I realized I was drying up from too many adult novels (a phrase which always sounds vaguely dirty) so I’ve switched back to the real stuff, children’s lit. I whipped through Just In Case (she has the most marvelous sense of doom, of making you sure that the book will manage to surprise you with swift shifts and gorgeous characters, like Dorothea and Charlie) and now I’m on to The Loud Silence of Francine Green.
Francine rocks. “I used to hate to write thank-you notes,” she says, “especially for presents I wasn’t truly thankful for, but since I discovered irony, I was finding the task much more pleasant.”
Dear Aunt Martha and Uncle George,
Imagine my pleasure when I opened my presents Christmas morning, when it was 82 degrees here in Los Angeles, to find the plaid mittens-and-scarf set you sent me. What would I have done without it?
Speaking of which, I’m due to write some thank-you notes myself. Thankfully, irony won’t be necessary. Except I think it’s hilarious that my grandfather still sends me a $10 bill for my birthday.