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Quote by Susane Colasanti

“I wish my life were a movie and I could take it into the editing room and totally cut this part out. And some other parts. Some other parts definitely need to be cut.”

Quote by Susane Colasanti

Book:Take Me There
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Work

Take Me There

In 'Take Me There', the protagonist embarks on a series of travels, each stop offering a new perspective on life's complexities. The narrative intertwines personal growth with the beauty of different landscapes, creating a rich tapestry of emotional and philosophical insights. more

Author

Susane Colasanti
Susane Colasanti

Susane Colasanti, born on May 1, 1973, is an American author known for her works that focus on the lives of teenagers. Her writing, characterized by its authenticity and close-to-life touch, has earned her widespread acclaim. more

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“Staring out from a movie poster on the wall of the dinky town cinema were her sister's two bright blue eyes. Brigid was the star of the summer's blockbuster movie. "That fucking bitch!" Phoebe swore a little too loudly. An old lady gasped and two teenage girls froze in their tracks. "It's my sister!" Phoebe tried to explain. The two teenage girls tittered and hurried away. Nobody in Nowheresville, Georgia, was going to believe that the unkempt daughter of a swamp-living, Haitian-born artist was related to a lily-white movie star. Phoebe bought a ticket to the matinee. There, in the dark, empty theater, she watched her sister lop off zombie heads with a samurai sword and sobbed for ninety-four minutes straight.”

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“I had thought fermentation was controlled death. Left alone, a head of cabbage molds and decomposes. It becomes rotten, inedible. But when brined and stored, the course of its decay is altered. Sugars are broken down to produce lactic acid, which protects it from spoiling. Carbon dioxide is released and the brine acidifies. It ages. Its color and texture transmute. Its flavor becomes tarter, more pungent. It exists in time and transforms. So it is not quite controlled death, because it enjoys a new life altogether. The memories I had stored, I could not let fester. Could not let trauma infiltrate and spread, to spoil and render them useless. They were moments to be tended. The culture we shared was active, effervescent in my gut and in my genes, and I had to seize it, foster it so it did not die in me. So that I could pass it on someday. The lessons she imparted, the proof of her life lived on in me, in my every move and deed. I was what she left behind. If I could not be with my mother, I would be her.”

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Book:Crying in H Mart
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