I, The Divine: A Novel in First Chapters
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Raised in a hybrid family shaped by divorce and remarriage, and by Beirut in wartime, Sarah finds a fragile peace in self-imposed exile in the United States. Her extraordinary dignity is supported by a best friend, a grown-up son, occasional sensual pleasures, and her determination to tell her own story.
the second girl in my class. I was one of the first five girls to enroll in the school when it was integrated. That first day, she was fully made up, wore a disturbingly short skirt and an even tighter shirt, which accentuated her cusped breasts. By the first day of school, she had earned a nickname that would stick: Crotale, after the French missiles. It did not take long for us to become friends. She shattered my misconceptions about her within the first week. I had not known anyone who
and I should had said to the man I was shopping but I thought about that only after they let me go and don’t you hate this when you think of something that would only have been perfect to say but it was only after it was time to say it like at the lip of your tongue because I always do that. Dommage realy. it drive me a long long time to reach Suida because the roads are terribile and everything is so primitife and the village was just like I remembered déjà vu and nothing changes because it was
laughter. “Hehheh, hehheh, hehheh.” Bobbing frantically up and down on her finger. Intriguing behavior, she thought. He squawked loudly. A woman’s voice from behind the door screamed, “Take him away from here.” Kooky yelled back at her, “Sharmoutah, intee sharmoutah.” “I’m not a whore,” the woman replied to the parrot. “I’m not a whore, you son of a dog. Take that cursed parrot away from here. I’m not opening the door.” “I only want to know if he’s owned by anybody,” Saniya said, terrifically
slips again standing up. A group of teenagers, a couple of Puerto Ricans and an Indian, snicker from across the street. “It’s the ice,” the black woman, the other half of the couple, says. “It’s slippery.” “Yeah, right.” “Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine,” he growls back. He walks away. The cigarette has burned a tiny black hole in his coat. His hand is not bleeding. He feels he is about to start crying. Fear. He is terrified. Not a normal kind of fear, primal, nothing he has ever
volcano. She turned around toward the hot tub, pressed the air-jet button, and dunked her whole head in the water. She heard distorted giggling from above. She lifted her head out of the volcano and faced the others. “Feeling better?” her brother asked. “I’m awake now, I think,” she said. She flicked her hair, ensuring that everyone got at least a little wet. Her son tried to get out of the way, laughing. “I wonder if someone can drown in our volcano,” Ramzi said. “Tell it to me again. You