Magdalena Sørensen wonders if readers can relate to a Swedish girl growing up in the 80s, in Stockholm. Can the particular relate to the universal? Can the universal relate to the particular? Resounding yeses all around. An excerpt:
I remember my grandfather tall and pale. His marble desk was green, as was his sweater and the box of Läkerol.
I remember my rabbit, Simon. He was black and died from running in circles. A dog was involved.
I remember reading in the summer. The hammock between the trees and I wore a check skirt.
I remember skin burning in the night and ice-cream with blueberry pie. I remember Sue Ellen having a drink and her lips shivering. JR was bad.
I remember mother’s aunt in her chair. I remember her extra metallic arm, the cigarette and the worn playing cards. There was a scary room behind her and a red note book got lost.
I remember the barking dogs in her village. The ones on the first farm would start and then the rest followed down the road.
I remember the same aunt getting us into the car when thunder came. I remember her driving slower than people walked.
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Twenty-Six, by Meghan Brown