PAT LOWERY COLLINS

A New York Public Library's Book for the Teen Age 2000

A Children's Literature Choice 2000

From VOYA:

"A story that is never predictable and always surprising. Collins knows well the emotional range of adolescents and uses this roller coaster of emotions to take readers on a wonderful ride."


From The Bulletin:
"This (novel) will provide junior-high girls with first-rate entertainment for the New Millennium."

From Horn Book:
"Tenderly and respectfully evoked; like Taswell, (Collins) makes us want to believe."

From Booklist:
"Strong voices and an intriguing premise allow readers to contemplate both the mundane and the miraculous."

"Tucked away at boarding school, fourteen-year-old Taswell is undergoing an extraordiany transformation. She knows it's important, but she's not sure how to deal with it and who she should tell . . .certainly not her distant grandmother, who's busy with work, or her father, who has a new and now pregnant wife. Isolated from friends and family, Taswell looks for help and advice in surprising places.

As Taswell discovers more about herself and the people around her, she ultimately fginds salvation where she least expects it. Told entirely in letters, this startlingly original novel avout searching for love and family is both heartbreaking and hilarious."
(jacket copy)

Sunday, September 6

Dear Pim:

I'm writing to you because there isn't anyone else. I intend to write to Mavis, of course, but not the kind of letter I'm writing to you. You remember how she never let me call her any form of grandmother because she didn't feel old enough to be one?

I have never told her anything important. She thinks there isn't anything important in the life of a fourteen year old girl, or won't be anytime soon. She's wrong, as I'm sure you'd agree. Important things can happen to very young people. Think of Joan of Arc. Think of the Virgin Mary. We are told here to think of her all day long, that she is the Mediatrix of all Graces. I'm not sure what it means, but I like the way it sounds. We say the Angelus, her own prayer, three times a day. As far as I'm concerned, it isn't often enough. Chanting it while the bells chime makes me kind of weak. It starts Out, "My Soul doth magnify the Lord." Isn't that amazing?

I was four when you left. Why did you? Do you know that I can remember exactly what you looked like - the misty green suit, a kind of green I've never seen since, your glassy skin. And I still remember the things you told me. "Follow me," you'd say in a voice that sounded like several small flutes playing at once, or "Careful", "Watch out", "Stay away", "Go to sleep."

Mavis always smiled when I saved a seat for you at the table or a place beside my bed. She thought I talked to some imaginary friend like other children. But I was never like other children. Now that I'm older, I've decided you're probably one of the Cherumbim, which the encyclopedia says are a lower order of angels. Maybe you're in some order even lower than that because you never did have wings. I expect you're some kind of guardian as well, that I needed you very badly once and that you're still around somewhere only I'm not allowed to see you anymore. Just in case I need you very badly again, I thought we should stay in touch. Are you surprised to hear from me?

Mavis has sent me here because she's afraid. She's afraid of so many things it's unreal, and even though I know it's because she wants to protect me, it's pretty suffocating. She thinks I'll become wild like my mother now that I've entered my teens. She still keeps telling me how when my mother left me with her when I was a baby, when she ran away, it broke her heart. I will tell her sometime that a heart that grows up with no mother can also end up in pieces.

I don't really understand why Mavis had to pick a place quite so far away from everything. There isn't even a town you can walk to - or bicycle to for that matter. There's a lake somewhere, though I haven't seen it yet. It's why the school is called "Our Lady of the Lake". There are mountains (I guess we're on top of one) and trees - giant pines that tower above the walls. We came here at night, so I didn't see much. The roads twisted, and we were definitely climbing from the time we left the highway.

It's a very small school. Only twenty girls. We each have our own tiny narrow room with high windows. Clara, who helped me get settled, says the rooms are just like the nun's cells. ( She has been here three years and saw one once). She says she'll probably be a nun because if she is here very much longer, she may not know how to be anything else. Clara says if it weren't for her very positive attitude, it might feel like a prison sometimes - the way there isn't anyplace to go even if you want to. Most of the new girls already hate it here. I was prepared to, but I don't.

Sister Eduard has just knocked on the door to tell me it's almost time to turn out the lights. It is precisely nine o'clock. I like that. But I still need to write to Mavis. And Charles - maybe.

Your person,

Taswell




Sunday, September 6

Dear Mavis,

I don't know how you found this place! It is very medieval for being in the United States of America at the end of the Twentieth Century. And it must be the last convent on earth where the nuns wear the same style habit as their Belgian foundress. Last night we could hear wolves outside the walls. Grace, one of the novices, the ones studying to be nuns, says they're harmless, that they never really hurt people except in fairy tales. She knows all about them and their packs and says that if humans acted a little more like wolves, we'd be much more civilized.

There are three novices. Grace is the only pretty one. The other two look like nuns already, all scrubbed and pimply. There is one postulant, Edna, who will take her first vows at the end of the year. She dresses all in white and never talks to anyone. It's hard to tell if she is pretty. She's so all the same all over - her skin, her hair, her dress or robe or whatever it is. Her eyes seem almost washed away.

Just so you know, I wouldn't have gotten into any trouble if you'd let me stay with you and go to regular school, even though you'd be at the office every day or traveling. You wouldn't have had to worry about "bad company" as you call it. I'm used to not having friends. I don't expect to have any here either.

Sister Eduard says there is no saint Taswell. She wonders how I ever got baptized. I was baptized wasn't I? Please let me know soon. I need to know.

Your loving grandaughter,

Taswell


Sunday, September 6

Dear Charles,

Mavis says your newest wife is very young. How young? Did you ever think she might be marrying you for your money? It happens a lot. You're right. I would not want to live with you. It would be too weird.

Your daughter,

Taswell