Just last night I watched Sofia Coppola’s adaptation of The Virgin Suicides, for the first time in quite a few years and it reminded me what a great book it is. The things girls do to boys, ey? Especially teenage ones.
Written by Jeffrey Eugenides, but some of the best descriptions about being a young woman I’ve ever read. Also, of lust.
‘We felt the imprisonment of being a girl… We knew that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them. We knew that they knew everything about us and that we couldn’t fathom them at all.’
Trip, as an adult, recalling Lux:
‘She was the still point of the turning world.’
Trip to Lux in the school auditorium, whispered:
‘You’re the stone fox.’
The narrator says of his and his friends memories of the Lisbon sisters, that they are made:
‘…happier with dreams than with wives.’
On grief and the loss of love, after the suicides:
‘In the end we had pieces of the puzzle, but no matter how we put them together, gaps remained. Oddly shaped emptiness mapped by what surrounded them, like countries we couldn’t name. What lingered after them was not life, but the most trivial list of mundane facts. A clock ticking on the wall, a room dim at noon, the outrageousness of a human being thinking only of herself. We began the impossible process of trying to forget them.’