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Após o inesperado divórcio dos pais, Mim Malone é arrastada de sua casa em Ohio para o árido Mississippi, onde passa a morar com o pai e a madrasta e a ser medicada contra a própria vontade. Porém, antes mesmo de a poeira da mudança baixar, ela descobre que a mãe está doente.
Mim foge de sua nova vida e embarca em um ônibus com destino a seu verdadeiro lugar, o lar de sua mãe, e acaba encontrando alguns companheiros de viagem muito interessantes pelo caminho. Quando a jornada de mais de mil quilômetros toma rumos inesperados, ela precisa confrontar os próprios demônios e redefinir seus conceitos de amor, lealdade e sanidade.
Com uma narrativa caleidoscópica e inesquecível, Mosquitolândia é uma odisseia contemporânea, uma história sobre as dificuldades do dia a dia e o que fazemos para enfrentá-las.
“Um livro que fala da doçura da vida, da coragem de quem ama e do que precisamos nos afastar para enxergar o que está ao nosso redor.”Wall Street Journal
“Absolutamente sensacional. Não falta humor, cenas delicadas ou surpresas de tirar o fôlego. A trajetória triunfante dessa garota de 16 anos vale a leitura.”Publishers Weekly
326 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 3, 2015
"I am a collection of oddities, a circus of neurons and electrons: my heart is the ringmaster, my soul is the trapeze artist, and the world is my audience. It sounds strange because it is, and it is, because I am strange."

I think about how quickly things have changed for me. But that's the personality of change, isn't it? When it's slow, it's called growth; when it's fast, it's change. And God, how things change: some things, nothings, anythings, everything... all the things change.
You spend you life roaming the hillsides, scouring the four corners of the earth, searching desperately for just one persons to fucking get you. And I'm thinking, if you can find that, you've found home.
I swear, the older I get, the more I value bad examples over the good ones. It's a good thing, too, because most people are egotistical, neurotic, self-absorbed peons, insistent on wearing near-sighted glasses in a far-sighted world. And it's this exact sort of myopic ignorance that has led to my groundbreaking new theory. I call it Mim's Theorem of Monkey See Monkey Don't, and what it boils down to is this: it is my belief that there are some people whose sole purpose of existence is to show the rest of us how not to act.
But even today, there are times--most notably when I wear my war paint--when I really feel that Cherokee blood coursing through my veins, no matter its percentage of purity. So from whatever minutia of my heart that pumps authentic Cherokee blood, I pass this phrase along to you: have a vision, unclouded by fear.
I wonder: What would it be like if she walked in the room right now? If she found me painting my face life some politically incorrect Cherokee chieftess? What would I tell her? The truth, I hope. That in my longing for originality and relational honesty and a hundred other I-don't-know-whats, this action, while strange and socially awkward, makes more sense that just about anything else in the world. And even though it's cryptic and more than a little odd, sometimes cryptic and odd are better than lying down for the Man. Maybe I would tell her how the war paint helped get me through a time when I felt like no one else cared about what I wanted, or who I was. Maybe I could muster the courage to speak those words so few people are able to say: I don't know why I do the things I do. It's like that sometimes.
“I'm feeling reckless - or honest, maybe. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference.”
“You spend you life roaming the hillsides, scouring the four corners of the earth, searching desperately for just one persons to f*cking get you. And I’m thinking, if you can find that, you’ve found home.”

