Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wizened look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, novelist/drunken folk art collector Laura Lippman reads 'The Wolves of Willoughby Chase', Joan Aiken’s 1962 novel in which two cousins pretty much kick ass all across England, with a little help from loyal retainers and some very brave geese.

After tea . . . the children were set to mending. The meal had consisted of bread, dry this time, and a cup of water. Sylvia had contrived to save a half of her morsel of bread for Bonnie, and she pushed it into Bonnie’s hand later, as they sat working in the biggest classroom, huddled together for warmth. This was the only time of the day they were allowed to talk to each other a little.

. . . “We can’t stay here, Sylvia.”
“No, we can’t,” breathed Sylvia in heartfelt agreement. “But how can we possibly get away? And where would we go?”
“I’ll think of some plan,” said Bonnie with invincible optimism. “And you think, too, Sylvia. Think for all you are worth.”
Sylvia nodded. Then she whispered, “Hush, Diana Brisket’s looking at us,” and bent her head over the enormous rent in the satin petticoat she was endeavoring to repair.”

Whenever I visit my parents — not often enough as they would be the first to tell you — I always end up thinking about Maude. Yes, that Maude. One of the many All in the Family spin-offs of the 1970s, Maude centered on an “uncompromising, enterprising, anything but tranquilizing ” woman from Tuckahoe, New York. (By the way, several Internet sources claim it’s “that old compromising,” which makes NO sense.) Route 404, which winds through Maryland and Delaware, skirts Tuckahoe State Park, so every time I come to that part of the trip — well, then there’s Maude.

And now that I’ve got the Maude song fizzing around in everyone else’s head — what was really so extraordinary about this outspoken-but-privileged woman? Yes, she was mouthy, and, yes, she had one of television’s first legal abortions, but her restless intelligence now seems wasted to me. Did Maude work outside the home, or even volunteer? (In the home, she had Florida to clean for her, at least until Florida got her spin-off.) What did she do other than battle with her husband and pal around with future Golden Girl roomie Rue McClanahan?

I had a better role model closer at hand. In 1969, three years before Maude debuted, my mother enrolled in graduate school, intent on becoming a children’s librarian. There are many, many wonderful benefits to having a mother who wants to be a children’s librarian – weekly trips to the big library downtown, reading all the Newbery Award winners together, even Gay-Neck, the Story of a Pigeon, God help us — but the thing that stands out for me was the wonder of my mother’s class project. Using knitting needles and index cards, she and a classmate created what can only be described as a non-computerized search engine. They notched the cards with a series of holes, some open at the top. The open holes corresponded to key search criteria – author, reading level, subject matter. With the help of a numeric code, you inserted the needles into the cards and lifted; the cards that fell out were the ones that matched your criteria.
I have been thinking about my mother’s class project because a chance re-encounter with The Wolves of Willoughby Chase convinced me that it is my personal platonic ideal of children’s literature, the card that would fall if I could set up a system controlling for all my favorite things in books:

Clothing
Orphans, real or de facto
Villains
England
Nature Boys, a la Dickon
Specialized Schools — a boarding school, a school for the performing arts, an orphanage or — the dream that I have yet to find — an orphanage devoted to the performing arts.

Of course, there are lots of satisfying books that score in only one or two categories. I adore Maud Hart Lovelace’s happy families, thanks to the detailed descriptions of Merry Widow hats, shirtwaists and jabots, but Deep Valley, Minnesota, is far from England. Elizabeth Enright’s four-book series about the Melendy family offers only tantalizing rumors of boarding school, and only in the final book. E. Nesbit come awfully close, especially if you’re willing to consider the Psammead [cq] a boy with a special connection to nature. (Hey, he lives in a sandpit, it’s harder to get much closer to nature than that.) Noel Streatfeild’s “shoe” books qualify, although she often softened her villains in the final act. Except for Mrs. Winter, mother of Dulcie in Dancing Shoes. Remember how she turns away, at the end, when Rachel is revealed to be the big talent in the family? Could someone please tell me why the adorable Uncle Tom is married to that woman? This has bothered me for years.
But The Wolves of Willoughby Chase is the gold standard, the ne plus ultra of the Lippman COVENS Rule. Throw in an opening that reads like the YA version of James Joyce’s The Dead and... oh, excuse me, I passed out briefly from ecstasy. Here, see for yourselves:

It was dusk, winter dusk. Snow lay white and shining over the pleated hills, and icicles hung from the forest trees. Snow lay piled on the dark road across Willoughby Wold, but from dawn men had been clearing it with brooms and shovels. There were hundreds of them at work, wrapped in sacking because of the bitter cold, and keeping together in groups for fear of the wolves, grown savage and reckless from hunger.

And – damn you, Joan Aiken — it gets better. Chapter by chapter, event by event. Wolves has everything. A high-spirited rich girl (Bonnie Green), her virtuous poor relation (Sylvia Green), a tragic shipwreck, an evil governess, loyal retainers, an uncannily clever and gifted goose-tender, a horrible boarding school – run by Mrs. Brisket no less, who rewards snitches with little pieces of cheese. And I’m not even going to tell you how the geese foil a dastardly crime.
Aiken, the daughter of Conrad Aiken, is a brisk tour guide. “Do try to keep up,” she all but demands as the story steams along, “we have so much ground to cover.” Sylvia, an orphan (O!) has left her Aunt Jane in London (E!) to go stay with cousin Bonnie, who will be de facto parentless (O!) while Lord Willoughby and Lady Green take a voyage intended to mend Lady Green’s fragile health. Sylvia, genteel but poor, worries that her sole doll, Annabelle, will be humiliated by Bonnie’s dolls for wearing only a “funny little old pelisse!” (C!) Sharing her train compartment with an odd man named Grimshaw (V!), she also frets about her aunt’s very Victorian edict that she never eat in front of a stranger, difficult to do when a train ride takes almost two days. And in the middle of all these little girl anxieties, she has to deal with wolves, literal ones.

“[T]he train had stopped with a jerk. [Yes, his name is Mr. Grimshaw! Thank you, I’m here all week.]
‘Oh! What is it? Where are we?’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
“No need to alarm yourself, miss,’ said her companion, looking unavailingly out of the black square of window. ‘Wolves on the line, most likely – they often have trouble hereabouts.’
‘Wolves!’ Sylvia stared at him in terror.
“They don’t often get into the train, though,’ he added reassuringly. ‘Two years ago they managed to climb into the guard’s van and eat a pig, and once they got the engine driver – another had to be sent in a relief engine – but they don’t often eat a passenger, I promise you.’”

If Sylvia was reassured by the notion that the wolves don’t OFTEN eat passengers, she is much braver than I. Yet the wolves turn out to be among the more benign forces that threaten Sylvia and Bonnie in this book. Nature can be thwarted, it turns out. People are much more trickier.

Things sour quickly at Willoughby Manor. Miss Slighcarp (V!), the new governess — and a distant relation — is about as nice as one would expect, given that her name is Miss Slighcarp. She wastes no time trying on Lady Green’s clothes — including (swoon) “a rose-colored crepe with aiguillettes of diamonds on the shoulders. It did not fit her exactly.” (Nice bitchy aside there from meek little Sylvia.) Mr. Grimshaw, the mysterious man from Sylvia’s train, is skulking about, and no good ever came from skulking. Then news comes that the Willoughbys’ ship has sunk, and the girls are packed off quickly to the “boarding school” (S!) run by Mrs. Brisket (V!). The only coddled child in the place is Mrs. Brisket’s own Diana, a selfish brat, and there is a wonderful scene involving Bonnie, Diana and some fresh eggs, in which you will cheer because someone does NOT get slapped.

A quick aside about orphans: For me, the “O” is the central letter in COVENS. Why do I love them so much? It’s true, I was a latch-key kid, but my mother didn’t start working until I was in junior high, so I had the best of both worlds. The simple fact is that most children’s books benefit when some sort of contrivance whisks the parents offstage. It doesn’t have to be death (although there are a lot of dead moms in my favorite books) or a demanding job (lots of widowers, too, throwing themselves into their work since mom’s demise). An adults-only trip or troubling surgery (The Time Garden, Knight’s Castle) works just as well. And there’s always boarding school! (The Great Brain at the Academy, The Fog Comes in On Little Pig’s Feet, Apples Every Day.) But, of course, we don’t want them to stay parent-less. That would be much too bleak.

In Wolves, the real orphans finally receive much-deserved succor, while the hateful Diane Brisket finds herself quite alone in the world. Yet it is Aiken’s treatment of Diana, in the final act of comeuppances, that makes me love the novel even more.

The orphans, still dazed at their good fortune, sat at a table of their own, eating roast turkey and kindly averting their gaze from the pale cheeks and red eyes of Diana Brisket, who, having been in a position to bully and hector as much as she pleased, was now reduced to a state where she had not a friend to stand by her . . . Diana had nowhere to go and was forced, willy-nilly, to stay with the orphans (where, it may be said in passing, wholesome discipline and the example of Aunt Jane’s unselfish nature soon wrought an improvement in her character.)

You see, there are no bad children — only bad adults. Otis Spofford, Dulcie-Pulsie in Dancing Shoes, even The Bully of Barkham Street all have their sides to the story. But grown-ups? Grown-ups can really suck. Possibly because they did not receive a timely intervention from Aunt Jane. I would add that to COVENS – No bad children, only bad grown-ups – but it would screw up an acronym that took me, literally, hours to formulate. Please don’t tell my editor, who thinks I’m working on a novel. Oh, wait — like every other sentient female reader, she follows Fine Lines religiously. Damn.

• • • • •

No Plotfinder this week because I am trying to meet two deadlines by summer’s end. Also, I am much lazier than Lizzie. However, here’s a tip for those who love the YA novels written by Lenora Mattingly Weber from 1944-1972, the majority centering on stubborn Denver teenager Beany Malone. Every one of my Tess Monaghan novels has a Weber homage. The problem is, I have a terrible memory, soI forget what most of them are. One example: the law firm in my first series book, Baltimore Blues, is called the Triple O. Beanyphiles know that this is a reference to the hush-hush private club, On Our Own, in Beany Has a Secret Life. So if anyone ever finds themselves with A LOT of time to waste and an encyclopedic knowledge of Weber’s oeuvre, drop me a line via my website [www.lauralippman.com] when you find a Weber reference.

Laura Lippman has written thirteen novels, including the New York Times bestsellers “What the Dead Know” and “Another Thing to Fall.” A journalist for twenty years, she left the Baltimore Sun in 2001, back when it was still widely believed that the Internet was a fever that would break and all you crazy kids would eventually start reading newspapers like proper grown-ups. Oops! She lives in Baltimore. Her first collection of short stories, “Hardly Knew Her,” will be published in September.

The Wolves Of Willoughby Chase [Amazon]
Laura Lippman [LauraLippman.com]

Earlier: All Fine Lines Posts

[Jezebel]

Life & Style
"Is Lindsay Gay?" Are Lindsay and Sam "finally" coming out, asks the magazine? Intern Margaret laments all the old info in this story and calls it a "waste of time." But! According to a pal, LL and Sam got matching tattoos. What do you think they got inked? Moving on: Britney is so desperate for a real friend, she had to go sunbathing with her dad. Next: Vanessa Hudgens, 19, was "throwing back drinks" while vacationing with Zac Efron, but the drinking age on the Caribbean island is 18, so who cares? (Intern Margaret says, "The info in this issue was so lame and so old, I actually checked the date on the front cover to make sure I had the right one.") Mary-Kate made a T-shirt with Heidi and Spencer's faces on it and the text: "Heidi's Ho." Apparently Lauren Conrad wants one. Lastly: The story called "Ashlee's Junk Food Pregnancy Diet" really belongs in a Hall Of Shame. The Simpson family went to a Mexican restaurant and ordered a bunch of appetizers. "Everyone else was nibbling, but Ashlee ate more than her share," says a source. And she had her own entrée. THE HORROR! The magazine says: "The plate of two deep-fried Tijuana eggrolls could have as many as 2,015 calories — about what Ashlee should be eating in an entire day!" Continues the story: "Ashlee's problem is that she believes she's eating for two," says an insider. Maybe because she is gestating a human in her womb?
Grade: F (freezer-burned frozen pizza)

In Touch
"The Twins Are Here!" After an "amazing nine months," Angelina has given birth. A hospital insider says: "The babies are not big criers. Angelina is in great condition, but a bit fatigued." Moving on: Jen Aniston was "betrayed" by John Mayer. While in Amsterdam, John met a woman he thought was Dutch and said "I am John, I am a singer." She turned out to be a writer, Chaton Anderson, from California. She knew he was dating Jen but asked him what his relationship status was. He said "It's vague." She asked him to clarify and he said, "You know, it's very vague." Also inside: Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens had a "sexy vacation" in Turks & Caicos and there are four pages of pictures to prove it. On a photo of Jessica Simpson, the mag uses the phrase "Da Bomb", rendering it officially uncool (Fig 1). Is Lindsay getting skinny for Sam? She want to be as slim as her girlfriend, who weighs 104 lbs. Oh, and they share clothes. Was A-Rod tricked by Madonna? Her "friend" says: "Madonna is a huge flirt and she knows how to make someone feel like they're the center of her universe. She knew that she meant a lot to [A-Rod], but never discouraged him." Next: Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr might be broken up, because Miranda was seen making out with oily oil heir Brandon Davis. Suri Cruise has a French tutor! She knows more words in English, but she's doing really well in French. She's two.
Grade: D- (milk one week past its expiration date)

OK!
"Dream Baby." Jessica Alba sold herself — and her family — to the mag. Little Honor Marie's first photo shoot! Apparently the birth was very calm. Jessica says, "I didn't scream… It was really zen… The labor was more like meditation. I did yoga breathing. I was focused." Husband Cash Warren says: "I want [Honor] to look like me because a daughter looking like Jessica, I'd kill myself!" Also: The name Honor is stolen from one of Jessica's friends who liked it but was done having kids. Moving on: Lindsay Lohan and Sam Ronson hold hands in public now and Sam has updated her Facebook status to "in a relationship." Love! The ladies who look "Better After Breakup" are: Carrie Underwood, Pink and Liv Tyler. The "10 Ways To Spot A Cheater" story has Christie Brinkley in the lead photo, ouch. An insider thinks Jennifer Aniston will marry John Mayer before her 40th in February. The "How Melissa Joan Hart Shed The Baby Weight" article has two important details: She has a trainer and a nutritionist.
Grade: D (moldy bread)

Us
"Reese & Jake's Family Vacation." The story opens with a super cute picture of Jake, Reese and Ava holding hands, awww (Fig. 2). The group went to London and Paris and it was a "trial run" for Jake to see if he could handle the kids. It's a 6-page story with tons of pictures but it was pretty run-of-the-mill: They went into through The Chunnel, watched fireworks, swam in the pool, ate pizza. Moving on: There's no new news in the Angelina twins story but in the sidebar, a "pal" says of Jennifer Aniston: "She hopes the twins are beautiful. She'd never want anyone to be unhappy with their kids." Next: Katherine Heigl will "die" on Grey's Anatomy! Izzie may get a brain tumor because the writers are still mad at her. "Hunky" Jeffrey Dean Morgan may come back in visions brought on by the tumor. So you know those pictures of Heidi and Spencer holding guns? They're learning to shoot and handle firearms in honor of Heidi's stepbrother who died in Iraq. Spencer says, "Heidi wants to perform for the troops in Iraq. And if anything goes down while we're there and they toss us a gun, we want to know what we're doing." T.R. Knight, 35, has moved in with his boyfriend Mark Cornelsen, 19. Natalie Portman has moved from New York to L.A. and is spending loads of time with bf Devendra Banhart. "A visibly shaken" Verne Troyer sat down with the magazine to talk about his sex tape kerfluffle. It was the idea of Ranae, the ex-girlfriend, to make a video, says Verne: "She kept the tape in her camera on top of the closet where I couldn't even reach it!"
Grade: D+ (wet, damaged, wilted lettuce)

Star
"Shiloh Meets The Twins!" Okay, so Angelina gave birth and Shiloh left her dolls at home to go visit the twins. She brought toy bottles as presents for the babies, aww. When they told Shiloh the names of the kids, she said "Vivi and Nosh?" because she can't pronounce Vivienne and Knox. So those are the twins' new nicknames. The night before the babies were born, Brad Pitt and Angie's bro James Haven slept in Angie's room. The whole birthing process was filmed. Baby Knox was in the "dangerous" feet-first position. But everything turned out alright. Brad took his shirt off and held Knox against his skin — and Angelina did the same with Vivienne — according to the mag, "so the infants both had the feeling of their parents' flesh as their first sensation." Moving on: "More To Love" is a story about how Jessica Simpson has gained 30 lbs. Apparently when she's happy, she's heavier, and when she's sad, she's skinny. There's a chart of her ups and downs but she kind of looks the same in every picture. She's been telling friends she wants a baby because it would be cute if she and sister Ashlee had kids that were close in age. The idea of that freaks Tony out. Next: The new 90210 maybe have a "cat fight" brewing, since the ladies on the show feuded years ago and are coming back. Jennie Garth is nervous about working with Shannen Doherty and eagerly awaiting Tori Spelling's arrival on set. Also inside: Michael Bublé just broke up with Emily Blunt and has already been spotted with a blonde… and the next night, a brunette. For some reason the magazine prints the receipt from when Colin Farrell and his girlfriend bought a pregnancy test at Rite Aid. Is 22-year-old Amanda Bynes dating 34-year-old Seth MacFarlane of Family Guy fame? Reese and Jake will use their dog, Atticus, as the ring bearer at their as-yet-unplanned wedding. Yes, this is the dog that Jake and Kiki Dunst adopted together. But Atticus now lives with Reese full time. Blind item! "Which rock star's teenage daughter is heading down the same path as her parents? A source says she is drinking and drugging with other rich kids in Malibu." Madonna and Guy Ritchie's children are "caught in the middle" of their tumultuous lives. Seven year old Rocco made a "desperate" trans-Atlantic phone call to his dad, saying he missed him and begging him not to leave. Days later, Guy arrived in New York. The day after the pictures of Lindsay and Sam holding hands were taken, Sam flew to Vancouver for a gig. LL sent her a Facebook message that said,"Baby baby, baby, I miss you already. I hate that you had to leave me this morning. I love you." Lastly: It's a gir;! Star can "exclusively" reveal that Ashlee Simpson-Wentz is having a daughter. The due date: October 31, Halloween. Pete Wentz, who has been sewing since high school, is making onesies and diapers for the kid already.
Grade: C (congealed spaghetti with sauce)

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wizened look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, writer / reviewer / blogger Lizzie Skurnick reads 'Stranger With My Face', Lois Duncan's 1981 novel in which Laurie Stratton gets every girl's wish: to be adopted, and to have a secret twin sister.

My name is Laurie Stratton. I am seventeen years old, and I live at the Cliff House on the northern tip of Brighton Island.

Would it have been so hard to let me astrally project, God? I know the telepathy was not a possibility, as by second grade, my peers and I were already running numerous controlled studies using the means of scrap paper and different corners of the room, and to succeed would have granted me far too much power amongst them. I know you gave me precognition that one time about winning that contest in 8th grade and it was so spooky I could never have handled any more spook. I am way too OCD to move things with my mind, and I know, as I am not the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, I cannot be a witch. HOWEVER.

I don't see what the PROBLEM would have been with allowing me to freaking LEAVE MY BODY FROM TIME TO TIME AND TRAVEL THE WORLD, BOUND ONLY BY AN INVISIBLE CORD LINKED TO MY TRUE SPIRIT WHILE MY BODY WAS TEMPORARILY A HUSK, A SHELL, TO ALL APPEARANCES DEAD!

In any case, Laurie Stratton, unbeknownst-to-self-child-of-the-Navajo-with-twin-sister, is far more blessed than I. (Nava-ho!) In Stranger With My Face, Duncan has ditched her typical Southwest setting for the rocky shoals of coastal New England, where our heroine lives with her mother and father, a painter and writer, respectively, and two sweet younger siblings, Neal and Megan. Also in the mix is Laurie's so-psyched-to-no-longer-be-gawky prize of a ripped boyfriend, Gordon; a brooding, darkly handsome acquaintance, Jeff, whose face was half-burned off by an exploded can of lighter fluid; and, of course, an expert outsider WITH insider extrasensory knowledge, Laurie's schoolmate Helen Tuttle, who has recently moved from the Southwest and becomes Laurie's new friend.

Interestingly, the first few scenes of the novel, as befits the events to come, are rife with splits in which one element is not only the opposite of the other, but the veritable photo negative. First is Laurie's passage from gawky to glamorous—a constant Duncan trope at the beginnings of her novel's. Laurie's improved looks not only alter her appearance but her entire social currency:

In every girl's life, I guess, there must be one special summer that is a turning point, a time of stretching and reaching and blossoming out and leaving childhood behind. This was the summer that had happened to me. The year before, I had been awkward and gawky, all pointed knees and sharp elbows and bony rib cage, hiding my shyness behind a book while girls like Natalie Coleson and Darlene Briggs wriggled around in their bikinis and got boys to buy them Cokes and rub them with baby oil.

This summer it had all been different. The first day I walked out onto the beach, clutching my book and my beach towel, I heard a wolf whistle.

Another split is found in Jeff Rankin, a former crush of Laurie's who is now moody and withheld, though il a raison:

He was fourteen that first year, with the sort of dark, flashy good looks that by rights should have belonged to someone much older. The second summer he came, he had a motor bike, and there was always some squealing girl sitting on it behind him, with her arms wrapped around his waist and her chin on his shoulder. Sometimes her hair was dark and blond and sometimes red, but it was always long and shiny, flying out behind them like the tail of a comet as they went roaring down the road.

I turned fourteen myself that year—a skinny, flat-chested fourteen—and I dreamed at night about what it would be like to be one of those girls.

....it was a good thing Jeff did have that summer, because halfway through the next one a can of lighter fluid exploded and burned off half his face...

The left side of his face was fine. If you saw him at a certain angle, you'd have thought he was the best-looking guy you'd ever seen. If you saw him from the right, you had to stop and swallow hard.

It occurs to me that even the fact that Laurie is recounting, not experiencing, the events in question, leads to a sort of narrative split, the dreadful present aftermath merging with a golden past. (Does not "There was a time when I, too, loved Cliff House," have more than a whiff of "Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again"?)

However, the biggest initial split is with Laurie and her own family—from whom she is inherently estranged, just as Jeff is to his old face, by looks:

I didn't have the sort of looks you found just everywhere. Gordon kidded sometimes that I could be part Indian with my dark coloring, high cheekbones and almond eyes. "Bedroom eyes," he called them, meaning they were sexy. My father referred to them as "alien" because they were the same shape as the eyes he gave to the maidens from other worlds in his novels. When I looked at my parents—both of them so fair—and at Neal and Meg with their light blue eyes and freckled noses, I wondered sometimes how I had managed to be born into such a family.

Well, duh, you weren't! However, we don't learn this from Dad and Mom. (Who, p.s., are a "night person" and a "day person" whose schedules only briefly coincide, just to pile this kind of thing on.) Instead, we learn this from a sepulchral presence around town who people keep mistaking for Laurie. As the days pass, "Laurie" appears at a party the actual Laurie has begged off of, enraging Gordon; in the house, confusing Laurie's parents; at the Post Office, where she accepts a birthday invite that she fails to pass on, enraging the birthday girl; and in various lonely poses around the dunes surrounding Cliff House.

Laurie is beside herself at how this could be happening, but, luckily, Helen Tuttle, child of the Southwest, holder of knowledge of the Navajo, and former girlfriend of Luis, a Navajo, is there to point out an explanation other than Laurie's going crazy:

...."I was home in bed the whole time,"

"You weren't using astral projection, were you?" Helen asked.

"Using what?" I said in bewilderment.

"You know—sending your mind out from your body? Luis's father used to be able to do it."

Aw, sheet. Is someone gonna take a book or two out from the library? You know they is! Okay, but getting ahead of myself. Laurie finally gets the answer to her question, when she is visited, in a profound dream, by Lia, who claims to be her twin sister and leans across and gives her a spooky astral-projection kiss. At this point, in possession of a towering mountain of supernatural proof, Laurie confronts her parents, whose reaction is, to put it mildly, not-open. "The trend today is toward total openness about adoption," her father says. "Still, that idea has been upsetting to your mother....Laurie, it's not that big a deal. You're the same person you always were. You're our beloved daughter....Now that you know your background, there's nothing left for you to wonder about. Can't we just file this away and get on with our normal lives?"

Um, let's just file THAT away for a second, and I will come back to it. (Incidentally, as someone who's approximately 9,873 years old, I have to admit I remember very well when this kind of secrecy was the norm, oh young Juno fans.) What's more key for the plot at this point is her mother's explanation of why her parents, confronted with a set of beautiful, mixed-blood Navajo twins to adopt, did not just snag both:

"Then, why—" The question rose to my lips without my even realizing that I was going to ask it. "Why did you take me instead of her?"

"We couldn't raise both of you," Dad said. "We were going out on a limb to take even one dependent at that point in our lives."

"That's not what I asked," I said. "What I want to know is, why did you choose me over my sister?"

There was a moment's silence as my parents exchanged glances.

Then Dad said slowly, "Your mother—your mother, well, she thought—"

"I didn't want her," Mother said. Her normally gentle voice was strangely sharp. "I just didn't want her. I wanted you."

"But if we were just a like—"

"You weren't alike," Mother said. "You looked just alike—both of you so beautiful with big, solemn eyes and all that thick, dark hair. The people at the agency wanted us to take you both, and despite what Dad says, I really think we might have done it. It seemed wrong to separate twin sisters. I picked you up and cuddled you, and I knew I never wanted to let you go. It was as though you were meant to be ours. Then I handed you to Dad to hold and picked up the other baby, and—and—"

"And what?" I prodded.

"I wanted to put her down."

BECAUSE LIA IS EVIL, OBVIOUSLY!!!!!!!!!! And, of course, the machinations of Lia's evil, as they unfold in the novel, are great fun. Not only does she put Helen Tuttle in the hospital (the ability of specters to put people in hospitals in the novels of Lois Duncan must only be exceeded by the ability of the shark in the Jaws franchise to increasingly have the ability to handily kill people on dry land), she lures Jeff and Laurie to a near-death experience, and, having alienated Laurie completely from her peers and those who love her, manages to invade her body and steal her entire life.

BUT NOT SO FAST, LIA!

Because rather than entirely cut the cord of Laurie Stratton from all the elements of her life, ironically, Lia's invasion, in the end, strengthens them. Lia's ruining of friendships brought on Laurie's new social status only makes Laurie realize how tenuous those bonds were in the first place, and how glad she can be in Helen's truer loyalty. Her interruption of the placid family structure of the Strattons forces Laurie's parents to realize how damaging their inability to face Laurie's adoption was, which in turn allows Laurie to realize she is, in the end, a Stratton who loves and is loved her family. And, most important, when Lia splits Laurie and Gordon apart, she actually brings Jeff and Laurie together—not coincidentally because Jeff, unlike Gordon, is willing to face the question of Lia and Laurie's adoption, and he's also willing to talk about the weirder question of what Megan calls Laurie's "ghosty":

"Look, Jeff, there's no sense in our discussing this. You don't believe in astral projection, and I don't blame you. I couldn't accept it myself until just recently." A question occurred to me. "What were you doing here the night you thought you saw me? There's no reason for anyone to come out this way unless he's coming to Cliff House."

"I walk here sometimes because you live here," Jeff said.

Um, line of dialog in Sixteen Candles where Jake tells Molly Ringwald that he's come to the church because "I heard you were here," you have a freaking RIVAL FOR BEST LINE EVER!

But, even though the ostensible point of the novel is that looks don't matter because those who love us, like Laurie's savior and little sister Megan, can look past them to the true self beneath, of course, looks do matter. Not only are they a constant subject within Laurie's family before Laurie knows about Lia, as the novel commences, Laurie and Jeff's changing looks have reversed the course of their entire lives. Duncan's point about our appearance versus our true self is much more subtle. In the scene where Laurie, loosed from her own body, regards the sleeping Lia, we can see that clearly:

She was a duplicate of myself....yet there were differences.

This girl's ears were pierced, and mine were not. Mother and I had gone through a few rounds on that issue, and she had won. "There are enough natural holes in a person's anatomy," she had said firmly.

....There was a tiny scar on the chin that might have been nothing more than the result of scratching an insect bite, but it was a scar that I did not have.

There was a mole on the neck at a spot where I had no mole.

I continued my inspection...She had perfect fingernails, the kind that had always filled me with envy. My own had a scraggly look, not exactly "bitten to the quick," but "slightly gnawed."

Small things. Unimportant. Almost unnoticeable, yet they spelled the difference between Lia Abbott and Laurie Stratton.

So it is not that looks don't matter. Not only do they matter to others—they matter because they reflect choices we have made, what has been done by us and to us. Our looks may start with what life had dealt us, but they are also about the lives we lead. So it's not that you can't read a book by its cover. It's that if you do (look up), it's not the title or illustration you should look at — it's the nicks, creases, and dog-ears that tell the tale.

• • • • •

Hello, my pretties! Okay, for this week's extraordinarily depressing Plotfinder there were few called and fewer still to serve. The winner, beating my best friend's, "Ooooo, I know I read that but I can't remember the title," which I think I will start to refer to as a Not-finder, was the commenter The Former June Bronson, who clocked in with Randy at 12:59 pm. Ms. Bronson, I can find no supporting information for this book whatsoever and am not even sure if this is the right Randy. (YOU try plugging "Randy" into Google.) However, we operate on the honor system at Jezebel, and I'm sure I will imminently receive delighted confirmation from my Not-finder in any case.

Now, onto this week's Plotfinder, which comes from reader Hannah K., and kind of makes me hungry:

It's about this girl (I think her name is Kate) who is really tall, and her older brother's friend comes to visit for the winter holidays with his hot girlfriend, but is reminded of his childhood crush on the protagonist and stuff starts to develop between them...and there is this part right at the beginning in the supermarket where she's buying cinnamon sticks and she sees their elderly neighbor, who later dies (I think), and there is this episode about mice in somebody's car engine getting killed (maybe the neighbor?), and ultimately she starts dating the guy but her (former?) best friend steals him from her at a Christmas party at somebody's aunt's tacky mansion, and she sees them kissing and, like, dumps him forever, and ultimately the boy camps outside the house (I hope this is all from the same book) to win back her love and everything is OK in the end. Also, I think she wears glasses?

As always, send your guesses to jezziefinelines@gmail.com or stick 'em in the comments. First one with correct guess gets to choose a column, and I'll do it.

I'd also like to give a shoutout to readers Ilona and Hillary, who provided me with scans of the cover you see above—each, incidentally, marked distinctly by its owner. For their labors, they will each receive a vintage copy of Judy Blume's Tiger Eyes from my personal collection.

Next week, the lovely and talented Mizz Laura M. Lippman guests with The Wolves of Willoughby Chase so I can buy some goddamn cinnamon sticks in peace. After that, we'll resume our regular schedule our pre-informing for your future reading purposes, but for now, like Laurie, languish briefly in the mystery.

Did you hear? A book approaches! Glory to! Would you like to know all about it? You would? Send me an email at jezziefinelines@gmail.com with the words, YES, I HAVE TO DO THIS EVERY WEEK in the subject line and I'll put you on it.

As ever, send your Plotfinder requests, objections and obfuscations to jezziefinelines@gmail.com. Rest assured, I take each email in my inbox, prepare to leap, and scream "Erase the words!" before I break free of this mortal coil.

Stranger With My Face [Amazon]
Lizzie Skurnick [The Old Hag]

Earlier: Happy Endings Are All Alike: The Price Of Fault
•The Pigman: A Day No Friends Would Die
•Julie Of The Wolves: The Call Of The Wild
• Deenie: Brace Yourself
•A Wrinkle In Time: Quit Tesseracting Up
•Love Is One Of The Choices: No, Not That 'Sex And The City'
•The Girl With The Silver Eyes: Little Pitchers Have Big Pharma
•Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself: Springtime For Hitler, Part II
•Summer Of My German Soldier: Springtime For Hitler, Part I
•From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: City Of Angels
•A Gift Of Magic: Totally Psyched
•Are You There Crazy Psychic Muse? It's Me, Lois Duncan
•The Secret Garden: Still No Idea What A Missel Thrush Is
•To All My Fans, With Love, From Sylvie: No Telephone To Child Services
•The Westing Game: Partners In Crime
• The Moon By Night: Travels With Vicky
•My Sweet Audrina: The Book Of Sister And Forgetting
•The Long Secret: CSI: Puberty
•The Cat Ate My Gymsuit: A Pocket Full Of Orange Pits
•The Witch Of Blackbird Pond: Colonies, Slit Sleeves And Stocks, Oh My!
•Are You In The House Alone? One Out Of Four, Maybe More
•Jacob Have I Loved: Oh, Who Am I Kidding, I Reread This Book Once A Week
• Then Again, Maybe I Won't: Close Your Eyes, And Think Of Jersey City
•My Darling, My Hamburger: I Will Gladly Pay You Tomorrow For A D&C Today
•All-Of-A-Kind Family: Where I Would Put Something Yiddish If I Thought You Goyishe Farshtinkiners Would Farshteyn
•Island Of The Blue Dolphins: I'm A Cormorant And I Don't Care
•Little House In The Big Woods: I Play With A Pig Bladder Like It's A Balloon
•The Grounding Of Group Six: Have Fun At School, Kids, And Don't Forget To Die

Life & Style
"Baby Album." OMG babiezzz. Eight pages of details on celebrity infants and new moms and dads, if you care, which we don't. Included are: Harlow Madden, Sunday Rose Kidman Urban (no pictures), Trista Sutter's son Max, Ali Landry's daughter Estella, Gabrielle Reese's son Brody Jo Hamilton and Melissa Joan Hart's son Braydon. Next: Madonna and A-Rod news: "He's just her type," says a source. "She loves attractive, muscular Latin men." Who doesn't? Allegedly Cynthia Rodriguez found a letter Alex had written to Madonna which read, "You are my true soulmate." Meanwhile, who is watching the kids? Madonna's daughter Lourdes was seen throwing blueberries at people on the sidewalk from her balcony in New York (Fig 1). Next: On her birthday, Lindsay Lohan got a message from Samantha Ronson on her BlackBerry, which she left up all day. It said: "I love you, honey. Happy four month anniversary!" Awww. We knew back in April that it was love!
Grade: C- (hot breeze)

OK!
"Jamie Lynn's Baby Maddie!" JLS says: "Being a mom is the best feeling in the world!" Intern Margaret read the whole eight-page story and says JLS sounds "extremely sane and disappointingly normal." Also, despite previous reports, there was no C-section and Casey was in the delivery room but didn't faint. JLS says if Maddie wants to go into show business, she'll support her daughter 100%. Moving on! Tom and Katie spent July 4th at Tom's ranch in Telluride, CO and were joined by the Beckham brood. Barack Obama told his daughters "yes we can" get a dog after the election. Madonna and Guy's marriage has apparently been over for two years. A source says: "Madonna and Alex are having fun. She has 'sexy friends' in New York, London and Los Angeles — and all over the world." Lastly: Was Nicole Richie kicked out of the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas because she hit a guy after he slapped her ass at the valet stand?
Grade: C (cool breeze)

Us
"Caught!" Alex Rodriguez supposedly exchanges sexy text messages with Madonna. He told a source: "She's my fucking soulmate, dude!" He's also way into Kabbalah now. His friends say "He's been brainwashed." But! Madonna is already over it. "She only wants someone when it's a challenge," says a source. She ruined Alex's marriage, and she feels she won… So it's on to the next challenge." Also inside: There's an "exclusive" five-page story about Andrew "The Bachelor" Firestone's wedding but we simply do not care. Next: Drew Barrymore and Justin Long split because neither of them wanted to go to the next level, whatever that is. Also Drew thought he was immature. They're still friends, naturally. Have you seen Jennifer Lopez's baby girl (Fig. 2)? Courtney Love is a "trainwreck" with an alternate persona called Cherry Kookoo. The mag has actual train tracks on this page about her. Did you see her riding in the shopping cart? She explains that thusly: "He just threw me in and bam bam bam razzi razzi." (Fig. 3) Ellen and Portia are planning their wedding. Portia says "It's going to be kind of big." Yay! Jennifer Aniston is on a "love tour" as she follows John Mayer on his tour. In just two weeks they have hit seven cities in the US, Canada and Europe.
Grade: C+ (paper fan from Chinatown)

Star
"Mary-Kate Back To Rehab?" MK's been partying a lot and her friends are convinced it's because of her inability to accept Heath's death. (See? It says it right there on the cover: "Haunted by Heath.") She might be anorexic again. [I saw her on 'Letterman' and she looked quite healthy. -Ed.] Moving on: Tom Cruise has packed on 25 lbs. His "chiseled torso" and "muscle-bound shoulders" are MIA. In their place "a chunky, definitely unhunky rear view, complete with flabby delts and love handles flopping over his jeans." Judge for yourself (Fig. 4). Also inside: Jodie Foster has a new girlfriend and they are playing house! Michelle Williams is "trying to move on." A source says behind closed doors "she sobs her heart out" and can barely handle seeing Dark Knight posters. Brody Jenner's family is worried that he's an alcoholic. And they have reason to be worried! "He used to be a fun guy to be around, but now he's just an obnoxious drunk," an insider snarls. While on bed rest, Angelina Jolie has been watching reruns of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. There's a six-page story on Hollywood's Hottest Bromances: Justin Timberlake and Trace Ayala; Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell; Chace Crawford and Ed Westwick.
Grade: B- (electric fan)

In Touch
"The Truth About Their Steamy Affair." Madonna has told a pal that she "loves Alex, but only as a friend." But! Alex supposedly rented a separate apartment just as a "secret love nest." Moving on: Angelina hasn't been walking around the hospital. She's just been lying in bed, reading magazines, typing on her computer and talking on the phone. Because she's on bed rest. Next: Britney's kids don't know her, a story claims. They're dependent on the nanny, who wakes them up, feeds them breakfast and puts them down for naps. The nanny loves the boys with all her heart. Oh! Heidi Montag went to the DMV with Spencer Pratt to register to vote! Score one for John McCain! Colin Farrell has gone public with his relationship with English novelist Emma Forrest, by the by. Rumer Willis says: "There's so much pressure to look a certain way and I don't fit the convention, but it's okay if you're not the perfect picture." Post-baby Jessica Alba wants her old body back. She "let herself" have pasta and bread recently and "couldn't resist" a "sweet treat" from Pinkberry a few days later. How dare a Hollywood mom eat! Chris Kattan's wedding seems awesome: Parker Posey was his "best man." Brooke Shields, Will Ferrell and Charlie Sheen were there, as well as so many more (Fig. 5)! Benji Madden won't let Paris get a tattoo. "He doesn't like tattoos on women. He thinks I look pure," she explains. But! He plans to get one of her face.
Grade: B (air conditioning)

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4

Fig. 5

All of the items are from H&M.

First item: Sleeve-less mid-thigh length dress made from 100% silk (I know!) and retailing for $69.90. The simple design made me think it would do best as a Calvin Klein item.

Second item: High-waisted and below-the-knee skirt made from polyester and retailing for $49.90. I took a look at Anna's grab-bag of mid-90s designer labels and decided that this item could be pulled off as a Donna Karan piece.

Third item: Knit tank-top made from polyester and silk and retailing for $34.90. I could just imagine a wealthy northern Italian woman lounging around in this top, so Gucci for this one.

Fourth item: Sleeve-less polyester top with tie around the waist retailing for $29.90. This top seemed very much like something you would find in the window of some girly boutique that is featured in Lucky, thus Pamela Barish seemed like a good fit.

First stop: Tokio 7:
After mulling around for a few minutes, trying to get the attention of the staff while knee-deep in the most horrendous/fabulous collection of mid-90s designer items, I finally get someone to look at my offerings. The buyer, a Japanese man in his forties, runs down the consignment policy about 50 times which I pretty much ignore because, obviously, I'm not actually trying to sell this stuff. The "Pamela Barish" top is up first: he asks me who the designer is and then gets into a lengthy conversation with another saleswoman in Japanese. I start to sweat bullets, thinking that the jig is up, but he announces that he would sell the top for $60, the "Donna Karan" skirt for $180, and the "Gucci" top for $80. His eyebrows raise a couple times when looking at the "Calvin Klein" dress but he ultimately he gives me a number of $250. Wow!

Second stop: Cadillac's Castle:
Feeling confident that my items passed the taste test at Tokio 7, I head over to Cadillac's Castle with a spring in my step. There, my attention is drawn to a Proenza Schouler for Target dress on a rack selling for $45. (It retailed for $35). I also notice a few dusty Century 21 items (red dot on the tag!) selling for a couple hundred dollars. A salesclerk directs me to the buyer, a forties-ish woman with blue eyeliner and that I-used-to-party-with-Andy-Warhol-but-now-I-take-Pilates-classes-in-the-Village kind of look who smirks in self-satisfaction as she pulls the corners of the tags on all my items off with almost no effort — and those things took me 8 hours to sew on! — and tosses them back to me. The salesclerk looks on with a mixture of anger and horror. (Perhaps they learned their lesson after the last time we made a visit?) As I walk out of the store I hear the woman say loudly, "I mean come on, right?" I feel a bit shaken and defeated, but whatever. Onward and eastward!

Third Stop: Beacon's Closet:: Okay, so this Williamsburg store isn't exactly a "high-end consignment store," but they have a pretty large collection of designer items, so, when I heard my friend would be making an appearance with some goodies of her own to sell, I threw in my items with hers and tagged along. The rail-thin hipster girls that looked through our items toss out a majority of my friend's items, giving monotone excuses like "we already have too many tops in this size," but they take a majority of my friend's H&M and Forever 21 castoffs. Finally my items appear. One of the girls carefully inspects the back of the dress and skirt (checking for period stains, perhaps?) and then says she would sell the "Calvin Klein" for $39.95 and the "Donna Karan" for $18.95. After engaging in a small tug-o-war with the buyer when I try to retrieve the goods, she tells me she could sell the "Gucci" top for $19.95 and the "Pamela Barish" top for $12.95. Interestingly, even though Beacon's Closet's buyers are known for being snobby and a bit off-putting, they seem a lot more interested in the actual items than the labels. In fact, they offer more for one of my friend's H&M summer jackets than any of my "designer" pieces. Hrmph!)

The Final Tally:
• H&M dress (original price, $69.90) masquerading as Calvin Klein: 2 for 3 with a top price of $250.
• H&M knit tank top (original price, $34.90) masquerading as Gucci: 2 for 3 with a top price of $80.
• H&M blouse (original price $29.90) masquerading as Pamela Barish: 2 for 3 with a top price of $60.
• H&M skirt (original price $49.90) masquerading as Donna Karan: 2 for 3 with the a top price of $180.

Earlier: Label Whores Head To Tampa
Label Whores Hit The East Village

Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wizened look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, writer / reviewer / blogger Lizzie Skurnick reads 'Happy Endings Are All Alike', the 1978 Sandra Scoppettone novel about two young lesbians who want to be together in the worst way.

Sometime around the invention of email, slowly drifting into cubicle death, I sent the following email to a high school friend I hadn't spoken to in years:

Hils, What's the name of the book where there are two lesbians and the girl gets raped under a tree? Not My Sweet Audrina. There are two girls on the cover. How are you?
Lizzie

The friend in question did not even bother to respond to the perfunctory closing query. Addressing only the former, she zinged back simply:

HAPPY ENDINGS ARE ALL ALIKE!!!!!

Such is the power of this novel, which I had borrowed from the friend in question for months until I was forced to finally return it, then commenced idly thinking about roughly every three days since. It wasn't only that there were lesbians, or rape, or pretty girls in polo tees with shiny hair on the cover who I might grow up to look like. It was that, like so much of the work of Paula Danziger or Paul Zindel, it presaged a world for us filled with more than gym teachers hurling basketballs at us (see Plotfinder), alive with teenagers struggling with the new complexity of adult relationships—one in which gym teachers, lesbian or no, weren't anywhere near the center of the drama.

I'd like to provide the nut graf for Happy Endings Are All Alike, but Scoppettone's first paragraph does it so admirably it seems a shame to mess with it:

Even though Jaret Tyler had no guilt or shame about her love affair with Peggy Danziger she knew there were plenty of people in this world who would put it down. Especially in a small town like Gardener's Point, a hundred miles from New York City. She and Peggy didn't go around wearing banners, but there were some people who knew.

Considering the hullabaloo about teenage sex—ANY kind of teenaged sex—nowadays, pretty much every sentence of that paragraph is mind-blowing. But remember, this is the fictional world 1978, where parents might mention Susan Brownmiller as quickly as they asked you to set the table. Castigated by her sister, Peggy thinks resentfully to herself, "You weren't a pervert just because you loved someone of your own sex, for God's sake!" And, as the preternaturally well-adjusted Jaret puts it to said mother: "Look, I know where you're coming from, Mom, but don't let it freak you out. I'll tell you this: Whatever I did with boys I found really boring. I didn't get turned on, okay?....And it's got nothing to do with you and Dad. I mean, you didn't make some terrible mistake in raising me or anything. And it's not so terrible. In fact, it's pretty nice. So don't lay a guilt trip on yourself, okay?" Okay! And don't forget the napkins!

But just because Peggy and Jaret — and, nominally, their semi-informed families — are not completely up in arms about their relationship, it doesn't mean they are off the hook entirely. The ancillary characters are brought in to project the basic prejudices of their time— a narrative conceit that might seem clumsy in an adult novel but it, be-LIEVE me, provided crucial info for an eight year old girl.

First to hold a nasty grudge at the girls' love is Peggy's sister Claire, who is jealous not only of her sister's favor with their father but her looks:

She lit another cigarette, sending up a smoke screen between herself and the mirror. Again her mind fixed on Peggy and Jaret. Both of them were attractive. Jaret might even be considered beautiful. Dammit, she was beautiful...by male standards, she was a knockout. And that was what really made Claire crazy. Jaret Tyler could have had any boy or man she wanted and she wanted none. Peggy, too, could have had her pick. And who did they choose? Each other. It was sick. Crazy. Enraging. Why, when they could have the cream of the crop, did they want each other?

Okay, first lesson—people think if you're a good-looking, not getting with a man is a waste. Lies! Check. Scoppettone's second lesson: Not all heterosexual relationships are happy, or free of complication—but that doesn't mean married women are all oppressed. Jaret's parents are a case in point: While Kay, her mother, muses her husband is madly in love with her, she thinks with irritation how she's truly invested in his looks, even if she allows him to think it's the other way around:

He often accused her of regarding him as nothing more than a sex object and she had a hard time denying it. "Well, kid," she often said, "I can't help it if you're a looker." "What about my mind?" he'd ask. Kay would shrug and say, "Who needs it?"

Of course, she didn't really mean it. She just said it to keep Bert aware of the way women were treated. And he knew that. What he didn't know what that Kay was not overwhelmed by his mind.

Kay is an interesting character—an aggressively liberated Mom who is deeply disturbed at how disturbed she is about her daughter's new relationship:

She lit a fresh cigarette. [If you're thinking of lesbians, grab a smoke.] Kay had read everything she could find on the subject of homosexuality and lesbianism and what she'd read wasn't that helpful. There were many theories as to why a person turned out to be a lesbian—environment, chromosomes, choice—and a lot of big, fat blanks. No one really seemed to know. Nevertheless, Kay couldn't help blaming herself and Bert. But why blame? Why the need to put it in those terms? She knew it was because she still had one foot in the fifties and a lesbian life-style was not what she'd had in mind for her daughter; it was not something she could fully accept as normal, no matter how liberated she might be

Oh, what a fraud she was! Pretending to Jaret is was all fine with her, simply swell, because she wanted Jaret to like her, to think she was cool! What she really wanted to do was throw herself at her feet and beg her to see a psychiatrist so she'd get over this thing.

Equally equivocating is Peggy's friend Bianca, who reacts to the news with blase sophistication until one day Peggy, chatting with her in the bedroom, tells her sweating friend to take off her clothes, then is shocked and appalled to realize she thinks she's hitting on her:

"Besides," said Peggy, "do you think I'm interested in all females?"

"I thought...I don't know," she said, somewhat ashamed.

"No, I guess you don't. I thought you understood. I mean, are you interested in every guy you see?"

This was not only a revolutionary piece of transitory logic to a third-grader, but also a good schooling in the minor injustices visited on people who are different by well-meaning people, particularly (primarily!) their own friends. But if the emotional travails of their friends and family were the only ones in store for the girls, this would be a fairy story, not a political coming-of-age. There are deeper dangers in a character named Mid, a friend of Jaret's brother Chris and no less disturbing for being stereotypically disturbed. Musing he'd like to "knock [Jaret] on her ass" for being so good-looking and aloof, he stalks her and finds out that she and Peggy have been making love in the woods. Not realizing Peggy and Jaret's rareifed world is only agonized about their girls' predilections, not apt to disown them for them, he decides he can rape her with impunity.

The rape scene is long and awful and I APOLOGIZE for their being like 88 rape scenes in these columns lately. But the introduction of sex to girls, however it is rendered, is such a constant trope in the novels, it is instructive to think of how it's handled by the character—in this case, Jaret, who is shocked and destroyed, though not permanently—and by the author, whose scene is neither maudlin nor lurid, but simply chilling:

"I hate your guts," he whispered.

Why then? she wondered apathetically. His movement continued. Her head was turned to the side. Breathing became difficult. Month after month passed. Staring at the landscape, she wondered why the seasons didn't change. Where was the snow? She longed for snow, cool, white. Snow would stop the burning inside. She felt her body rock as Mid's movements quickened. Would she break apart? Explode into pieces of flesh, bone, blood, flying through the air, sticking to trees, bushes?

Was 8—or anything but 18, for that matter—too young to be exposed to this kind of thing? As horrifying as it was, I don't think so. The early exposure to injustice from someone on Jaret's side absolutely is a powerful tonic to defend against the crappy justice system the reader is going to grow into. The sheriff Jaret has to deal with after the rape is cut from the same cloth as Are You in the House Alone's awful lawman, and as awful to watch as the parents who stand up for their girls are a relief:

"What's the name of her boyfriend?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kay asked.

"Pardon?" said Foster.

"Why do you want to know about a boyfriend? She was horribly beaten. It has nothing to do with a boyfriend."

"Pardon, Mrs.," Foster said, "but you're out of your element here, so to speak. The girl was raped and we have to find the perpetrator. Now, please, let me do my job."

"This is a crime of violence," Kay went on, "not a sexual one."

Foster cacled, took a swipe at his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Well, if rape ain't sexual then I don't know what it is."

"Well, I have news for you," Kay persisted, her voice rising. "It ain't sexual. It's aggressive and it's violent and it's based on hatred of women, not desire for them."

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH DON'T YOU WANT TO KILL HIM! (Just wait until he gets to the part later about how it didn't matter that Jaret was raped because a) she's not a virgin and b) she's a lesbian.) So, say what you will about early exposure, but it definitely gave you your feminist talking points—of which I have personally amassed a very large collection ever since.

But—despite these handy fillips—what's wonderful about Happy Endings Are All Alike is how it chooses to not devolve into a paroxysm of blame. Not only is Jaret's lesbianism not Kay's fault—it's not a fault—but it or the rape doesn't turn Jaret bitter against men, which is another prejudice Scoppettone uses the book to debunk. After Jaret's brother, Chris, beats up Mid, he realizes it was unnecessary:

"Chris, you know, we never talked about what you did that day. Going after Mid like that."

"What's to talk about?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"What d'you mean? He hurt you, I wanted to hurt him. Simple." He looked past her shoulder.

"Is that the only reason?"

"Sure, what else?"

"I don't know." She touched his hand. "Are you angry with me? Do you hate me?"

He was shocked, sat up. "Me? Hate you? No. I thought....I mean, wow....I thought you hated me."

"Why?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, I'm a....a guy."

"I don't hate men, Chris."

"You don't? Then how come....I mean, you come you're a...."

"A lesbian? It's not such a terrible word. I'm not sure why but it definitely isn't because I hate men."

"Not even after what happened?"

"No. I'm angry with him, Mid, but not all men. Not you."

"I thought for sure"—he cleared his throat—"lesbians hated men."

"Well, we don't. But what's that got to do with you going after Mid? And don't tell me it was just because he hurt me because I won't buy it."

Christ stood up, shuffled back and forth at the end of the bed. Then he said, "I thought if you saw a guy do something good, you know, kind of breave....well, I thought maybe you wouldn't think all guys were so bad."

"Oh, Chris." Jaret loved him more then than she ever had.

I started this review talking about how this book was brain-searing simply for its depiction of an adult romantic relationships, and I think that's true, for an eight-year-old read. But what I find so interesting as an adult is not the depiction of the romantic relationship, which, happily, seems very normal to me now, or the depiction of the rape, which, unhappily, also does, but what passes between all the family members once Jaret and Peggy come clean, and then when Jaret is assaulted. Both are huge bombs dropped on the people who love them, but Instead of making the family and friends betray the girls, Scoppettone instead deals with the ways they feel they are—and especially why they feel they are. No family members, including Peggy and Jaret, are at fault for anything. That's a good lesson to know. But, in a novel where all of the relationships are as complex as Peggy and Jaret's love, it's nice to know that, in one author's view, family is not a fault.

• • • • •

Guys, I am sorry the columns of late have been SO RAPE-Y! Seriously, no mas. Stranger With My Face has bodily invasion but no raping, and I am assured The Wolves of Willoughby Chase has neither. Whew!

Moving right along, Australia/France or no, once again you Plotfinders (that's a designation and an appellation) pulled through! The solution was Hating Allison Ashley, and the winner, by email, was one un-hateable Andria A. Andria, write me at jezziefinelines@gmail.com to claim your prize of the choice of one column.

This week's Plotfinder comes from reader Patricia C., and is the last misery I will do before embarking on a summer of happy happy happy:

a teen whose parents own a gym
gets pregnant
her father actually tries to get her to miscarry by throwing one of those gym balls at her hard
she leaves home
gets forced into prostitution after having her baby
i'm guessing it gets worse for her (how can that be?)
so she goes back home to the gym leaves her baby on the floor and drowns herself in the hot tub.

Our gym teacher really did throw gym balls—HARD—at us, but just because this was the days before they made them stop doing that kind of thing. I will not throw anything at you if you guess this incorrectly. Answers in the comments or by email to jezziefinelines@gmail.com, and fame and fortune to the first in.

For your reading information, next week is Lois Duncan's...

Stranger With My Face

and the following week the marvelous Laura Lippman guesting with...

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase!

I haven't yet decided on where we'll be after that. I have all of your WONDROUS suggestions, but if you want to really really get me when I'm vulnerable, be all vociferous and shit for your desired work, and I will probably be swayed. As ever, send your requests, valedictions and remonstrations to jezziefinelines@gmail.com.

Also, you may have heard: There is to be a book! Do you want to read all about it? Do you have a better title for me than "Read All About It"? Fantastic! To be on the mailing list for any events and news regarding the upcoming creation, send me an email to jezziefinelines@gmail.com with the words I'LL HELP YOU THINK OF A TITLE in the subject line and I'll put you on it.

(One last thing: here is one commenter who has asked several times if anyone has heard of Constance C. Greene's Beat the Turtle Drum and remained unanswered. I can't stand to let anyone wander in the wilderness this way. Reader: I read it. It was one of my faves, too, and I will try to get it into the column soon.)

Happy Endings Are All Alike [Amazon]
Lizzie Skurnick [The Old Hag]

Earlier: The Pigman: A Day No Friends Would Die
•Julie Of The Wolves: The Call Of The Wild
• Deenie: Brace Yourself
•A Wrinkle In Time: Quit Tesseracting Up
•Love Is One Of The Choices: No, Not That 'Sex And The City'
•The Girl With The Silver Eyes: Little Pitchers Have Big Pharma
•Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself: Springtime For Hitler, Part II
•Summer Of My German Soldier: Springtime For Hitler, Part I
•From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: City Of Angels
•A Gift Of Magic: Totally Psyched
•Are You There Crazy Psychic Muse? It's Me, Lois Duncan
•The Secret Garden: Still No Idea What A Missel Thrush Is
•To All My Fans, With Love, From Sylvie: No Telephone To Child Services
•The Westing Game: Partners In Crime
• The Moon By Night: Travels With Vicky
•My Sweet Audrina: The Book Of Sister And Forgetting
•The Long Secret: CSI: Puberty
•The Cat Ate My Gymsuit: A Pocket Full Of Orange Pits
•The Witch Of Blackbird Pond: Colonies, Slit Sleeves And Stocks, Oh My!
•Are You In The House Alone? One Out Of Four, Maybe More
•Jacob Have I Loved: Oh, Who Am I Kidding, I Reread This Book Once A Week
• Then Again, Maybe I Won't: Close Your Eyes, And Think Of Jersey City
•My Darling, My Hamburger: I Will Gladly Pay You Tomorrow For A D&C Today
•All-Of-A-Kind Family: Where I Would Put Something Yiddish If I Thought You Goyishe Farshtinkiners Would Farshteyn
•Island Of The Blue Dolphins: I'm A Cormorant And I Don't Care
•Little House In The Big Woods: I Play With A Pig Bladder Like It's A Balloon
•The Grounding Of Group Six: Have Fun At School, Kids, And Don't Forget To Die

OK!
"Baby Time For Jen." The cover says: "He's in love, she's ready to commit, it's now or never!" Because the mags love to paint Jen as a desperado over the hill spinster with rugratlust. Intern Margaret says, "There's nothing new in this story. They just refer to a 2005 Vanity Fair article. They're not even stealing from recent interviews." Moving on: "Hollywood's Best-Dressed Little Girls" is full of details like: Suri's got a million-dollar wardrobe, Matilda Ledger is a Brooklyn hipster, Ava Phillppe is a "little lady" and not a sex pot. She is eight. Next: Madonna and A-Rod are "sexy new friends." Same old stuff: they have the same manager, they work out at the same place, he invited the kids to watch a Yankee game. Also inside: Dina Lohan is "shocked" that Lindsay might have a secret half-sister. The other woman, Kristi Kaufmann, says "Many times, I offered to do this privately, so the other Lohan kids wouldn't be hurt." Apparently Michael has known about the kid since she was 2! Lastly: "15 Tips For Getting And Keeping A Guy" is a sexist story that beings, "Poor Carrie Underwood is perpetually single. Now OK! is taking her through Dating Boot Camp to whip her love life back into shape." Tips include: "Unfortunately, men really are that shallow when it comes to your body… If you want a perfect set, wear the perfect bra. He won't know the difference… No guy wants to date a woman who looks like a 12-year-old boy." Also: "Men love a good booty… With a low-carb diet, this will create the traffic-stopping booty all men pay attention to! In the meantime… Spanx Power Panties can give a girl a good shape until she reaches her body-beautiful level of fitness." Oh, and Tip #8: "Don't panic if he doesn't call… You are not yet his priority, so be patient… To him, a call equals a commitment… And don't call him: girls don't call boys."
Grade: F (soggy unsalted popcorn kernels)

Us
"It's Over!" Have you heard? Madonna and Guy Ritchie are on the rocks. Apparently they've been in counseling with a rabbi from the Kabbalah center, but "They just can't stand being together." Meanwhile, Madge was sitting in Alex Rodriguez's VIP seats at the Yankee game. Peeps say Madonna won't announce the divorce until her Sticky and Sweet tour is over, on November 30. She fell in love with Guy because he was the only man to ever stand up to her, sources say; "She was so whipped in the beginning she was making him tea and washing his clothes." But! He keeps her on a short leash. She has to drop everything to meet him for dinner every night and she can't be late or, as she says, "He'll kill me." Moving on: The Anne Hathaway story is called "In Love With A Loser" and has all the dirty details about Raffaello Follieri, which we have covered pretty extensively. Next: Hollywood's bikini diets! Jennifer Aniston eats salads, Rihanna ditches carbs, Gwyneth works out, etc. Also inside: Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner are still on! Keanu Reeves seems to be dating China Chow — there are pics of them frolicking on the beach. Naomi Watts is four months pregnant. A Rolling Stone writer went to Amy Winehouse's home to interview her an accidentally saw a picture of her on the phone while "performing a sex act" on hubby Blake Fielder-Civil. Amy just laughed and made a joke about multi-tasking.
Grade: D (broken Necco Wafers)

Life & Style
"Hogan Exclusive: An American Family Torn Apart." Last week, Brooke told one of the mags that she doesn't speak to her mother. This week, Brooke says: "I don't talk to her every day like I used to, but we talk." Yawn. Did the show really have 90 million viewers>? Really? Moving on: Does Britney have a "secret plan" to get Kevin back? The mag claims that Kev and Brit want to move to New York together because Brit was in serious talks to be the new Sandy in Grease on Broadway. She really wanted to do it, but her dad said no. Kevin was in talks to be the new UPS guy in Legally Blonde, so yeah. Next: Are Paris and Nicole still friends? In a word, yes. Also inside: Lindsay was flirting with some guy in front of Samantha Ronson and Sam got jealous. She wouldn't even shake the dude's hand when LL introduced them. In "Stars' Slim Down Beauty Secrets," we learn that Lauren Conrad "looks buff side-set pony" and "peachy gloss plays up" Eva Longoria's "bone structure." So much bullshit, so little time.
Grade: C- (melted Milk Duds)

In Touch
"Who's Really Pregnant?" This story is really vague, but if you read closely, you'll discover that Gwyneth Paltrow, Eva Longoria, Jennifer Garner, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Beyoncé are not pregnant. Moving on: In an interesting twist, there's a story about a malecelebrity being too thin! Marc Anthony is "scary skinny" and "has a love-hate relationship with food." He's 5 foot 7 and 110 lbs. "You have to understand what it's like to be Puerto Rican and thin," says Mark. "It's painful." We've helpfully scanned a photo for you (Fig. 1). Also inside: Cute new picture of Harlow Madden (Fig.2)! Kate Moss's daughter has an I ♥ Kate Moss T-shirt. "Heartbroken" Anne Hathaway has lost 25 lbs. (Fig. 3). Heather Locklear, who is in rehab for depression and meds, has a "dangerously wild side she's kept hidden from the world." This is illustrated by a bunch of pictures of Heather looking like a drunken mess. Um, we present, without comment, a story called "Mini-Me Cheated On Me." See Fig. 4. Also, have you seen Lindsay Lohan's rumored half-sister from a lady Michael Lohan hooked up with about 13 years ago? (See Fig. 5) Megan Fox has called off her engagement to Brian Austin Green, but she has a "Brian" tattoo on her hip, so the mag helpfully suggests she could date news anchor Brian Williams, Conan O'Brien or Brian, the dog from Family Guy. Next: In an interview, George Clooney says, "I'm not a playboy. If I'd been with all the women that I was said to have been with, I wouldn't have had the time to shoot one single movie." He also says: "If you have beautiful and strong hair, then you're successful with women. In the case of [my] hair loss, it's all over." And! "I spend at least three or four hours a day in the bathroom. Being sexy day and night is a big responsibility. And I like taking it!" Next, "Hollywood's Best Boobs" is a photo-driven six page oeuvre which focuses on the mammaries. Audrina Patridge, Carmen Electra, Jennifer Aniston are lucky enough to be on this list. Number one? Jessica Simpson. Lastly: The best thing in the mag was a picture of puppies. (Fig 6.)
Grade: C+ (stuck-together Gummi bears)

Star
"Stars Without Makeup." This story is supposed to make you feel better, because "even celebs need help to look fab." But here's what the mag says about stars: Katherine Heigl: "There is no excuse for baring those bumps on her forehead." Eva Longoria: "Without contouring, her face appears puffy and full, and the 33-year-old's eyes are lost without defining liner." Kim Kardashian "loses much of her sizzle without her vampy game face. But she also looks years younger — and remarkably wholesome!" This nit-picking of women goes on for ten pages. Moving on: When Ben Affleck first got together with Jen Garner, he told her he was sober and had stopped playing poker. But! He still plays in private games all over L.A. and bets tens and even hundreds of thousands of dollars on hands. Jen's ultimatum: Give it up or lose your family. Next: Inside Lindsay and Samantha's "Hot Romance!" The "hottest young same-sex couple" are "playing house and loving every minute of it." And yes, they share a bed! A source says, "Sam's the boss, the husband, Lindsay is the passive one, the wife. It works for them." Also, "Lindsay brags that they have great morning sex." They share salads at restaurants because they are determined to stay thin for each other, because they think a lean look makes them hot. They also splurge on naughty sex toys and when they're not together, each of them sprays perfume on a piece clothing for the other to take with her. Sam lent LL her $180 vintage Foreigner sweatshirt and she doused it with Clinique Happy. They also want to get a dog; LL wanted a little pup but Sam suggested they adopt a mutt, so they're visiting shelters to look for a cute canine. "Sam's the only person who has managed to make Lindsay feel loved and protected and respected." a source says. "Everyone else in Lindsay's life has used her." Awww. Sniff. Also inside: Spencer and Heidi want to be the next Sonny and Cher, they're in talks with ABC to develop a variety show. Heather Locklear spent a weekend at home binging on drugs and alcohol before heading into rehab. She was on anti-depressants, pain meds, prescription and non-prescription drugs and sleeping pills while boozing it up. Oh, and coke.
Grade: A, downgraded to B- for cover story (misshapen M&Ms)

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wizened look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, writer / reviewer / blogger Lizzie Skurnick reads Jean Craighead George's 'Julie Of The Wolves,' which won a Newberry Medal in 1973.

I made an embarrassing discovery upon settling in for this week's reread: I had never, in fact, read Julie of the Wolves. (I'm not a complete fantasist—I do own a battered copy on which I or, far more likely, somebody else, drew large, looping lines with a pen.) I'm not totally surprised I thought I had, though. There's the whole "Noun of the Noun" issue (Summer of the Swans, Anne of Green Gables, Summer of My German Soldier) — but also just the preponderance of child-alone-with-animal(s) cover treatments (Sounder, A Day No Pigs Would Die, Zia, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Where the Red Fern Grows, The Phantom Tollbooth, even Clan of the Cave Bear, which counts since I READ it as a child). Obviously, if I girl is striding around the landscape wearing Mukluks surrounded by creatures with fur that drool, I must have been in on it.

Miyax, "American" name Julie, is a young Eskimo girl who, after the death of her mother, was raised by her father, Kapugen, out in the wild, catching seals etc., until her father is drafted and aunt hauls her back to town to go to one of the Bureau of Indian Affairs schools. As the author tells us, even Miyax's body is part of the landscape, as she's a "classic Eskimo beauty, small of bone and delicately wired with strong muscles....Unlike the long-limbed, long-bodied animals of the south that are cooled by dispensing heat on extended surfaces, all things in the Arctic tend toward compactness, to conserve heat."

As the book opens, 13-year-old Miyax has run away (seven sleeps, so far) from her husband Daniel, to whom she was affianced at the behest of her aunt. Her only hope for survival out on the tundra is a pack of wolves whom she may partake of kills with, if she can earn the leader, Amaroq's, trust.

Here she was, watching wolves—she, Miyax, daughter of Kapugen, adopted child of Martha, citizen of the United States, pupil at the Bureau of Indian Affairs School in Barrow, Alaska, and thirteen-year-old wife of the boy Daniel, watching wolves. She shivered at the thought of Daniel, for it was he who had driven her to this fate.

The fate in question has, for the first third of the book, quite a lot to do with becoming part of the pack, what various members of the pack do, and accumulating meat—for reasons I will get to in a second. And I will ascribe either to the fact that adults can't absorb tundra-porn like children or just that I am a bad person that I skipped mightily over these sections, just like I did the stuff about the healing properties of various flora in The Clan of the Cave Bear. I apologize, plotfinder winner! Here's an example just for the meat-lovers amongst us:

When in sight of her house she took a shortcut and came upon a pile of caribou droppings—fuel for her fire! Gleefully, she stuffed her pockets, tied a marker at the site for later use, and skipped home dreaming of owlet stew.

She plucked the birds, laid them on the ground, and skillfully cut them open with her ulo. Lifting out the warm viscera, she tipped back her head and popped them into her mouth. They were delicious—the nuts and candy of the Arctic. She had forgotten how good they tasted. They were rich in vitamins and minerals and her starving body welcomed them.

Treats over, she sliced her birds into delicate strips and simmered them slowly and not too long.

"Chicken of the North," Miyax gave a toast to the birds. Then she drank the rich juices and popped the tender meat in her mouth.

AND:

It was time to carve and eat! She cut open the belly and lifted out the warm liver, the "candy" of her people. With a deft twist of the ulo, she cut off a slice and savored each bite of this, the most nourishing part of the animal. So rich is the liver that most of it is presented to the women and girls, an ancient custom with wisdom at its core—since women give birth to babies, they need the iron and blood of the liver.

Candy, candy! (News for you ladies under 30—the closer you get to menopause, the more you DO want to take hunks of bloody liver and drop them, dripping, in your mouth.) But the novel picks up as we realize where Julie/Miyax is actually headed — to San Francisco, to meet with her pen pal, the white girl Amy Pollack, whose father works for the Bureau helping the Alaskans with the alcoholism that has followed the white people:

The many years in the seal camp alone with Kapugen had been dear and wonderful, but she realized now that she had lived a strange life. The girls her age could speak and write English and they knew the names of Presidents, astronauts, and radio and movie personalities, who lived below the top of the world. ... the wonders of Mekoryuk dimmed as weekly letters from Amy arrived. Julie learned about television, sports cars, blue jeans, bikinis, hero sandwiches, and wall-to-wall carpeting in the high school Amy would soon be attending. Mekoryuk had no high school. The Eskimo children of the more prosperous families were sent to the mainland for further schooling, something with Aunt Martha could not afford.

But after Miyax marries Daniel, he tries to rape her — and that's how she winds up with the wolves, back on the tundra, to the world of her early childhood with Kapugen, collecting caribou meat to have enough nourishment to make the long journey to her friend. But her journey is interrupted when Amaroq is killed by hunters who descend in a plane and shoot the entire pack. Riddled with grief, Miyax finds out that Kapugen, whom she had believed dead, is in fact alive, and has brought a struggling town back to self-sufficiency by teaching them to hunt, as he taught Miyax. She journeys first to the nearby town, knowing if she can just return to him, she won't need to go to Amy:

The big room was warm and smelled of skins and fat. Harpoons hung on the wall, and under the window was a large couch of furs. The kayak hung from the ceiling, and a little stove glowed in the center of the room. Kapugen's house in Kangik looked just like Kapugen's house in seal camp. She was home!

Not so fast. Kapugen's wife comes into the room, and Miyax realizes she's missed half of what she needs to see:

Miyax saw that her face was pale and her hair was reddish gold. A chill spread over her. What had Kapugen done? What had happened to him that he would marry a gussak? What was his new life?

Kapugen and his woman talked—she loudly, he quietly. Miyax's eyes when around the room again. This time she saw not just the furs and the kayak, but electric lamps, a radio-phonograph, cotton curtains and, through the door to the annex, the edge of an electric stove, a coffee pot, and china dishes.

Then she saw a helmet and goggles on a chair. Miyax stared at them until Kapugen noticed her.

"Aw, that," he said. "I now own an airplane, Miyax. It's the only way to hunt today."

...Miyax heard no more. It could not be, it could not be. She would not let it be...she opened the door and closed it behind her. Kapugen, after all, was dead to her.

I was recently discussing with a few friends why, in the books of earlier eras, all the children are orphans or somehow bereft of parental influence. There is the obvious explanation that this allows the child to interact with the world a bit more fully, but I think there's another reason. The child is not only interacting with the world, but serving as a symbolic bridge between cultures. Just as The Secret Garden's Mary is able to restore a corrupt household riddled with the spoils of colonialism to a stunning example of a lush England which nurtures itself from within, so Miyax is the bridge from the Eskimo ways to the new Alaska, a hybrid of native and white culture in which Kapugen still kayaks, but has a white wife and a plastic, not sealskin, coat.

Sadly for Miyax, her dream to "live with the rhythm of the beasts and the land" is no longer supportable. Not only are the "seals scarce and the whales almost gone," Kapugen himself has gone from an Alaskan hunter to a western one, using a plane to shoot animals that he doesn't even bother to collect. Perhaps he has killed Amaroq, the last hunter of the tundra, the one who has sustained his daughter in her time of need. As she tells us, that kill has turned Miyax's dream of flying to San Francisco into a "dream of fire and blood and death." The only thing left for her, and for Alaskan culture, is a bastardized version of their old way of life. Even her name is gone. As George writes, it's not Miyax who points her boots back towards Kapugen. It's Julie.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—--

Holy hell, you ladies NEVER cease to amaze me. So, the answer to last week's sister/greasepaint/pretty mystery was INDEED similar to "The....I want to say The Giver but it's not" in that it was The Leaving, by Budge Wilson. Winner is Lauren L., avowed lurker, by email. Lauren, you are clearly hiding your light under a bushel with this whole "lurking" action. You are, as Trump says, a winner. Or maybe that was Alec Baldwin in Glengary Glen Ross. Whatever, you have the right to tell me to do a column and no one can ever take that away from you. Write me at jezziefinelines@gmail.com to claim your booty, or even put it in the damn COMMENTS! It will be good for your constitution.

This week's Plotfinder actually comes from a friend who is feeling poorly, and since her own stomach is rebelling I'd like to solve this particular related narrative. I'm recreating the oral request from memory here:

"Okay, so there's this girl in the 20s, and she's all out on the town, working, new job, having fun. Has a great boyfriend. He's gotta go off to the war. [So a little before the 20s. —Lizzie] She's loving her job, and somehow gets hooked up with the suffragette movement, Saratoga, the whole nine. She's marching. She's into it. THEN SHE LITERALLY GETS TAKEN TO JAIL, AND FORCE-FED. FORCE FED!!!!!!!! Then her boyfriend comes back. He's still great. And he's all about, when is the marriage happening, and she's actually like, you are terrific. But I choose me."

Ladies? Send your guesses and secure knowledge to jezziefinelines@gmail.com, or leave the answer in the comments. First correct wins the chance to order me around.

I've got one more bonus Plotfinder, again from yours truly. This is an odd duck, since I'm fairly sure I'm remembering the title, A Long Day in Winter, correctly. It's about a young black boy over the course of one day when his parents, who are sharecroppers on a sugarcane plantation, separate. Early in the morning, his mother gets up with him to pee, then he asks for water, and she says, "Let it out and put it all in again, huh?" She gives him a bit of sugarcane when she's working in the fields, and his hands are cold. The mother and father rejoin again at the end, and the father's hands are strong and calloused from working in the fields. It probably took place in the 30s or 40s, and the cover is purplish with the boy and mother on it. ETC. Doesn't exist, as far as Google and Amazon are concerned. POSSIBLY by someone with first name of Brenda?

Have at it, in comments or to jezziefinelines@gmail.com.

You guys keep asking me to list next week's books! Hello! I DO THAT now. I know I am yelling at the wrong people if you have made it down here, but HELLO.

Next week is:

The Pigman

followed by:

Happy Endings Are All Alike

followed by...

Stranger With My Face!

If anyone has the "right" cover for Stranger With My Face, I'd appreciate a scan. it's quite rare—Lia is tall and semi-Native American looking, long dark hair, and actually looking at herself (but not herself!!!) in the mirror. My copy lost the cover a long time ago, which is of course psychologically devastating and something I think about probably once a day. Provider wins a mystery vintage text from my enormous, teetering collection.

Send pics, demands, guesses, and anything else you think I'd like to know to jezziefinelines@gmail.com. I will take your emails and pull them from my inbox's abdominal cavity, saving the warm, rich liver for myself, because women get to keep the nutrient-rich liver because we have the babies; obviously no one cares if WE get effing nutrients.

Julie of the Wolves [Amazon]

Lizzie Skurnick [The Old Hag]

Earlier: Deenie: Brace Yourself
•A Wrinkle In Time: Quit Tesseracting Up
•Love Is One Of The Choices: No, Not That 'Sex And The City'
•The Girl With The Silver Eyes: Little Pitchers Have Big Pharma
•Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself: Springtime For Hitler, Part II
•Summer Of My German Soldier: Springtime For Hitler, Part I
•From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: City Of Angels
•