J.P. > Recent Status Updates

Thorns have no use, it’s just plants being mean!

That’s not a lamb, that’s the Black Phillip.

‘You programmed me to learn,’ said Roz. ‘I am simply trying to learn about myself.’

If Jodie, of all people, could not love him, all of him, perhaps he could not be loved.

First, he had not been man enough; now he was too much.

The men had looked at him as though they knew what lay inside his soul, things he had not even admitted to himself. They knew the inescapable shame of it, how isolated it made him feel, and they had used that to separate him from his home and do as they pleased.

It was a funny feeling, to know that he was more of a man than Hamish would ever be, and also less, at the very same time.

Something in him could not stand to be loved.

I love the Smiths.

She hadn’t needed to ask if it was about Mo-Maw. Everything about this boy was about his mother. He lived for her in a way that she had never lived for him.

Violence always preceded affection; Mungo didn’t know any other way.

Mungo looked up and down the hill, and then kissed James quickly on the lips. It was like hot buttered toast when you were starving. It was that good.

A fissure Mungo hadn’t known about cracked open in his chest; beneath it was a hollow feeling that had never bothered him before. It was an agony not to raise his own hand and touch the hairs James’s fingers had licked. It burned. He wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth left by his touch.

She had asked for violence out of a gentle soul and it made her feel like she had trampled a patch of fresh snow.

How could she tell Mungo that as he was fingering her that very first time, she had already started to trust him and doubt herself?

Three hours of peace in exchange for four sweaty, dirty minutes. He didn’t care anymore if she enjoyed it or not. At the beginning he would have asked if she was okay, worried that her tightness caused discomfort, but now he was delighted when it did.

Everyone hated Hamish, but everyone loved Jodie. It spoke to her great-heartedness that people who could not stomach Hamish or Mo-Maw still held her in such high regard. Mungo didn’t know where he fell in all of this. Sometimes he felt strangers looked at him like just another blemish on the life or this unstintingly good girl.

She was harshest on Mo-Maw in a way that only girls were allowed to be. She said it felt like having a lost dog you couldn’t admit had run away, a wayward bitch that you hoped would come home when her heat broke.

There was a gentleness to his being that put girls at ease; they wanted to make a pet of him. But that sweetness unsettled other boys.

Such a disturbingly violent description of racism.

Very beautiful description. I have a thrifted copy and according to the annotations, the previous owner shared the same sentiments.

Daisy is such a materialist opportunist.

I don’t remember Myrtle’s death being that graphic either.

I don’t remember this book including racism.

What does that sentence even mean?

Daisy’s not very likable.

Incest is not something to be taken lightly.

Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.

I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.

I can’t believe Fitzgerald plagiarized a line from a 2024 Broadway musical.