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I imagine a place where girls are made. Some roll off the assembly line shiny and wet, wheat colored hair sewn into their beautiful heads like dolls. Other girls are assembled from spare parts, pieces the shiny girls refuse—a leg here, an elbow there—our maker scavenging for anything to use. Building girls like me is lonely work, no reward for the journeyman, no bright fame. Inside the girl factory, it is dark as midnight, the workers toiling away, unable to see their hands. There are so many mistakes to be made, which is why I know there must be girls like me out there somewhere. I’m the glass thrown onto the cullet belt with a smash. I break into a hundred sharp pieces. The belt leads underground, where girls like me are melted, poured into molds so the maker can try again, try to get it right this time. But I keep coming out flawed—cold crizz, chip finish, bird swing. I look whole, yet crumble with a touch. I’m thrown back to the cullet, back to the melting pot, where I keep trying to come out right.
Excerpted from The Girl Factory by Karen Dietrich Copyright © 2013 by Karen Dietrich. Excerpted by permission.
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Posted January 27, 2014
I really enjoyed this book. I love the voice of the narrator, the world is described so vividly and she struck me as the type of girl that could have been any girl growing up I probably knew someone like her in high school, and i have to admit reading of her adventures growing up sent me on my own trip down memory lane. I loved her story, her world and I could understand her search for both a mother figure and a better connection to her own mother.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.