink as the petals.
“Are these for luck, too,” I asked, “like the alfalfa?”
“No, for hope.” She squeezed my hand. “An entire bouquet full of hope.”