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A review by laurahazardowen
July and August: A Novel by Nancy Clark
3.0
"Now, in the booth at the back of the Casa di Napoli, Julie slid onto the bench beside Sally, who had wanted to sprawl over her own side of the table without having to share with anyone, and she slithered underneath and surfaced next to Cam to ensure that Cam would not get her own side either." (243)
"Up in the gallery, Sally and Cam admired the gold-leaf star shapes arranged in the configurations of constellations spread across the cobalt blue field of the arching dome. They were on their way to a screened alcove in the gallery's darkest reaches, where an artifact of mid-nineteenth century taxidermy, which no one had had the heart to throw away (nor quite the stomach to have to gaze upon every day), lingered on inside a glass display case. A finely crafted coach was being drawn by a brace of high-stepping squirrels who galloped along, forever frozen in fleet, tail-flourishing attitudes. A liveried chipmunk commanded the coach, grasping silver ribbon reins in one exquisite little paw as he held onto his stovepipe hat with the other. A family of mice, finely dressed in gowns and capes and suits and bonnets fashioned from scraps of silk and lace, rode inside on tufted seats--although the youngest mouse child rather perilously hung out an open window; he seemed to want to have a word with the chipmunk. Sally and Cam had never seen anything more wonderful. They always tapped upon the glass because they were not quite certain that one day the darling creatures wouldn't reawaken and take off on their interrupted journey, breaking through one of the glass walls with a shower of sparkles and glitter and go flying off round and round the gallery. Cam was convinced the mice family was going to their grandmother's house, but Sally was pretty sure they were headed to church, and with their noses pressed against the glass, the girls argued their cases for these views, until Cam noticed, as she never had before, a small placard half tipped over in the soap-shavings snow of the foreground which read, in faded writing, Off to the Races. This effectively proved Sally wrong but discredited Cam's own theory as well, so Cam pronounced herself suddenly bored with stuffed squirrels before Sally could spot the sign herself. Cam decided she would prefer that they both not win the argument than both be proved the losers; she would have answered back that a loss shared is not a loss halved; rather, it was a loss magnified, should any adult get ahold of her and try to tell her otherwise. Sally only minded that Cam had thought to be bored because a certain superiority was implicitly expressed by tiring of an activity first, which mimicked, perhaps, a more general sense that in life one was always outgrowing something, and, indeed, both she and Cam were committed to looking over their shoulders to make sure how fast the other one was gaining on her." (271-272)
"Up in the gallery, Sally and Cam admired the gold-leaf star shapes arranged in the configurations of constellations spread across the cobalt blue field of the arching dome. They were on their way to a screened alcove in the gallery's darkest reaches, where an artifact of mid-nineteenth century taxidermy, which no one had had the heart to throw away (nor quite the stomach to have to gaze upon every day), lingered on inside a glass display case. A finely crafted coach was being drawn by a brace of high-stepping squirrels who galloped along, forever frozen in fleet, tail-flourishing attitudes. A liveried chipmunk commanded the coach, grasping silver ribbon reins in one exquisite little paw as he held onto his stovepipe hat with the other. A family of mice, finely dressed in gowns and capes and suits and bonnets fashioned from scraps of silk and lace, rode inside on tufted seats--although the youngest mouse child rather perilously hung out an open window; he seemed to want to have a word with the chipmunk. Sally and Cam had never seen anything more wonderful. They always tapped upon the glass because they were not quite certain that one day the darling creatures wouldn't reawaken and take off on their interrupted journey, breaking through one of the glass walls with a shower of sparkles and glitter and go flying off round and round the gallery. Cam was convinced the mice family was going to their grandmother's house, but Sally was pretty sure they were headed to church, and with their noses pressed against the glass, the girls argued their cases for these views, until Cam noticed, as she never had before, a small placard half tipped over in the soap-shavings snow of the foreground which read, in faded writing, Off to the Races. This effectively proved Sally wrong but discredited Cam's own theory as well, so Cam pronounced herself suddenly bored with stuffed squirrels before Sally could spot the sign herself. Cam decided she would prefer that they both not win the argument than both be proved the losers; she would have answered back that a loss shared is not a loss halved; rather, it was a loss magnified, should any adult get ahold of her and try to tell her otherwise. Sally only minded that Cam had thought to be bored because a certain superiority was implicitly expressed by tiring of an activity first, which mimicked, perhaps, a more general sense that in life one was always outgrowing something, and, indeed, both she and Cam were committed to looking over their shoulders to make sure how fast the other one was gaining on her." (271-272)