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341 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
'Some people in this world are born bigger than life, and some grow to be that way, but I know it’s not a matter you can pick and choose. If it were, then I would opt to be doll-sized. Maybe even a dwarf. (…) As it happens, however, my feet are bigger than most men’s, along with my hands, my hips, my neck, and the vast expanse of my shoulders and back.'
'The teacher squeezed her eyes open and shut. “But this can’t be right. You’re a little giant.”
I blushed. It was a word I’d heard before in Brenda Dyerson’s fairy stories, wherein magic stalks grew out of regular dried beans, ordinary geese laid jewel-encrusted eggs, and enchanted harps sung of their own accord. To me, it was a word that swirled with extraordinary promises of castle spires and treasure chests. That’s not how the teacher said it, though. She spat the word through the front of her teeth, as if she were expelling used toothpaste.'
'She was one of those women who needed to hold dominion over something smaller than her, and that was always the whole problem between us. I was never minute enough to squeeze to the cracks of her world.'
'Amelia, who bubbled like a soup kettle when she tried to speak to anyone but me, who glided unseen in the edges of shadows, whose skin was so pale, it seemed as if the daylight might break her in half.'
'For him, knowledge was a plain thing, like a neatly labelled bottle, transparent and tucked on a shelf. It was not in his character to pick and follow the threads of an idea like a woman unravelling a skein of yarn.'
'Bobbie stayed in the seat he’d chosen, and he didn’t prove popular with the other boys because of it. He was a will-o’-the-wisp to their thunderclouds, a dented tin soldier to their cavalry. He couldn’t kick or throw a ball quite like the other boys, couldn’t run as fast as them, and didn’t find the same thrill in hanging out of trees.'
“And one day, you, too, might grow up to be enchanting.”
There was a half-moon up and a few moth-eaten stars hanging in the sky, as if Aberdeen had gotten the leftovers from a long-dead vaudeville show.