Magic realism about a girl who finds her own way in the world, part magic, part family tree story. Wasn't always fully captured, but it kept me captivated enough.
"They meant nothing," he repeated.
But she should have known. When a man dismisses other women as nothing, he would eventually do the same to her.
"You said that, Bolívar."
Rey had spent the day after consuming the entire bottle of bourbon Mike had intended to drink in celebration of Félix Montoya's life. Rhiannon hid in the garden, crying and whispering to the grasshoppers who surrounded her like a rapt audience. Meanwhile Marimar went over every finding, every photo. She obsessed over the Living Star, bu there was nothing about him. No real name. No museum obscurities. He was like Orquídea, a mystery they couldn't solve.
A slick warmth trickled down from her throat as a new flower bud penetrated the wound. When she touched it, she could feel the thick petals of her new bloom.
Reh and Rhiannon closed ranks beside her and held her hands. They formed a chain. Then, Marimar let out a scream that shook the valley.
How do you fight a thing that believes it owns you? How do you fight the past? With gold leaves and salt? With silence? With new earth beneath your feet? With the bodies, the hearts of others?
With hearts that are tender and bloodied but have thorns of their own.
With the family that chooses you.
