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Because I Am Furniture, by Thalia Chaltas
Ebook Because I Am Furniture, by Thalia Chaltas
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Anke’s father is abusive to her brother and sister. But not to her. Because, to him, she is like furniture— not even worthy of the worst kind of attention. Then Anke makes the school volleyball team. She loves feeling her muscles after workouts, an ache that reminds her she is real. Even more, Anke loves the confidence that she gets from the sport. And as she learns to call for the ball on the court, she finds a voice she never knew she had. For the first time, Anke is making herself seen and heard, working toward the day she will be able to speak up loud enough to rescue everyone at home— including herself.
- Sales Rank: #317573 in Books
- Published on: 2010-02-23
- Released on: 2010-02-23
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.22" h x .94" w x 5.47" l, .60 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 368 pages
Review
Incendiary, devastating, yet in total offering empowerment and hope, Chaltas s poems leave an indelible mark. "Publishers Weekly", starred review
A harder read than it seems, but worth it. "Kirkus Reviews"
?Incendiary, devastating, yet?in total?offering empowerment and hope, Chaltas's poems leave an indelible mark.? ?"Publishers Weekly", starred review
?A harder read than it seems, but worth it.? ?"Kirkus Reviews"
"Incendiary, devastating, yet - in total - offering empowerment and hope, Chaltas's poems leave an indelible mark." - "Publishers Weekly", starred review
"A harder read than it seems, but worth it." - "Kirkus Reviews"
About the Author
As a teenager Thalia Chaltas wanted to do everything, and she envied people who knew without question what their life goal was. Thalia did preliminary training to be a kinesiologist, a helicopter pilot, and a fire fighter, and has at times been a bus driver, a ropes course instructor, and a contralto in an a capella group. Along the way she has played lots of volleyball, written poetry, and collected children’s books. And eventually, that anvil fell from the sky and she realized writing was what all this previous intensive training was for.
She has kept every poem she has ever written – except one. Because she can’t find it.
Thalia lives in California with her daughter. Because I Am Furniture is her first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I am always there.
But they don’t care if I am
because I am furniture.
I don’t get hit
I don’t get fondled
I don’t get love
because I am furniture.
Suits me fine.
When the garage door goes up
he’s home.
We close up conversation
and scuttle off like crabs
each to our room—
Shut the door.
Shut the door.
Shut the door.
Mom alone in the kitchen
where she should be
before the garage door goes down
and we are locked in hell.
Dinner.
He knocked Darren onto the linoleum.
I don’t remember his arm swing,
just Darren and his chair—
eight tangled limbs on the floor.
No reason that I could see.
But my father picked up his reasons and his
plate and went
to eat
in the living room.
Darren picked up his chair and himself and we
are now eating
in customary ice-age silence.
When I was much younger
Yaicha and Darren
would point at my nose
and say,
“You don’t look like us
your nose is different
you don’t belong.”
Yaicha and Darren
told me that I was
the mailman’s child,
and I got so angry,
stalking away,
hot steam in my ribs.
Yaicha and Darren
told me that I was
the mailman’s child
and now I am thinking
how wonderful it would be
to have
the mailman as
my father.
My mom.
At times I still want to
sigh,
curl into her,
nourish in her motherness,
especially
when she wears that
old suede jacket that
smells of fall leaves, like
the pliable leather armchair
left outside on the back porch.
But she doesn’t welcome that.
Maybe I am not that young anymore.
And when he is there
all her motherness
has to be
spent on
him.
Oh, yay
charity day
visiting Angeline the Wimp.
I see her often enough at school.
Don’t want to visit her house.
Since her dad
left her and her mousy mother
for some bouncy secretary in Texas
mom and I
are here
to
touch base, be friendly.
Our moms met way back when we were
in preschool.
Angeline irritates me—
she’s delusional,
terrified,
weak.
the ocean has “man-eating seaweed”
the garden has “corn-barfing worms”
the fancy sound system has “thought-tracking speakers.”
I didn’t choose to be friends with her.
Angeline doesn’t
have a father around
and my mom says she
really
needs one.
Maybe.
But
not
like
mine.
Scrubbing my volleyball knee pads
while I’m in the shower,
hot water,
way too much soap,
but, man,
three days of preseason training
on the sly
collected a hell of a stink.
The foam won’t dry out overnight.
My knees will probably
froth in soap bubbles
if I dare set foot in tryouts tomorrow.
First day.
Ninth grade.
High school.
Honking in the parking lot,
upperclassmen back smacking,
squeals of recognition,
a grimly nodding principal.
I’m supposed to feel something more than just
rattled
by the sheer number of people in the halls, right?
Scared?
Except that I’ve been in and out of
this building
a bunch of times for years—
Yaicha’s musicals,
Darren’s debate team.
I learned my classrooms from the map,
and I just spent whole days going to volleyball
training here,
so I kind of get it already.
I like school.
Not scared.
But excited in that
jiggering-on-too-much-hot-sauce
kind of way
that it’s time to
step out
of my old framework,
raw and amorphous,
to become something I’ve never thought of
before.
After school is a different story.
Volleyball tryouts.
I wasn’t going to do it.
Even though I crave it
I wasn’t supposed to
try out
because
my father said,
“Competition is dangerous for
a young girl’s mind.”
But I already like the girls from preseason
training.
And that tenth-grader Rona saw me
growing roots
outside the locker room
dangling my new volleyball sneakers
bought with my own money
in secret.
Rona looked me in the eye.
“You are going to put on some shorts, right?”
and as she steered me
through the splintered wood door
she told me
about some player last year
who tried out with mittens on
to protect her nylon nails.
Most helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Highly recommend!
By Rosie Gross
A fantastic read! My daughter picked up this book quite randomly, and both of us were hooked on the first page we read. She liked the book so much she asked for her own copy. I had never read a book in this format before, but the prose worked beautifully. I can't imagine the book would be nearly as touching and realistic without this format.
8 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Ultimately Empowering and Hopeful
By Mint910
Books written in verse are interesting. You would automatically think they would be easier to write because there are less words etc but I think they are actually harder to write. Having to get across just as much information and emotion with fewer words, each word holds greater meaning. I think this book does a wonderful job of telling a very emotional and important story with so few words.
I thought this would be really hard to read, and while it was it was also an empowering and hopeful book. To watch a young girl find her voice and not be afraid to use it, it was powerful. It was also interesting to see inside of this house, with all the terror and abuse that happens that no one ever say anything or ask for help. That's just the way the family was and they would rather deal with it that privately than make a change to their family. I thought the author did a great job of revealing the mentality of this family and made it easy to understand and believe.
I haven't read many books in verse and I still struggle with them a little bit. At least for me, sometimes things don't come off as clearly as they could, I get the basic idea but sometimes wonder if I'm always understanding everything correctly. Maybe that's just me! All in all a powerful and important book that really packs an emotional punch.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Amazing Debut Novel!
By Emereld2
I picked Because I Am Furniture off a cart of books being processed this afternoon and started paging through it. I was a little put off by the "in verse" style, but after reading the book jacket, decided to give it a try.
Wow. Although this is a heavy subject, the book is easy to read. I am in awe of Chalta's storytelling; every word counts and there is no filler. We are in Anke's head, and it's not an easy place to be. She is vaguely aware of the abuse her father piles on her mother and two older siblings, but the family is in a conspiracy of silence. She understands that it's pathetic to feel left out of the abuse, but one can't help what he or she feels. Being spared means being ignored, being ignored means being worthless.
Entering high school, she defies her father by joining the volleyball team. This decision has unforeseen consequences on the entire family. Once Anke discovers her sense of self-worth, she becomes a force to be reckoned with.
Highly recommended!
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