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Quote by Janet Fitch

Work

White Oleander

White Oleander is a work of fiction that follows the life of Astrid Magnussen, a girl whose mother, Ingrid, is a brilliant but narcissistic poet. After Ingrid is sentenced to prison for murder, Astrid is placed into a series of foster homes across Southern California. Each home presents a different set of challenges and influences, shaping Astrid's identity as she grows from a child into a young woman. The narrative explores themes of resilience, the search for belonging, and the powerful, often destructive, bond between mother and daughter. The title refers to a poisonous flowering shrub, serving as a metaphor for Ingrid's beautiful yet dangerous influence on her daughter's life. more

Author

Janet Fitch
Janet Fitch

Janet Fitch is a renowned American contemporary author, born on November 9, 1955, in California. Her works are known for their profound character development and unique narrative style, with notable titles including 'The Geeks' and 'Paint It Black'. more

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“Thus every individual category is subject to contamination, substitution is possible between any sphere and any other: there is a total confusion of types. Sex is no longer located in sex itself, but elsewhere - everywhere else, in fact. Politics is no longer restricted to the political sphere, but infects every sphere economics, science, art, sport ... Sport itself, meanwhile, is no longer located in sport as such, but instead in business, in sex, in politics, in the general style of performance. All these domains are affected by sport's criteria of 'excellence', effort and record-breaking, as by its childish notion of self-transcendence. Each category thus passes through a phase transition during which its essence is diluted in homeopathic doses, infinitesimal relative to the total solution, until it finally disappears, leaving a trace so small as to be indiscernible, like the 'memory of water' .”

“When I was twelve I was obsessed. Everything was sex. Latin was sex. The dictionary fell open at 'meretrix', a harlot. You could feel the mystery coming off the word like musk. 'Meretrix'! This was none of your mensa-a-table, this was a flash from a forbidden planet, and it was everywhere. History was sex, French was sex, art was sex, the Bible, poetry, penfriends, games, music, everything was sex except biology which was obviously sex but not really sex, not the one which was secret and ecstatic and wicked and a sacrament and all the things it was supposed to be but couldn't be at one and the same time - I got that in the boiler room and it turned out to be biology after all.”