One of a pair of novels [the other one Tina Chaulk's A few kinds of wrong] that I finally got around to reading after a long delay and immediately wished I read earlier. A novel full of tremendously evocative imagery of growing up, and of the ways in which early adulthood can be sorely painted by adolescence. I feel great sympathy for Teresa, the narrator and protagonist, despite the fact that she frequently treats others as badly as they seem to treat her. One feature of many contemporary novels is the stress endured by children whose parents have, for whatever reason--death included--split up. There is a great deal in this narrative about a person's slow emergence of comprehension about what it is to be a sexual being informed by uncomfortable recognition that all the adults around her--parents, especially, included--are also sexual beings. Two principal widely divergent settings are united by Teresa's memory and often the progress is reminiscent of Powell's dancers who are "unable, perhaps" to control the steps of their dance, filtering through to the McGarrigle sisters Dancer with the Bruised Knees, until we reach Dalbello's "Heavy Boots" or, in the words of Anne Sexton, "to bedlam and partway back." Bruises heal, though sometimes slowly. For all that this novel shares with others, I found it unlike quite anything else I've ever read.