I started reading a book on my way to work last Friday morning and it (pretty much literally) caused me pain to put it down upon my arrival there and then again every time after that because it's so bloody brilliant that I'm apparently British all of a sudden. The book is called I'll Give You the Sun and it was written, nay painted using, like, the rainbow and stomach butterflies and really good champagne, by Jandy Nelson, the author slash word-sculptor of The Sky Is Everywhere, a stunning novel slash fresco in its own right. I'll Give You the Sun is a story about a set of twins named Noah and Jude and also adolescence and art and love and lust and loss and lemons and ghosts and the ocean and Clark Gable. It's the kind of book that I'm so glad exists that I'm not even pissed off about not having written it someday. Below is a snippet that's almost certainly not very meaningful without context but completely wonderful with it so thanks for letting me store it here, Personal Web Log!
"For the sun, stars, oceans, and all the trees, I'll consider it," I say, knowing she'll never agree. She knows how badly I want the sun and trees. We've been dividing up the world since we were five. I'm kicking butt at the moment—universe domination is within my grasp for the first time.
"Are you kidding?" she says, standing up straight. It annoys me how tall she's getting. It's like she's being stretched at night. "That leaves me just the flowers, Noah."
Fine, I think. She'll never do it. It's settled, but it isn't. She reaches over and props up the pad, gazing at the portrait like she's expecting the English guy to speak to her.
"Okay," she says. "Trees, stars, oceans. Fine."
"And the sun, Jude."
"Oh, all right," she says, totally surprising me. "I'll give you the sun."
Srsly though, are you effing kidding me? Her words make me wanna pick up a friggin' paintbrush and try my hand at a sunset. Like, for real. Like, me, with a paintbrush. Me. With a paintbrush.