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256 pages, Paperback
First published July 3, 2014
But listen: To live for a minimum of seven years with a minimum of seven kids in two hundred square feet with no toilet paper or Netflix or Xanax requires a certain kind of imperturbability. To adopt seven kids; to not give out when snow is sifting through the cracks in the chinking; to not lose your mind when a baby is feverish and screeching and a toddler is tugging your skirts and the hairdryer wind of August is blowing 110-degree heat under your door and the mass production of electric refrigerators is still fifty-five years away - something has to hold you together through all that.
It has to be love, doesn't it?
It had to be bad if a sixth grade girl could see that he was fucked.
I was put in mind of a friend / who recently broke into the grasslands / and was impeded for a day / by a herd of bison fifty miles long / and three miles wide. / When he followed them to a ford / the gravel underfoot / was covered with moulted hair to a depth of six inches.
It was as though the world had heard what she wanted and had finally decided to deliver.
This was how her year began. And shortly after, the first people arrived."