What's the Name of That Book??? discussion

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Query abandoned by poster > ABANDONED. Fictional retelling of Joan of Arc

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message 1: by Natalie (new)

Natalie | 149 comments This was a YA retelling of Joan of Arc and I don't remember much about it other than in one of the first chapters she's scratching on the table (or something) and her nails/fingers start to bleed, and I was always grossed out by that. I believe it was published in the early 2000s.

I think (again, I'm not sure) it had a cover of like a landscape with the girl in the middle.


message 4: by Natalie (new)

Natalie | 149 comments It's neither of those, thanks.


message 5: by Natalie (new)

Natalie | 149 comments bump


message 7: by Natalie (new)

Natalie | 149 comments I'm not sure...do you remember any details about the book that could help me? :)


message 8: by Kate (new)

Kate Farrell | 4040 comments Mod
The story of Joan of Arc is told through the eyes of her cousin, Mariane. Mariane doesn't speak since her mother died (killed by English raiders). Mariane finds the truth behind her mother's death. Some of the story is told through letters, as Mariane is not always with Joan.


message 9: by Melanie (new)

Melanie (melanie_yap) | 4 comments Well, if you're Dutch (can't tell because of private profile, so sorry if you're not and this is entirely unhelpful xD...) it could be Jehanne?


message 10: by Natalie (new)

Natalie | 149 comments I am actually part-Dutch, but it was an English book so that's not it. Thanks though!


message 11: by Lobstergirl, au gratin (new)

Lobstergirl | 44924 comments Mod
Natalie, are you still looking for this book?


message 12: by Rainbowheart (new)

Rainbowheart | 28662 comments I know this is abandoned, but I'm pretty sure it is indeed Warrior Girl.

There's this passage about her bleeding fingers....

I was making everyone sick with my screams, the wordless noise that said I want my mother! I want my mother! They were all pleading with me to stop, but I couldn’t help myself. Like a hog driven to slaughter, I bit and kicked and scratched. I stuck my foot in the door of my mother’s room as they tried to push me away, dug my nails into the wood of the jambs until the ends of my fingers bled, all the time making animal grunts, my eyes forever fixed on the smudge of blood, that wrongness, at the side of my mother’s mouth.


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