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320 pages, Hardcover
First published October 10, 2017
"Some feelings are rooted too strongly in the body to exist without it, and this one, desire, is one of them.”
(More like this story needed a miracle).
I was looking for a miracle, but I got a story instead, and sometimes those are the same thing.
Bicho Raro was a place of strange miracles.The first half is done by a Soria, but the second half has to be done by the pilgrim.
She had still been learning how to live with the hard truth that the most interesting parts of her thoughts usually got left behind when she tried to put them into words.Someone who has trouble voicing their words may find themselves without a voice at all, someone subconscious of their size may become 10ft tall (etc).
Humans are as drawn to hope as owls are to miracles. It only takes the suggestion of it to stir them up, and the eagerness lingers for a while even when all traces of it are gone.In addition, the book throws you into a fully-fleshed out world with little or no scaffolding to bring the reader up to pace.
We almost always can point to that hundredth blow, but we don't always mark the ninety-nine other things that happen before we change.
“Here's a thing everyone wanted: a miracle.
Here's a thing everyone feared: what it takes to get one.”
“Humans are as drawn to hope as owls are to miracles. It only takes the suggestion of it to stir them up, and the eagerness lingers for a while even when all traces of it are gone.”
“This is the way of our work: We cannot help but color it with the paint of our feelings, both good and bad.”
“Whenever she had a spare moment, she constructed elaborate paper flowers so realistic that sometimes even the flowers forgot they were not real and wilted for want of water.”I swear this one had me like ???
“She formed pots out of clay that were so striking that sometimes, when she went to gather clay for a new one, she discovered that the clay had eagerly already begun to shape itself for her. Her voice was so well trained that bulls would lie down when they heard her sing. [...] She could ride two horses at the same time, one leg on each horse, and still hold down her skirt to maintain her modesty, if she felt like it. Her segueza, developed from an ancient recipe, was so excellent that time itself stood still while you were eating it in order to savor the flavor along with you.”
“[W]hen he lifted his head, he could see that the breeze was carrying blue sky with it [...] he and the dog followed the breeze [...] He saw now that it was not blue sky at all, but rather a blue balloon whose string was tied around her wrist.” (Italics mine)
“There were meant to be twelve of them [dogs], but these six were so bad-tempered that in the womb, they’d eaten the other six. [...] [A] tenderhearted long-haul trucker had scooped them into a box to raise them to weaning age. They were so bad-tempered that he took up drinking before leaving them in a ditch near Pagosa Springs. A pack of coyotes tried to eat them there, but the puppies learned how to walk and then run and turned on the coyotes, chasing them nearly all the way to Bicho Raro.”
“I was looking for a miracle, but I got a story instead, and sometimes those are the same thing.”
It is, after all, not the tasks people do but the things they do around the edges of them that reveal who they are.
You can hear a miracle a long way after dark.