We have spoilers for the April 2018 Boxwalla Book Box!
FYI Boxwalla has updated the format & pricing for the book box!
The book box will have a new format : one great writer from the past paired with a great living writer who we think is a potential Nobel Laureate. New Price : $29.95. Old subscribers will automatically be billed at the new price.
And we have a spoiler!
April Book Box Spoiler #1
This April, in time for Mother’s Day, we showcase two contemporary female writers, writing about women: a Brazilian novelist and an Iraqi-American journalist and poet.
The first writer we feature is Brazilian writer Maria José Silveira with her prize-winning novel ‘Her Mother’s Mother’s Mother and her Daughters’, published in Portuguese in 2002 and translated and published in English just this past December. This beautiful book spans many generations of women beginning with Inaia in the 1500s, at the cusp of the colonization of the indigenous people of (what is now) Brazil, by the Kingdom of Portugal, all the way till 2001.
Here’s an excerpt:
But one day he opened the little girl’s tiny hand to look at the lines crossing her palm. He’d done it without thinking, almost joking, something the old man never did because he never read the palms of children and never read the palms of those he considered family, and Rosa’s family was his family. But you tell me why people suddenly decide to do things they’ve never done before! It’ll take you a lifetime to figure it out.
The fact is, the old man opened up Lígia’s tiny hand and almost instantly closed it again, the small white hand between his fat fingers, and the smile that had begun to dance in his eyes, as it always had at the girl’s side, departed for some faraway place.
Lígia asked him: “So, what do you see? What’s my future?” “Nothing, girl, I’m getting too old for that stuff! I can’t see a thing anymore. I think I need to get me some glasses.
What is certain, though, is that after that he never, ever read anyone’s palm again.
This had been before the family’s move to Brasília. Until the old man died at somewhere around the age of 100 (no one knew his age for certain), Lígia always returned to spend school vacations in the old house, with the old man, his old guitar, and his stories.