What do you think?
Rate this book


416 pages, Hardcover
First published September 14, 2021
Here in the kitchen, everything was steam and sniff and gleam. It smelled hot and gold. It smelled the way Grandmother felt in my mouth. The word Grandmother always fit exactly right on the soft middle of my tongue. I liked holding it there, warm and round.
There were layers of memory, the tissue-paper memories and the lace memories, and there were also the heavier woolen memories, all folded softly onto shelves. I didn't know what the memories were, not exactly. I tasted them more than I saw them. I remembered the taste of reading, how the word Soap had a soft lemon flavor, how the word You was just a silver breath over your tongue.
Chicken pie on Thursdays - that’s what the Judge had said. But it was Friday, and there was macaroni and cheese on Friday. You could eat chicken pie on Friday, though. You could eat it if you stole from Thursday.It was this inherent logic that helped her to connect all the clues and evidence to solve her problems and set herself free. It was a joy to witness the incremental changes she was able to make in her surroundings and in herself and her entire world view.
Now I laid my own key on the green felt. You could see it was comfortable. There was one shiny key and two not-so-shiny keys.I loved this child’s brave journey from easily-manipulated victim to a girl in control of her choices. I don’t think her culminating views on life would be a spoiler for anyone who has read this kind of story, so here’s the final product of the former Robber Girl’s personal evolution:
I closed the drawer.
Now the drawer was full. I had made it full.
Lots of the puzzle pieces had been lying right in front of me, but I was so addicted to my own version of the truth I couldn’t take in any other possibilities.Is that not a perfect way to define the selfishness and - littleness - of those of us who can’t or won't look outside ourselves and our own prejudices, and who refuse to admit any other world view but our own?
The dolls were sitting on the floor where I'd left them. The mother doll spoke as though no time had passed. "We're going to give you a name. A special name for a girl with piping in her voice."Also:
"Gentleman Jack's going to give me a name," I said, even though a robber girl shouldn't talk to dolls. And anyway, I had no piping.
"Stop talking to nobody!" said the dagger. "You're making my edges go cold!"
"Your voice tells us your name," said the mother doll. "Your voice tells us your name is Starling. Starlings can whistle and warble and make smooth liquid sounds."
I could whistle, but I couldn't warble or make smooth liquid sounds. My voice was as un-bendy as the dagger. And anyway, whistling was bad luck.
"If you talk to nobody," said the dagger, "that means you're going crazy."
"It's a good name," said the mother doll. "Starlings fight for their families. A starling is a warrior bird."
"I am iron, with carbon added," said the dagger. "If I didn't have enough carbon, I would be too soft. Then I might go crazy."
"You brushed the dust from our eyes," said the father doll. The dolls could open and close their eyes. It was good to have eyes that opened and closed.
"You sat us up," said the mother doll.
"If I had too much carbon," said the dagger, "I would be too hard. Then I might go crazy."
"When you're made of china," said the father doll, "your heart is made of china."
"When a person has a china heart," said the mother doll, "it can easily break."
"But I am just right," said the dagger.
"There will be no danger of broken hearts," said the father doll. "Not now that Starling is here to complete the tasks."
"Tasks?" I said. Sometimes Gentleman Jack gave me tasks. It showed him I was useful.
"Tasks," said the father doll. "Like in a fairy tale, you know."
But I didn't know. "If Gentleman Jack asks me to perform a task, I do. I don't listen to anyone else."
"There are three tasks," said the mother doll.
I didn't know about fairy tales, but I knew about tasks, and I knew that two was the right number of tasks. Two was the number of tasks Grandmother gave Gentleman Jack and his no-account brother. Whoever could finish the tasks would get to have her empire. They went like this:Fetch unto me the mountain's gold,Of course Gentleman Jack would win. It was nice of him to have put the tasks in a rhyme to help me remember them.
To build our city fair.
Fetch unto me the wingless bird,
And I will make you my heir.
I knew that tune, but I couldn't remember it. It hovered on the edge of my mind. I tried to grab it, but you can't just grab your memories. You have to pretend not to pay attention to them, which makes them mad. You have to trick them into sneaking up on you from behind.
What if I listened to it sideways?
"You can't listen sideways," said the dagger.
"You said you could listen sideways," I said. "You said it on day ninety-three."
I remembered it very well. I'd been trying to hide my thoughts from the dagger. I'd gotten better at it since then.
I knew the tune, and I knew words went with the tune, just the way I knew the sun was out, even though you couldn't see it through the white eggshell sky. You knew the sun was out because the prairie crocuses were tilting up their faces and opening their mouths to drink in the light. The crocuses knew about the sun, even if they couldn't see it.
"Crocuses don't know things," said the dagger.