Quotes from Mitali Perkins

I hope and pray that despite an unhealed past full of atrocities and deep divisions in the present, God can and will make "the distant near" and a "brother of the stranger" in America's future.

Good humor pokes fun at the powerful — not the weak.

American and Vietnamese characters alike leap to life through the voice and eyes of a tenyearold girl-a protagonist so strong, loving, and vivid I longed to hand her a wedge of freshly cut papaya.

There's something about putting words on a page in private that makes me feel powerful in public.

Where am I from? Can the answer be stories and words, some of theirs, some of mine?

rule number eight: noting ventured, nothing gained

My skin is soft and smooth and the color reminds me of rain-drenched earth. But it's as if the darkness of it keeps Ma from noticing my assets: curly hair, a round face that makes babies smile, deep dimples in both cheeks, big eyes that notice details other people miss. I like my face, even if Ma doesn't. I resemble Baba, and he's got presence.

Good humor pokes fun at the powerful — not the weak.

what counted was helping her father achieve his dream-and finding interesting stuff to put in her blog.

Thanks, Ms. Liberty! Is that a sari you're wearing? I hope not.

Ma comes to stand beside me, and our intruder makes a clucking sound of disapproval. "This one worries me, Ranee. She's very secretive.

I began to feel that this city is my home. It came nearer to my heart, not so distant. That's how it started, but now it's different. I am enjoying making friends my age in my church-non-Bengali friends who don't know the customs that keep a widow so lonely.

Libraries. How I love them. My source of stories. And solitude.

Masjid turns on the radio, and Rabindra Sangeet adds the perfect soundtrack to the scene: "Por ke korile nikot bondhu"—you bring the distant near. One of Baba's favorites.

Libraries. How I love them. My source of stories. And solitude. Where the musty smell of books greets me like the perfume in our grandmother's embrace. My old branch was two blocks from our London flat, and I went almost daily. The librarian and I both got teary when I said goodbye. And this library is almost as close! I'll get a library card tomorrow and carry back my first installment of books. Maybe I can also find a quiet corner to write in peace.

I wish the Ganges could wash the grief from my heart, but it can't.

I'm glad we're in the same school," I say, and drop a kiss on her head. In London we were enrolled in different schools because Sunny's so gifted. Here there's no separate school for extra-smart students, and she's coming in as a freshman, as they say, while I'll be a junior. With her around, I'll be sure to have one set of admiring eyes at least.

You read her diary! That's wrong, Ma!" Ma closes the incinerator door and raises her palms in the air like she's praying. "I have to find out what's going on in her head, don't I? It's my duty to keep her safe." "You'll make her dangerous instead," Starry answers.

pen. Where am I from? Can the answer be stories and words, some of theirs, some of mine?

A muddy river is a muddy river, whether it's in Bengal or in Baton Rouge.

Nothing makes you feel more beautiful than a sari.

My heart is still Bengali. Isn't Didu's?

Modest women have rights too, Coach,' I can't help adding.