She lay under the faded bedding like a rag doll losing its stuffing, her hair a wild collection of snakes on the pillow (p. 67). This line elicits a strong image in my head, especially with the hair of snakes. The mom's body is wilting while her hair is growing a mind of its own. I know that when people are sick, their hair often times coils in stringy snakes because of not being washed or combed for several days. This reminds me of Medusa's hair.
The entire yard sparked with diamonds of frost that quickly melted into millions of drops of water with gentle kiss of the sun. - Frost. - This was no dream (p. 210). This line is written in dreamlike language. It also provides reader another perspective to looking at morning frost and dew. The next time, I look at morning dew, I'll try to have a greater appreciation for the beauty of it.
I liked how
Anderson ended the book. It acknowledges the experience of the protagonist.
Even though the city is back to it's healthy self and quickly forgetting that
the plague ever existed, the memory of the pain and fever of that summer will
always remain with Mattie. Most importantly, she'll remember the presence of
deceased loved ones. I like the analogy of the sun with the giant balloon, as
in the golden Blanchard hot air balloon that was often mentioned with joy and hope at
the beginning of the story.
Early morning was the only time I felt as if there were ghosts nearby, memories of the weeks of fear. ... I smiled as the mist faded. The yellow sun rose, a giant balloon filled with prayers and hopes and promise. I stood and shook idleness out of my skirts. Day was begun (p. 243).
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