And one of my most cherished features of this bloggothing is that MANY of you know me so well that you can be all, You will enjoy this book. Not ‘you’ the royal ‘you’ but ‘you’ meaning ME! Meaning Raych. And Jan, you were so spot on. I would like to take this book home and knit it a sweater and push it on the tire swing and then bake it into a pie and eat it. I am in love with its face.
N’yallright. As usual with books that I want to add to my Shopping Cart of Life, it is the narrator that gets me – in this case, the titular unfinished angel. ‘Me, I am an angel. I am supposed to be having all the words in all the languages, but I am not. Many are missing. I am also not having a special assignment. I think I did not get all the training.‘
So our angel is hanging around in a tower with no special assignment and nothing really to do except swish up to the hill to lie among the goats and occasionally pinch naughty boys. Now me, I would hang out with this angel while it did these things, and that would be the book. But not everyone is me, so of course a young girl shows up with her father and Things start to happen and the angel has something to do after all.
And it is SERIOUSLY SWEET! And middle-grade? Am I going to have to start liking middle-grade fiction now? I have already eaten all my YA words (oh YA, you are a frolicsome companion), but until now I’d held middle-grade at that sort of retrospective arm’s length where I can see my ten-year-old self loving it and where I love it only when I can slip back into that ten-year-old’s grubby dress. This book I love in my own grown-up clothes.
Darling thing. Eight caterpillars.