Little Beauties

Little Beauties

3.0 3
by Kim Addonizio

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The lives of three characters -- an obsessive-compulsive, a pregnant teenager, and the teen's unborn child -- come together in National Book Award finalist and Pushcart Prize winner Kim Addonizio's unsparingly funny and transcendent debut novel.

Diana McBride, a thirty-four-year-old former child pageant contender, now works in a baby store in Long Beach.

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The lives of three characters -- an obsessive-compulsive, a pregnant teenager, and the teen's unborn child -- come together in National Book Award finalist and Pushcart Prize winner Kim Addonizio's unsparingly funny and transcendent debut novel.

Diana McBride, a thirty-four-year-old former child pageant contender, now works in a baby store in Long Beach. Between dealing with a catastrophic haircut, the failure of her marriage, and phone calls from her alcoholic mother, Diana has gone off her OCD medication and is trying to cope via washing and cleaning rituals. When pregnant teenager Jamie Ramirez enters the store, Diana's already chaotic world is sent spinning.

Jamie can't stand being pregnant. She can't wait to get on with her normal life and give the baby up for adoption. But her yet-to-be-born daughter, Stella, has a fierce will and a destiny to fulfill. And as the magical plot of Little Beauties unfolds, these three characters' lives become linked in ever more surprising ways.

With a poet's ear for fresh, evocative language and a deft humor that exposes her characters' foibles, Addonizio perfectly captures the messiness and unexpected beauty of life.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Behold that rare beast, the literate beach read.... Little Beauties encases a real, thumping heart between the pages."


"Like her poetry, rawly beautiful examinations of the body and heart's excesses, Little Beauties tackles tough subjects...with unflinching clarity, lyricism and humor."

San Francisco Chronicle

"A wonderfully optimistic, quirky testament to the power of chance encounters."

O Magazine

"I found myself rooting for them — a neat trick for the novelist to pull off — rooting for each, especially that new baby..."

— Alan Cheuse, All Things Considered, National Public Radio

Publishers Weekly
Two women a generation apart meet and work to overcome their hurt in this flawed but sympathetic first novel from Addonizio, a poet (Tell Me) and short story writer (In the Box Called Pleasure). In L.A.'s Long Beach, 34-year-old Diana McBride is working her latest dead-end job, at the children's store Teddy's World, when very young mother-to-be Jamie Ramirez comes in and buys a bear, but ends up burying it at the beach, along with her frustrations at impending kicked-out-of-the-house single motherhood. Addonizio alternates perspectives chapter-by-chapter, switching from Diana to Jamie to Jamie's unborn child, Stella ("I chose you, Stella tells her. I'm not going to let you just hand me over to somebody else"). The awkward results feel like a first-time novelist's cop-out on multiple characters. Addonizio has a great ear for what the OCD-afflicted Diana and the deluded, late-adolescent Jamie say to themselves, but the means by which Jamie ends up at Diana's apartment, along with Great Guy Anthony who has come to Jamie's roadside aid, feel contrived. After some trouble, strife and a serious scare with newborn Stella, things work out with a heartwarming complexity, but Addonizio hasn't fashioned a strong enough container for her characters' powerful feelings. Agent, Robert McQuilkin. (Aug.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Diana McBride works in a baby store called Teddy's World. She doesn't like babies, her husband has just left her, and she's an obsessive-compulsive washer. Into Teddy's World walks Jamie, a pregnant and depressed 17-year-old who has promised her New Age mother that she will give up her baby for adoption. Also present (but not visible) is Stella, Jamie's unborn child, whose views on Jamie are all-loving but realistic. When Jamie gives birth to Stella in the back of a stranger's Mercedes, everything changes-for everyone. Jamie decides to keep her baby, the stranger decides not to commit suicide, Stella decides that it was a bad idea to be born, and Diana decides to take in Jamie and Stella, provided they follow her many rules of cleanliness. In her fiction debut, noted poet Addonizio (Tell Me was a National Book Award finalist) makes an impressive transition to prose, revealing a wonderful imagination as she describes the struggles of each character with both a touching reality and an edgy sense of humor. This is a funny story, but it's about more than comedic characters and bizarre twists of fate-it's about being born and reborn, dying and almost dying and wanting to die, and learning how to live life in between. Recommended for popular fiction collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 4/15/05.]-Joy Humphrey, Pepperdine Univ. Law Lib., Malibu, CA Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Can two problem-laden women salvage their futures?Maternal damage looms large in this first novel, a lightweight comedy set in Long Beach, Calif., by poet Addonizio (In a Box Called Pleasure: Stories, 1999, etc.). Diana McBride's obsessive/compulsive disorder was simultaneously overlooked and intensified by her dipsomaniac, promiscuous mother, who forced Diana into beauty pageants as a child. Jamie Ramirez gave birth at 17 because her mother is an inconsistent feminist Catholic who tolerates contraception but bans abortion. Jamie and Diana's paths cross at a baby store called Teddy's World, the latest place of employment in Diana's checkered career. Whenever her rituals and countings and washings become overwhelming, she moves on in hopes of a fresh start. Husband Tim has also opted for a fresh start, driven away by rules like, "Shower after emptying the trash." An unpromising mother herself, Jamie chooses to keep baby Stella rather than give her up for adoption, unaware that the child is a marvel whose opinions and observations begin while she is still in the womb. "Babyhood is kind of confining, so far," Stella observes, and unfortunately this Look Who's Talking characterization is merely the most ill-judged aspect of a novel more intent on cozy conclusions than developing its one-note characters. The pace accelerates as if suddenly turbo-charged on the night of Jamie's 18th birthday, when she picks up a boy, drops acid and takes a plane to New York. Stella abruptly falls mortally ill and begins communing with the dead wife of Anthony, a stranger who assisted at Stella's birth and who now reappears in a bar. Diana sets aside her obsessions to save Stella, earning Anthony's healingaffections. Jamie rushes back to shoulder her burdens, and a tide of forgiveness floats everyone's boat. Addonizio fondly indulges her insightful babies, bad mothers and troubled young women, but fails to convince readers that they should do the same.

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Product Details

Simon & Schuster
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5.42(w) x 8.38(h) x 0.59(d)

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Chapter One: RULE #1: Shower after emptying the trash.

Once I was a professional princess. At age four, I was chosen, out of a very competitive field, to represent my preschool in the Palmetto Avenue Neighborhood Association Parade as Princess Moonglow. At seven, I was both Fairyland Angel and Sassy Star, while fulfilling all my elementary school duties and also my required household chores. I was twice crowned the Vegetable Princess, or at least the princess of a few green growing things, like cabbages. I was Miss Teen Broward County at the tender age of fourteen. At fifteen, I stood in a white cowboy hat in front of a car dealership, in wind that whipped the colorful pennants around and nearly tore the petals off the roses I was holding, and tried to pretend I wasn't wearing a bikini and five-inch heels in front of a bunch of grown men. I smiled. My mother, Gloria, ducked into the driver's seat of the red Mustang convertible I had just won for her, showing her legs as she did so, diverting some of the male attention her way. A salesman patted my ass as she was adjusting the bucket seat. That day I was Freddy's Ford Cowgirl. But then I threw in my sash.

Now I'm thirty-four, and I have just become Employee of the Month: August at Teddy's World. I guess I still have a thing for titles, in spite of my official retirement. I've made Employee of the Month in every job I've had. That's a lot of jobs. We're talking double digits here. Fourteen, to be exact. Start with your left thumb and go down to your pinkie; then your right thumb to right pinkie; back to your left thumb, forefinger, middle finger.

Stop at what is known as the ring finger.

Right now Gloria is trying to reach me on my cell phone. I'm not supposed to have my phone on while I'm at work, but someone might call me — someone besides my mother — and I want to be there if that someone needs to talk to me, if he needs to tell me that he misses me and wants to come home. So there the phone sits, vibrating crazily on the counter of Teddy's World, behind a pile of Poker Babies. Poker Babies is a book with photographs of babies who look like they are playing cards, with thought bubbles above their heads saying things like "Deuces wild" and "I'm calling your bluff." It's stupid and precious, two qualities that have made it a steady seller in baby stores across the country. Here in Long Beach, it's doing really well.

My phone has stopped vibrating; Gloria's name has disappeared from the display. She'd probably be happy to see I've made Employee of the Month at Teddy's World. I have to admit it gives me a little charge when customers glance up at the color head shot Tim took earlier in the summer. This was before he took leave of our marriage, which immediately drove me into a high-end salon in Belmont Shore for a savage haircut by someone named Linda, who was not, despite her name, very pretty. Average looks, extreme poise, zero personality. And definitely no talent with the scissors. Linda's talents, whatever they were, were not on display. "Can't you make it a bit less poofy on top?" I asked her, and she said, haughtily, "Then it will have no shape at all," and continued to hack away. When she was done, the hair I could once sit on lay all around me like a bunch of straw, and I wanted to lie down in it like a sick horse.

So all in all, considering recent events, I really needed to make Employee of the Month, a bright spot in a bleak stretch. Never mind that there are only two of us. A couple of weeks ago I suggested to Marlene, my boss, that having an Employee of the Month would make her look like a caring businesswoman, someone who appreciated her workers, so she said okay. She said I could be first, since I've been here longer than the other girl.

Usually, by the time my winning smile appears inside a frame on the wall, I am on my way out. I'm gone before the glass gets dusty. But I like Teddy's World. I've been here since May, among the jungle mobiles and snap-on pajamas, under the miniature model train that endlessly circles the store on its tiny tracks, the plastic engineer touching his cap in greeting, the smiling plastic children strapped in and waving. When Marlene hired me, I thought, What could be better than baby clothes, fresh from the manufacturer, the babies themselves safely quarantined in BabyBjörn carriers or in strollers, or, safer still, in the wombs of their soon-to-be-mothers? Plus, these mothers are easy marks, and I get commission on the larger items.

I smile at a pregnant woman looking over the cribs in the back. I leave my post at the counter and lead her down the rows. I can tell that when I'm done with her, she is practically going to buy the store. She looks about five months gone, maybe six. I'm pretty good at guessing by now.

"Marvelous!" she says, when I show her how to click the rails up and down on a maple hardwood drop-side crib.

"Adjustable-height metal springs," I tell her. "And it can be used as a bed when the baby's older." I load her up with the drop-side crib, the matching armoire with removable shelves and bar, and the marvelous nursing station — a gliding rocker with matching ottoman, five fabric patterns to choose from. She's torn between Angel Blue and Delicate Flower. While she's debating, I stroll over to a grandmother and help her pick out bonnets and booties, a lacy christening jacket, two teething rings, and a plastic cow that plays Mozart. I ring up Grandma and then write up the order for the nursing station; we don't keep those in stock.

"So, Delicate Flower it is," I say. "Excellent choice."

"It feels kind of silly," the woman says doubtfully. "I mean, I can just sit on the couch and nurse, right?"

"Motherhood is tiring," I tell her. "You should pamper yourself."

"This is my first," she says. "Do you have children of your own?"

"Not yet," I say, feigning a regret bordering on bereavement. "One of these days."

"I'm so excited," she says, pulling out a Platinum Visa. "I just can't wait. We're going to have three. I'm going to breast-feed them all, of course. Children need their mother, right from the beginning."

She looks around Teddy's World, like she's already planning what to buy for the next two. She doesn't even notice I'm Employee of the Month; she's too busy being Expectant Mother of the Century. She looks about thirty, fresh-faced and happy. Right now she is free and unencumbered. Soon she will have an infant fastened to her breast like a polyp, clutching fiercely at her expensive blouse. She will be held prisoner by a screaming baby, standing on its rubber mattress and rattling its crib bars. By the time she is done having her family, birthing and coping with three children, she will look like a hag. The fabric of the nursing station will be faded and worn. She will just shove a bottle of formula in the last baby's hands and stick it in its crib, and she will glide back and forth in the nursing station rocker, longing to end it all.

"That's fifteen hundred and twenty-nine dollars," I say, taking her card.

A heavyset woman comes in, pushing a twin stroller. I don't know if these babies are twins or not. The babies all look alike to me, blobs of clay with glittering eyes and little smashed-in noses and wet lips.

I lean over them and breathe in their gauzy, milky smell. "So beautiful," I say. I kneel down and wave a clown rattle at the twins. I look up at the mother with tears in my eyes. I can do tears on a dime. Not really tears, just a moistening of my eyes that makes it look like I'm on the verge, like I'm overcome with emotion. Judges used to fall for it all the time.

"You are doubly blessed," I say.

"Yes, I am," she says. She thinks I mean it, and I can tell she's actually happy to have the two of them, and for a minute I'm jealous.

Then I notice it, under the new baby smell: something rancid, something I don't want to get too close to.

When the mother leaves, I notice the stroller wheels. They roll across the pale blue-and-pink swirls of the store's carpet, and I see the tracks, thin, sinuous parallel lines between the rack of overalls and the shelves of stuffed animals, lines that snake back and forth and cross each other until the colors of the carpet are barely visible. And, I mean, I just knelt down on that carpet. In shorts. Which means I've gotten it on my skin — the oil and dirt from the streets, the smashed gray gum and spit and crud from the sidewalk.

Teddy's World is starting to get contaminated.

Contamination is why I had to leave my managerial position at Liquor Barn, why I did not last at Real You Salon or Dr. Woo's pediatric dental practice. I didn't make it as a telefundraiser for Save the Earth, or as auto parts inventory control clerk for Nissan. I washed my hands, over and over, but they would not come clean. Each time I quit, I removed my name in block capitals and my smiling head shot from the wall, and I walked out and threw them in the nearest trash can.

I don't want this to happen at Teddy's World. I need Teddy's World right now.

I'm supposed to be on Zoloft, but I've kind of stopped taking it regularly. My therapist, Sharon, told me it was important not to stop my medication, or our work together, just because Tim left. Stay with it, she said. Do your homework. Practice the Calming Breath. Break a rule.

The Calming Breath is simple. You breathe in and count to three, and then let out the breath as slowly as you can while trying to relax. The trouble with this is that I only seem to be able to do it when I'm already sort of relaxed.

Which I am not, at the moment.

The rules are posted at home, on the refrigerator, with a Teddy's World magnet. They are also posted in the laundry room and taped inside the bathroom cabinet. This is — I mean, was — for Tim's benefit, not mine. I know them by heart, since I made them up. There are currently thirty-seven items on the list. There used to be eighty, before I started with Sharon. I was down to twenty-four when Tim left. After that it seemed necessary to add a few again.

Without rules, all is chaos and darkness.

"Excuse me," a girl says, and I look up from the crazy lines, suddenly realizing that she's been standing there for at least a minute without saying anything.

"Do you have any music boxes?" she says.

She looks like she's in high school. High school kids these days dress like toddlers. She's wearing a teeny white ribbed top with a Hello Kitty on it. Her glossy dark hair is done up in pigtails; her skin is dewy as a baby's. Below the shirt, her bare stomach is a soccer ball, the belly button popped out. If I were still at Liquor Barn and she came in for cigarettes I'd definitely card her. If she walked into Liquor Barn, I'd be watching her to see if she tried to take anything. She has that look.

"Music boxes. No. We have jack-in-the-boxes. We have toys that play music. We have teddy bears and pigs and dolls you can wind up and listen to, but we don't carry music boxes."

"Oh," she says, a little, disconsolate "oh." Like she'd really expected to find a music box, like she needs it right now.

I look past her at the lines on the carpet, pulsing and glowing. I blink, trying to make them go away.

"Are you sure?" she says. "Miss McBride? You look different," she says.

She's looking at my picture behind the counter. Of course I look different; the woman in the picture has long hair. She is married. McBride is my married name, and I never liked it. It was too much like McDonald's. McJob. McMarriage, McBride. Still, it was better than Rose. I was born Diana Rosen, but one day Gloria changed it. She got the idea that Rose would be a better pageant name, so she dragged us right down to the county clerk. Gloria is half Jewish, on her father's side, but from that day on we were Presbyterian, which she explained was a more refined and forward-looking religion. We never actually went to church or anything.

"Please just call me Diana," I say.

The girl crosses her arms. Her nails are short and painted a grape color, and the polish is chipped, and I can tell she doesn't even care.

No wedding ring, I notice.

"Do you have anything that plays — " She "dah-dah-dahs" a tune, Beethoven's "Für Elise."

"That's a popular one. We have a few things that play it."

I lead her over to a shelf of stuffed animals. "These are the musical ones." I know I'm walking over the lines on the carpet, but I try to tell myself it doesn't matter. I walk on the streets every day, so what's the difference?

She cranks up a teddy in overalls. We have all kinds of teddies — pink teddies in diapers or long dresses, plaid teddies, the classic teddy — naked, brown-furred, and, if you had one as a child, irresistible. I had one, which got lost years ago, and I bought another one from the store at an employee discount.

The girl holds the teddy to her chest and closes her eyes. Her face scrunches up, and I'm afraid she's going to cry.

"Why that song?" I ask.

She opens her eyes. "I had a music box once, that played it."

"So you want one for your baby. How lovely!" I click on the enthusiasm. "When are you due? Looks like any day now."

"No," she says.

"No, what?" I hold my smile.

"I don't want this baby," she whispers.

"Of course you do. Babies are such a precious gift." I wipe my hands on my shorts. "A gift," I repeat.

"Fuck that," she says. "I don't want this fucking baby."

"Of course you don't," I say. Why argue with her? I totally understand.

"I'm giving it up as soon as it's born. To be adopted." She looks at me defiantly, like I'm going to say it's such a tragedy, or something.

She's clutching the teddy to her. Its music loop has stopped. I look into its painted glass eyes. I used to look into the eyes of my childhood teddy, Ginger, and see infinite love. This one just looks at me, though. That's how they all are now. Today's teddies look out only for themselves.

I curl my toes in my sneakers, thinking, My feet are safe, inside the sneakers, inside the socks. Thinking, I want to go home and shower.

"Want me to ring that up?" I say.

"No." She puts the teddy down. I turn away to see if there are any actual customers who need my help. But by the time I get back to the counter, she's picked it up again and followed me.

"Sorry," she says, setting the teddy on the counter, not looking at me. She stares at the cover of Poker Babies, a drooling kid in a diaper clutching an ace in its fist.

She'd do terrible in a pageant interview, I'm thinking. Eye contact is crucial.

Just then, Marlene comes out of the back room with Kelly, the new employee. "Yes, yes," Kelly is saying. "I'm sorry. I know. I'll try."

Kelly will never be Employee of the Month. I will win, every time. Kelly is not perky. She has eczema on her elbows, and her outfit is hopeless: a shapeless dress that is totally the wrong color for her and doesn't hide the ugly flowers tattooed on her arms.

Eczema is a form of dermatitis. It often runs in families. Luckily, it can't spread.

"Diana," Marlene says, "be a dear. When you're done helping this customer, run up to Starbucks and get me a double Mocha Frappuccino."

The outer layer of human skin is made up of keratin producing cells, which are pretty much dead. They slough off continually. So even if I can't catch Kelly's eczema, I don't want to get too close to her. I move back as she comes around the counter.

"Skim Frappuccino, right?" I say. If I take my break now, I'll have time to get home, shower, and stop at Starbucks on the way back. Teddy's World is just a longish walk from the apartment. I'll tell Marlene there was a big line at Starbucks and that they got the order wrong the first time.

"That's my gal." Marlene loves my ass. She says I have managerial potential. Potential and I are old friends; my pageant career was built on it. Mostly what I have now, I think, is failed potential. No way I'm going to say this to Marlene, though.

I ring up $24.95, plus tax, for the teddy in overalls. The girl digs into a big denim purse, scrounging for balled-up bills, taking them out and flattening them onto the counter one by one with agonizing slowness.

"Do you want a bag?" I ask her, practically grabbing the last five dollars from her hand. We have pink-and-blue striped paper bags with handles, showing a teddy clutching a bunch of balloons, each balloon holding a letter of teddy's world. We have gold tissue paper, and gift wrap with teddies or balloons or birthday cakes and hats. We have flattened boxes that can be put together in a matter of seconds. All these are in neat cubbyholes behind the counter, giving off a faint gassy odor.

"No thanks, I'll carry it," she says.

Marlene comes over and pushes the clipboard on the counter across to the girl. "Sign our mailing list," she says. "We've got lots of wonderful sales coming up."

"Uh, no thanks," the girl says.

Marlene picks up the clipboard and kind of jabs it at her. The girl looks at Marlene. Marlene smiles. "Please, dear," she says. "Sign it." Marlene can be kind of intimidating, if you don't know her. Kelly is obviously scared to death of her, another reason Kelly will never get ahead here; she doesn't project an aura of confidence.

"Act like a winner," Gloria used to say, "and you will be a winner."

"Whatever," the girl shrugs, and uses the pen, attached to the clipboard with a blue shoelace, to write down her information.

"Diana dear," Marlene says. "Get me a slice of lemon bread, too. No, don't. Oh, go ahead." Marlene is watching her figure, as she puts it. She watches it get to a certain size, and then she starts throwing up her lunches in the bathroom.

I nod. I can keep it together. I can. Marlene takes a snowsuit off the Hold rack — there are people who buy snowsuits in Long Beach, presumably to give their babies a head start on the slopes of Mountain High or Snow Summit. She whisks it over to the second register.

For an instant, giving the girl her change, I catch her eye, and neither of us looks away. If we were both younger, in the dressing room for some competition, I'd be sizing her up and weighing my chances. Thinking maybe she could take me, with a certain kind of judge. She's pretty, the dark-haired, big-eyed, sad kind of pretty that sometimes edges ahead of a blonde no matter how soulfully you play "Amazing Grace" on the accordion, or how brilliantly you smile like you're about to swoon with ecstasy. It's a fact of life, you get used to it.

"Good luck," I say. "With the adoption and everything."

She turns, and heads for the door to the street. I watch the stuff on the carpet swirl around her. Most of it settles back, but I notice a little gets on her shoes. I can see it very clearly, just like I can see that I am in more trouble than she is.

Copyright © 2005 by Kim Addonizio

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What People are saying about this

"In Kim Addonizio's fanciful and witty novel, I can't decide whose voice I like more: the obsessive compulsive's, the pregnant teenager's, or the newborn's. Each is great -- sharp, funny, and above all, surprising. One thing they all share is their creator's love of language. These are voices that will continue to resonate long after you've read the last page of the book."

-- Jenny McPhee, author of No Ordinary Matter and The Center of Things

"Generous, original, sassy, and surprisingly dear, Little Beauties is a happy accident -- a novel about obsessive-compulsive disorder that is compulsively readable and enormously satisfying. Kim Addonizio does some awesome celestial math as she moves her glorious misfits around in their messy realities to create something utterly new."

-- Laurie Fox, author of My Sister from the Black Lagoon and The Lost Girls

"Kim Addonizio uses words the way a dominatrix uses a whip, making even the most painful moments in a character's life a pleasure to read. Little Beauties is an irresistible novel, full of humor and heart."

-- John McNally, author of The Book of Ralph

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Meet the Author

Kim Addonizio is the author of several acclaimed poetry collections, including What Is This Thing Called Love and Tell Me, which was a finalist for the 2000 National Book Award. Her poetry and fiction have appeared widely in literary journals and anthologies, including The Paris Review, Microfiction, Narrative, The Mississippi Review, and others. The recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and two NEA grants, Addonizio lives in Oakland, California.

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3.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 6 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book was really disappointing. I felt extrmemly uncomfortable being stuck in this OCD women's head. Very grey and depressing. It didn't wamm up until the very last couple pages. I skipped the last fourth of it, jumping to the end, just to find out what happened in the end (so I could get rid of this book ASAP). Almost gave me anxiety just reading about these disturbing, mental women.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was a story that kept my interest. I enjoyed learning about 'the rules' of someone with OCD. I can't imagine trying to live with this disease. Diane, trying to overcome one rule at a time. Jamie, pregnant and not wanting a child has her own trouble. She has her own family and baby on the way troubles. Then theres Stella, the unborn-then born baby. She knows shes coming into a world where she's not wanted. All of these lives intertwine in the story that each of them end up needing each other. I enjoyed this story but didn't find that I felt fulfilled with it. I can't say I'd recommend this but it wasn't a bad book. Out of all the books out there in the world I'd of recommended somthing else.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I wasn't sure what to expect from this author but by the end of the first chapter I was hooked. The author did a great job of making her characters come alive - it was easy to care about what was happening to each of them. I enjoyed the format of the book as well - introducing the viewpoints from each of the main characters helped you to see them from the perspectives of the others. It has been a while since I read a book that I couldn't put down - this one did it for me. I don't think you will regret giving this one a try. I look forward to her next novel.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Little Beauties is a story that tells one story in the view of three different characters, one of which had no moral and is a subordinate character. The novel contains no mystery, no suspense, no in depth romance, and is based on a screwed up worldview of reality. This novel is entirely fiction and needs no more emotion to allow the readers to fully comprehend what the situations are, and how the situations are important. To begin Diana McBride (the first protagonist) is thirty-four years old and suffers from OCD, a divorce, and low self-esteem. Ironically Diana was entered into many beauty pageants as a young child but eventually grew out of them. She then married to a man named Tim, Tim's character is not explained thoroughly in the novel, Diana¿s husband had left her even before the literary piece began. Reasons for Tim¿s departure is due to his fear and annoyance of Diana¿s OCD. McBride currently works in a toddlers store named Teddy¿s World where she meets the second protagonist by the name of Jamie. Jamie is a pregnant seventeen-year-old girl who wishes to give up her daughter for adoption. With a mother who refused the idea of abortion and keeping the infant, Jamie had no choice but to follow her mothers¿ orders and give up the baby at birth. Like other literary pieces the protagonist fell in love with the newborn baby, Stella, momentarily after the baby was born. Deciding that she would rather keep her baby and live in poverty, Jamie runs away from home. Eventually the two protagonist Diana and Jamie meet up and decide to live with one another, Diana because of loneliness and Jamie in the sense of survival. A couple months pass and Jamie becomes eighteen, Diana and Jamie decide to go partying enable to celebrate. While in the bar celebrating, Anthony (a man that took Jamie to the hospital and helped her give birth) showed up and reintroduced himself. Anthony a widowed lover who claims he has lost his lover becomes drawn into a relationship with Diana. The protagonist, Diana, is also said to be overwhelmed by her husbands broken vows, but soon becomes entangled in an affair with Anthony, a man whom she has just met within the range of three days. For Diana, OCD is her inner conflict, even though Diana lets her OCD overcome her. Diana has no sense of struggle against her OCD and cares more for washing away her germs than getting rid of her cleaning problems. Excusing herself from the celebration, Jamie leaves and visits and old friend. In the time spent with her old companion Jamie gets drunk and a while afterwards Jamie gets high. Like an irresponsible teenager Jamie wants nothing more to do with her baby and decides to fly to New York to see Leila (her best friend from high school). Jamie selfishly leaves her baby in the care of Diana (a person who fears the babies germs). When Diana gets home and dismisses the babysitter Stella is sick. Without realizing it Diana goes off to bed. Stella then drifts off to a sleep and realizes that she is the reincarnation of Eva, Anthony¿s dead lover. The next morning Stella is taken into the hospital and Jamie comes home because she realizes she cares for the baby more than she thinks. In Little Beauties, a fictional novel by Kim Addonizio, the characters do not come to learn their mistakes nor solve their conflicts within each other or within themselves. Addonizio instead makes her characters cope or accept their faults without much struggle. The protagonists in the novel are two careless characters whom neither take blame nor learn from their mistakes. As an alternative the characters decide to make more mistakes rather than fixing their old ones. Overall the novel was a sufficient read, but the pages are filled with many emotionless events.