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- KurzbeschreibungOne of the Best Books of the Year<br>The New York Times - The Washington Post - NPR - San Francisco Chronicle - Vanity Fair - Milwaukee Journal Sentinel - Kansas City Star<br>When Velveteen Vargas, an eleven-year-old Fresh Air Fund kid from Brooklyn, comes to stay with a family in upstate New York, what begins as a two-week visit blossoms into something much more significant. Soon Velvet finds herself torn between her host family-Ginger, a failed artist and shakily recovered alcoholic; and Paul, a college professor-and her own deeply tormented mother. The one constant becomes Velvet's newly discovered passion for horse riding-and especially for an abused, unruly mare named Fugly Girl. A stirring and deeply felt novel, The Mare is Mary Gaitskill's most poignant and powerful work yet-a stunning exploration of a girl and her horse, and of the way we connect with people from all walks of life.
- AutorMary Gaitskill
- SerieVintage Books
- VerlagRandom House LCC US
- Seiten544 Seiten
- Gewicht397 g
- LeseprobeVelvet<br>That day I woke up from a dream the way I always woke up: pressed against my mom's back, my face against her and her turned away. She holding Dante and he holding her, his head in her breasts, wrapped around each other like they're falling down a hole. It was okay. I was a eleven-year-old girl , and I didn't need to have my face in my mama's titty no more-that is, if I ever did. Dante, my little brother, was only six.<br>It was summer, and the air conditioner was up too high, dripping dirty water on the floor, outside the pan I put there to catch it. Too loud too, but still I heard a shot from outside or maybe a shout from my dream. I was dreaming about my grandfather from DR; he was lost in a dark place, like a castle with a lot of rooms and rich white people doing scary things in all of them, and my grandfather somewhere shouting my name. Or maybe it was a shot. I sat up and listened, but there wasn't anything.<br>That day we had to get on a bus and go stay with rich white people for two weeks. We signed up to do this at Puerto Rican Family Services in Williamsburg, even though we're Dominican and we just moved to Crown Heights. The social worker walked around in little high heels, squishing out of tight pants like she's a model, but with her face frowning like a mask on Halloween.<br>My mom talked to her about how our new neighborhood was all bad "negritas," no Spanish people. She told her how she had to work all day and sometimes at night, keeping a roof over our heads. She said it was going to be summer and I was too old for day care, and because I was stupid she couldn't trust me to stay inside and not go around the block talking to men. She laughed when she said this, like me talking to men was so stupid it was funny. But I don't go around talking to men, and I told the social worker that with my face.<br>Which made the social worker with her eyes and her mouth tell my mom she's shit. Which made me hate the woman, even if my mom was lying about me. My mom acted like she didn't see what the social worker said with her eyes and mouth, but I knew she did see-she saw like she always does. But she kept talking and smiling with her hard mouth until the social worker handed her a shiny booklet-she stopped then. I looked to see what had shut my mother up; it was pictures of white people on some grass hugging dark children. Mask-Face told us we could go stay with people like this for two weeks. "It sounds like hell," whispered Dante, but Mask-Face didn't hear. We could swim and ride bicycles, she said. We could learn about animals. I took the booklet out of my mother's hands. It said something about love and having fun. There was a picture of a girl darker than me petting a sheep
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