The Book of Flora (The Road to Nowhere, #3)

by Meg Elison

Destruction is easy. Creation is so much harder.

Now I see that if I do not carry my past with me, it will wrap itself around my ankles and drag me down. There is no living without it. There is no pretending I am not the sum of all these things.

In my experience, a crop that is grown for anything but food or clothing is a luxury, and luxury does not exist without slavery.

Every life is a tragedy in progress, and I certainly knew no better. But now, I think of each of them as a story that might never be told.

I just didn’t know I could occupy any other space in the world than the one I had always known. Archie had taught me I had no needs of my own, only an endless responsibility for the needs of others.

I realized that it’s never just pageantry with someone like her. It’s politics. I suppose the way we present ourselves always is, but for leaders it’s even more important. I know before she says anything that she’s got something to say.

And isn’t escape always like that? Isn’t it always something you carry on your body, something that makes it impossible to pretend it wasn’t real?

“You can survive nearly anything. Doesn’t mean you should invite it.”

I can’t ever tell them how I came to be who I am, but I can tell the stories. I can show them the scars. I can explain what I have seen in the world, and how strange it is. And then it will become part of them. Isn’t that what all Mothers do?

Nothing soothes a breaking heart like anger, so I found mine.