“When Eleanor was a little girl she’d thought her mom looked like a queen, like the star of some fairy tale.
Not a princess-princesses are just pretty. Eleanor’s mother was beautiful. She was tall and stately, with broad shoulders and an elegant waist. All her bones seemed more purposeful than other people’s. Like they weren’t just there to hold her up; they were there to make a point.
She had a strong nose and a sharp chin, and her cheekbones were high and thick. You’d look at Eleanor’s mom and think she must be carved into the prow of a Viking ship somewhere or maybe painted on the side of a plane. . . .
Eleanor looked a lot like her.
But not enough.
Eleanor looked like her mother through a fish tank. Rounder and softer. Slurred. Where her mother was statuesque Eleanor was heavy. Where her mother was finely drawn, Eleanor was smudged.
After her kids, her mother had breasts and hips like a woman in a cigarette ad. At sixteen, Eleanor was already built like she ran a medieval pub.”
I happened to see this book on Amazon’s top list of the year, and because you don’t forget a name like Rainbow, I remembered I took an undergraduate creative writing course with this author years and years and years ago. She had a detail about someone having a painting of a blue stick of butter that I thought was so cool and random I’m still jealous. How awesome to find out she’s published this wonderful book and a bunch of others to great success. I can’t wait to read the rest!