Buon lunedì, prodi seguaci!🐁

Questo fine settimana, oltre ad aver raggiunto le 200 puntate viste di One Piece, ho iniziato Ordinary Girls di Jaquira Díaz, che mi ha preso così tanto che le prime cento pagine – puff! – sono volate. Sto leggendo davvero dei bellissimi memoir ultimamente.

The scariest part was not that La Llorona [uno spettro del folclore dell’America Latina che si presenta come l’anima in pena di una donna che ha ucciso o perso il figlio, e che è alla vana ricerca di esso] was a monster, or that she came when you called her name three times in the dark, or that she could come into your room at night and take you from your bed like she’d done with her own babies. It was that once she’d been a person, a woman, a mother. And then a moment, an instant, a split second later, she was a monster.

Ordinary Girls is a fierce, beautiful, and unflinching memoir from a wildly talented debut author. While growing up in housing projects in Puerto Rico and Miami Beach, Jaquira Díaz found herself caught between extremes: as her family split apart and her mother battled schizophrenia, she was surrounded by the love of her friends; as she longed for a family and home, she found instead a life upended by violence. From her own struggles with depression and sexual assault to Puerto Rico’s history of colonialism, every page of Ordinary Girls vibrates with music and lyricism. Díaz triumphantly maps a way out of despair toward love and hope to become her version of the girl she always wanted to be.
With a story reminiscent of Tara Westover’s Educated, Roxane Gay’s Hunger, and Terese Marie Mailhot’s Heart Berries, Jaquira Díaz delivers a memoir that reads as electrically as a novel.