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It is difficult nowadays to understand the lines traced by someone’s class and background, boundaries as rigid as iron.
“Collective unconscious,” Hideo replied. “Sorry?” “You know, Jung. An ancestral memory shared by all of humankind.
women were carefully policed.
he was wealthy enough to say whatever he wanted, she supposed. Minerva had to mind her words. She was a woman, a Mexican woman at that. A brown girl on a scholarship.
She admired, even envied people like Hideo, who could swiftly navigate the world, smiling and laughing and making friends while she was coiled tight inside her head.
Her Discman spun music by Gustavo Cerati and she tapped her foot to the rhythm of “Amor Amarillo.”
A compilation of the Pixies.
switching to Spanish in her disquiet.
A mystery is the most seductive of poisons; it intoxicates the soul.
Words kept terror at bay.
Beverly, Massachusetts,
