Ruta Sepetys
Ruta Sepetys
Ruta Sepetys or Rūta Šepetysis a Lithuanian-American writer of historical fiction. She is best known for her novel, Between Shades of Gray, which was a New York Times Bestseller and Carnegie Medal finalist. Sepetys is a Rockefeller Foundation Bellagio Fellow and the first American writer of young adult literature to speak at the European Parliament. Her work is published in over forty countries and thirty languages...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth19 November 1967
CountryUnited States of America
I took several trips to New Orleans and met with people who had intimate knowledge of the underbelly of the city in the 1950s. The meetings were both fascinating and terrifying.
I took many trips down to New Orleans trying to experience the city as deeply as possible. I'm from Detroit so New Orleans seemed very exotic to me.
Charlie Marlowe never wrote horror, but somehow horror was writing Charlie Marlowe.
Man, you’re a regular Bonnie Parker.” “A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.” Jesse found that hysterical. “Did Willie say that?” “Nope, Mae West. Now, how do I get on this thing in a skirt?
If I poured all the lies I had told into the Mississippi, the river would rise and flood the city.
Willie said normal was boring and that I should be grateful that I had a touch of spice. She said no one cared about boring people, and when they died, they were forgotten, like something that slips behind the dresser.
It amazed me how some people could touch an instrument and create something so beautiful, and when others tried, like me, it just sounded like mangled noise.
One day when I was fourteen, I told Charlie that I hated Mother. “Don’t hate her, Jo,” he told me. “Feel sorry for her. She’s not near as smart as you. She wasn’t born with your compass, so she wanders around, bumping into all sorts of walls. That’s sad.” I understood what he meant, and it made me see Mother differently. But wasn’t there some sort of rule that said parents had to be smarter than their kids? It didn’t seem fair.
I left the jutra to chop wood. I began my walk through the snow, five kilometers to the tree line. That's when I saw it. A tiny silver of gold appeared between shades of gray on the horizon. I stared at the amber band of sunlight, smiling. The sun had returned. I closed my eyes. I felt Andrius moving close. "I'll see you," he said. "Yes, I will see you," I whispered "I will." I reached into my pocket and squeezed the stone.
Was it harder to die, or harder to be the one who survived?
Krasivaya. It means beautiful, but with strength. Unique.
You like me, Josie Moraine. You just don't know it yet.
I shut the bathroom door and caught sight of my face in the mirror. I had no idea how quickly it was to change, to fade. If I had, I would have stared at my reflection, memorizing it. It was the last time I would look into a real mirror for more than a decade.
My breathing slowed. I shaded her thick chestnut hair resting in a smooth curve against her face, a large bruise blazing across her cheek. I paused, looking over my shoulder to make certain I was alone. I drew her eye makeup, smudged by tears. In her watery eyes I drew the reflection of the commander, standing in front of her, his fist clenched. I continued to sketch, exhaled, and shook out my hands.