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176 pages, Hardcover
First published August 28, 2000
[E]ven though I was eleven, I had never been in a school bus. I had never been to school.Her parents were junkies. Her dad had been a successful musician and so much of the girl’s formative years were spent on the road. Later she ends up being little more than her parents’ hand and feet:
[…]
Because my father believed public education bred dumb children, I was schooled at home, which amounted to little more than stolen library books (literary classics picked by my father, way beyond my reading ability), and afternoons of PBS.
At nine, I was given two chores—massaging my mother’s legs, sanitizing and preparing the syringe. And while I became conscientious at both, there was only enjoyment to be had in making sure the needle was ready.Had the authorities learned what her life was like they would’ve regarded her as an abuse case and shunted her off into care and yet Jeliza-Rose really doesn’t come across as a victim despite the fact she copes by inhabiting a fantasy world where her only friends are a handful of Barbie doll heads which she rescues from a thrift shop: “All Doll Parts, Mix & Match, 5 for $1.” There’s an innocence to her and yet her language is not in keeping with what I imagine an eleven-year-old girl would talk like, even a precocious one. She uses words like ‘prophylactic’, ‘askance’ and ‘precarious’ comfortably and correctly and I know plenty of adults who don’t use words like that. She also identifies the vegetation in a way no city-dweller ever could; I’ve no idea what buckthorn, Johnsongrass or sorghum is. This is why I find myself wondering if it’s the adult Jeliza-Rose that’s looking back and telling her story. It’s a minor gripe but I would’ve liked to know for sure. I would’ve liked to know what happened to the girl in the book. It’s not important we know but a short epilogue wouldn’t have gone amiss.
"What happened to your head?”An unhealthy friendship develops between Dickens and the girl both of whom spend more time living in their imaginations than anything else. The problem is Dell is harbouring a secret and her relationship with the family clearly extended to more than her being a good neighbour.
"Nothing—except when I was little they cut inside. Well, I wasn’t that little. But when I was younger they did because I’m epileptic. Couldn’t even mow a lawn. So they cut my brain. Now I have two brains so I’m not epileptic no more, only sometimes."