by Carson McCuthers
Shockingly intense...and weirdly cozy at the same time. I mean, in the same book, not literally at the same time. One moment she'll be setting down at the table, having a quiet meal with the colored cook Berenice and her little friend John Henry; next moment she'd be off on a quest for The Monkey Man to tell someone her shocking news--I'm leaving and I'm not coming back.
Strange stuff moves in the mind of a twelve-year-old girl who has no best friends (her age), no mother or aunt or big sister to model after, and no stack of inappropriate books to devour. Frankie is shockingly naive and oddly adult-minded. The cook Berenice could be a sensible and not unimaginative role model, but Frankie doesn't see her as such--probably on account of the race difference, but it could be because she's hired help or even just because she's so much older. Frankie's young friend John Henry has a good bit of sense, but she doesn't recognize it. She just skitters on, delusional until doom falls.
The cover blurb called it achingly real. Pretty accurate.
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