Blood Roses - Hardcover

Block, Francesca Lia

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0060763841 ISBN 13: 9780060763848

Publisher: HarperTeen, 2008

Synopsis

What shall we do, all of us?

All of us passionate girls who fear crushing the boys we love with our mouths like caverns of teeth, our mushrooming brains, our watermelon hearts?

What's real is what's imagined in nine tales of transformation by Francesca Lia Block.

About this title

About the Author

Francesca Lia Block, winner of the prestigious Margaret A. Edwards Award, is the author of many acclaimed and bestselling books, including Weetzie Bat, Dangerous Angels: The Weetzie Bat Books, the collection of stories Blood Roses, the poetry collection How to (Un)cage a Girl, and the novels The Waters & the Wild and Pretty Dead. Her work is published around the world.

Reviews

Grade 10 Up—Block is known for her fantastical, edgy, and highly feminized stories of young women, and this book fits neatly into that mold. Blood Roses consists of nine loosely connected short selections focusing on elemental and magical changes in each character. In "Skin Art," straitlaced Elodie Sweet finds tattoos mysteriously appearing on her body as romantic tension—and obsession—builds between herself and an older tattoo artist. With each new tattoo, her perception of herself grows and changes, but she ultimately finds that the tattoos are only superficial and disappear as she realizes that she is not in love with the man. In "Wounds and Wings," Audrey finds a fairy whose wings have been cruelly torn off. She takes him home to nurse him to health and learns to see the similarity between his injuries and insecurities and her own. The characters walk a fine line between the mundane and magical. It is impossible to decide if they are sane or not, or if it even matters. Blood Roses, like Block's other books, brims with sexual suggestion that is meant for more mature teens. This short book will appeal to reluctant readers, though Block's fans will find it on their own.—Stephanie L. Petruso, Anne Arundel County Public Library, Odenton, MD
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

“What shall we do, all of us? All of us passionate girls who fear crushing the boys we love with our mouths like caverns of teeth, our mushrooming brains, our watermelon hearts?” Block’s latest book, featuring eight new stories and one reprint, explores female sexuality with wild poetry and a sense of vulnerability that extends to the book’s cover, a discreetly posed nude photo of the author. The stories, which read with brief, flashing intensity, are more like dark, fantastical dreams than developed narratives. Block combines elements used in her previous books—predatory adults, threatened girls, a natural world that both harms and heals, and the terrifying, infinite power of the imagination—to create strange, evocative scenes filled with archetypal fantasy characters, L.A. teens, and sly social commentary. In “My Mother Is a Vampire,” a girl’s mother, struggling in a youth-obsessed culture, drinks her daughter’s blood to stay young. In two of the strongest stories, girls’ bodies are dramatically transformed by the strength of their sexual desires. As disjointed as nightmares, the stories will startle, provoke, and fascinate many older teens, who may find reassurance in one character’s raw, closing message: “You are not fucked up. . . . Your world is fucked up . . . and you are just responding normally to its psychotic vibe.” Grades 10-12. --Gillian Engberg

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Blood Roses

By Francesca Block

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2008 Francesca Block
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780060763848

Chapter One

Blood Roses

Every day, Lucy and Rosie searched for the blood roses in their canyon. They found eucalyptus and poison oak, evening primrose and oleander but never the glow-in-the-dark red, smoke-scented flowers with sharp thorns that traced poetry onto your flesh.

"You only see them if you die," Lucy said, but Rosie just smiled so that the small row of pearls in her mouth showed.

Still, the hairs stood up on both their forearms and napes that evening, turning them to furry faunesses for a moment as they sat watching the sunset from their secret grotto in the heart of the canyon. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and decaying leaves. The sky was streaked with smog and you could hear the sound of cars and one siren but that world felt very far away.

Here, the girls turned doll-size, wove nests out of twigs to sleep in the eucalyptus branches, collected morning dew in leaves and dined on dark purple berries that stained their mouths and hands.

"We'd better get home," Lucy said, brushing the dirt off her jeans.

They would have stayed here all night in spite of the dangers—snakes, coyote, rapists, goblins. It was better than the apartment made of tears where their mother had taken them when she left their father.

Their mother said their father was an alcoholic and a sex addict but all Lucy remembered was the sandpaper roughness of his chin, like the father in her baby book Pat the Bunny, when he hugged her and Rosie in his arms at the same time. He had hair of blackbird feathers and his eyes were green semiprecious stones.

Lucy and Rosie loved Emerson Solo because like their father he was beautiful, dangerous and unattainable. Especially now. Emerson Solo, twenty-seven, had stabbed himself to death in the heart last month.

You really had to want to die to be successful at that, their mother said before she confiscated all their Solo CDs and posters. Lucy understood why she'd done it. But still she wanted to look at his face and hear his voice again. For some reason he comforted her, even now. Was it because he had escaped?

Lucy and Rosie were in the music store looking through the Emerson Solo discs. There was the one with the black bird on the cover called For Sorrow and the one called The White Room. There was a rumor that the white room was supposed to be death. The store was all out of Collected with the photo of Emerson Solo holding a bouquet of wildflowers with their dirty roots dragging down out of his hands.A man was standing across the aisle from them and when Lucy looked up he smiled. He was young and handsome with fair hair, a strong chin.

"You like him?" he asked.

Rosie said, "Oh, yes! Our mom threw out all his CDs. We just come and look at him."

The man smiled. The light was hitting his thick glasses in such a way that Lucy couldn't see his eyes. Dust motes sizzled in a beam of sunlight from the window. Some music was playing, loud and anxious-sounding. Lucy didn't recognize it.

"My uncle's a photographer. He has some photos he took of him a week before he killed himself."

Lucy felt her sinuses prickling with tears the way they did when she told Rosie scary stories. Her mouth felt dry.

"You can come see if you want," he said. He handed Lucy a card.

She put it in her pocket and crumpled it up there, so he couldn't see.

One of Emerson Solo's CDs was called Imago. The title song was about a phantom limb.

She wondered if when you died it was like that. If you still believed your body was there and couldn't quite accept that it was gone. Or if someone you loved died, someone you were really close to, would they be like a phantom limb, still attached to you? Sometimes Rosie was like another of Lucy's limbs.

Rosie was the one who went—not Lucy. Lucy was aware enough of her own desire to escape so she did not let herself succumb to it. But Rosie still believed she was just looking for ways to be happier.

When Lucy got home from school and saw her sister's note she started to run. She ran out the door of thick, gray glass, down the cul-de-sac, across the big, busy street, against the light, dodging cars. She ran into the canyon. There was the place where the rattlesnake had blocked the girls' path, the turn in the road where they had seen the baby coyote, the grotto by the creek where the old tire swing used to be, where the high school kids went to smoke pot and drink beer. There was the rock garden that had been made by aliens from outer space and the big tree where Lucy had seen a man and a woman having sex in the branches early one Sunday morning. Lucy skidded down a slope causing an avalanche of pebbles. She took the fire road back down to the steep, quiet street. She got to the house just as Rosie knocked on the tall, narrow door.

Rosie was wearing a pink knit cap, a white frilly party dress that was too small, jeans, ruby slippers, purple ankle socks and a blue rhinestone pin in the shape of a large butterfly. No wonder people teased her at school, Lucy thought. She wanted to put her arms around Rosie, grab her hand and run but it was too late to leave because the man from the music store opened the door right away as if he had been waiting for them all that time.

He didn't ask them in but stood staring at them and twisting his mouth like he wanted to say something. But then another older man was standing at the top of the steep staircase. The girls couldn't see his face. He was whited-out with light.

Continues...

Excerpted from Blood Rosesby Francesca Block Copyright © 2008 by Francesca Block. Excerpted by permission.
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Edition details

• Publisher: HarperTeen
• Publication date: 2008
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0060763841
• ISBN 13: 9780060763848
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 129