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"His pity for them had been overwhelming; but pity was not action. It was not love. Pity, like passion, was no more than a kind of instinct." (pg 145)

I'm not as familiar with northern Oregon as I could be, but I'm mildly skeptical that it gets THAT icy-cold there. But who knows? Micro-climates are a thing. This is fun so far. I'm enjoying it, even if it's making me cold.

Perfect. Gorgeous. At least as good as Agnes, and that's really saying something.

Danticat has a genius for illustrating that way brilliant teenage girls have of being these effortless-seeming polymaths. They know so many things! Giselle and Isabelle feel so real, and their every-direction-at-once brilliance is part of what makes them real. They remind me of actual brilliant girls I've been lucky enough to know. Amazing book so far. My heart is pulverized.

Ow, my heart.