In school, they would tell you that life wouldnโt come to you; you had to go out and make it your own. But when it came to love, the message for girls seemed to be this: Donโt. Donโt go after what you want. Wait. Wait to be chosen, as if only in the eye of another could one truly find value. The message was confusing and infuriating. It was a shell game with no actual pea under the rapidly moving cups.
Libba BrayPeace is not happenstance. It is a living fire that must be fed constantly. It must be tended to with vigilance, else it dies out.
Libba BrayEvie hadnโt always felt that way. For a year after James had died, sheโd cupped his half-dollar pendant between her pressed palms and prayed fervently for a miracle, for a telegram that would say GOOD NEWS! IT WAS A TERRIBLE MISTAKE, AND PRIVATE JAMES XAVIER OโNEILL HAS BEEN FOUND, SAFE, IN A FARMHOUSE IN FRANCE. But no such telegram ever arrived, and whatever possible faith might have bloomed in Evie withered and died. Now she saw it as just another advertisement for a life that belonged to a previous generation and held no meaning for hers.
Libba Bray