Chapter two is a classic example of writing coming out of the South. The entire first paragraph is devoted to doting over the countryside's beauty. Interestingly, it is followed up by a grandmother teasing her human grandchildren by telling them how ugly they are. Bone is cuddled up next to her granny, and this may be the only time in the novel in which out narrator both feels safe and is in a literal safe place away from physical harm.
Bone expresses her desire to be a boy. I wonder if all little girls go through this phase? I too wanted to be a boy. I liked to explore outside, play in dirt, find and pet wild animals, and make up stories of adventure. My cousins were my siblings. The boy was three years older, and the girl just two years younger. I was wild with him, and when forced to play "babies" with my female cousin(s), it was me who was toting around the male baby doll indicated by his blue pajamas. Cleaning and cooking were for the birds! My Easy Bake Oven groomed my most advanced culinary skills.
"That Earle's got the magic. Man is just a magnet to women. Breaks their hearts and makes them like it." Oh vomit. These are the men who raised me, and just the kind of men I can spot coming a million miles away. I don't hate men, but when I have my spells of cursing the male species, Earle is who I think of! Moreover, I hate seeing my friends wallop in the addictive heartbreak brought on by these wild types. Uhhh gag. "That's what Earle is, a hurt little boy with just enough meanness in him to keep a woman interested." <---A story as old as time!
Bone pees on her father. Ha!
On page 28, the obsession of women with their hair color is all over the text. Everyone claims to be a natural [insert here] and swears up and down that every family member is headed down the same follicle path.
Like Bone, I feel like I don't resemble anyone in my family. She smiles, not really believing what her Mama and Aunt Alma are saying, but wanting to believe them that she'll be a beauty. I think it is a common habit to believe what you want although you know that it is highly probable that the person flattering you is wrong.
Bone's Mama drags the brush through her hair and is blaming Bone for moving. I can't count how many times my mom's therapy was dragging a hairbrush over my scalp.
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