She's Like a Rainbow
Author: Eileen Colucci
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Release Date: June 13th, 2016
Book Description:
“The summer I turned ten, my life took a fairy tale turn.”
So begins Reema Ben Ghazi’s tale set in Morocco, SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW. Reema awakes one morning to find her skin has changed from whipped cream to dark chocolate. From then on, every few years she undergoes another metamorphosis, her color changing successively to red, yellow and ultimately brown. What is the cause of this strange condition and is there a cure? Does the legend of the White Buffalo have anything to do with it? As Reema struggles to find answers to these questions, she confronts the reactions of the people around her, including her strict and unsympathetic mother, Lalla Jamila; her timid younger sister, Zakia; and her two best friends, Batoul and Khalil. At the same time, she must deal with the trials of adolescence even as her friendship with Khalil turns to first love. One day, in her search for answers, Reema discovers a shocking secret – she may have been adopted at birth. As a result, Reema embarks on a quest to find her birth mother that takes her from twentieth-century Rabat to post-9/11 New York.
Reema’s humanity shines through her story, reminding us of all we have in common regardless of our particular cultural heritage. SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW, which will appeal to Teens as well as Adults, raises intriguing questions about identity and ethnicity.
Author: Eileen Colucci
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Release Date: June 13th, 2016
Book Description:
“The summer I turned ten, my life took a fairy tale turn.”
So begins Reema Ben Ghazi’s tale set in Morocco, SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW. Reema awakes one morning to find her skin has changed from whipped cream to dark chocolate. From then on, every few years she undergoes another metamorphosis, her color changing successively to red, yellow and ultimately brown. What is the cause of this strange condition and is there a cure? Does the legend of the White Buffalo have anything to do with it? As Reema struggles to find answers to these questions, she confronts the reactions of the people around her, including her strict and unsympathetic mother, Lalla Jamila; her timid younger sister, Zakia; and her two best friends, Batoul and Khalil. At the same time, she must deal with the trials of adolescence even as her friendship with Khalil turns to first love. One day, in her search for answers, Reema discovers a shocking secret – she may have been adopted at birth. As a result, Reema embarks on a quest to find her birth mother that takes her from twentieth-century Rabat to post-9/11 New York.
Reema’s humanity shines through her story, reminding us of all we have in common regardless of our particular cultural heritage. SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW, which will appeal to Teens as well as Adults, raises intriguing questions about identity and ethnicity.
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EXCERPT
Chapter 1 - Metamorphosis
The summer I turned ten, my life took a fairy tale turn. Perhaps I should begin my narrative with: “Once upon a time there was a very pale, whipped cream-colored girl who woke up one morning to find she had turned dark chocolate.”
It wasn’t quite that sudden actually. It wasn’t like what happens in that Franz Kafka story, Metamorphosis, where poor Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning to find he has turned into a bug. It wasn’t that yucky and gross really, at least not in the beginning. No, mine was a much subtler transformation, a gradual darkening of the skin much like what happens when you spend hours in the sun every day for an entire summer; except that my “tan” was a dark brown and did not fade.
We usually spent our summer vacations in the South. Mother’s younger sister, Soumiya, and her husband, Anis, owned a big farm near Agadir, in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Mother had mentioned taking us to the Costa del Sol that summer. By 1985, Spain was already becoming the preferred vacation spot of the Moroccan bourgeoisie of which Mother so aspired to be a part. She certainly had enough money to take us there. The small fortune that Father had left her when he died must have doubled or tripled by then. In addition to renting out several apartments, Mother ran a small but trendy clothing boutique in Rabat.
In the end though, despite having the means to travel abroad, Mother declared that it was better to spend time “in the countryside.” That meant in our own country, and so we found ourselves once again on the plane from Rabat to Agadir and then on the hot and winding road to the farm. I have often wondered if we had gone to Spain that summer whether my life might have taken a different turn. But I don’t really think so. I believe some things are destined or “written” as we say in Morocco; that our fate, like the color of our skin, is non-negotiable.
Uncle Anis picked us up at the airport in his big new Mercedes, purchased from an emigrant worker visiting for the month of July. As we left the city and climbed into the mountains, the scenery changed from chalky white to reddish brown to green. The tufts of sun-baked grass and mile after mile of all kinds of cactuses gave way to olive groves and argan trees. We passed a few boys selling argan oil on the side of the road, but there was no need to stop. My auntie, Tatie Soumiya, lived near the local cooperative and had a ready supply of oil as well as the skin-smoothing soap made from the same trees.
We did stop when we came to the Palm grove. Already tired and sticky from the journey, Zakia, my seven-year-old sister, and I insisted we sit on the white rocks a few minutes, dabbling our feet in the river. Uncle Anis offered us some fruit he’d brought along, small, bright yellow bananas called plantains.
But, even though we were hungry, Mother said, “Don’t eat anything until we get to the farm. You know what happens if you do.”
So, we splashed the cool water at each other and admired the little oasis, surrounded by evergreens and spiky palms and the beautiful mountains, while our stomachs growled. Back on the road, we were reminded why Mother was right about not eating. As we climbed into the mountains, the road became more and more twisty and the drop down into the river gorge more impressive.
“It’s too scary. I can’t look,” cried Zakia, covering her face with her hands.
“You’re such a baby,” I said. Just to bother her, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. The tires of the car seemed only inches from the edge of the cliff; so close that I felt a little dizzy.
“Close it right now,” Mother said. “You’re letting in all the dust from the road.”
“Sorry, the air conditioning isn’t working right,” Uncle Anis apologized. “I have to take it into the shop next week.”
He switched on the fan, but it did not help much and I ended up closing my eyes like Zakia and hoping we would get there soon.
Chapter 1 - Metamorphosis
The summer I turned ten, my life took a fairy tale turn. Perhaps I should begin my narrative with: “Once upon a time there was a very pale, whipped cream-colored girl who woke up one morning to find she had turned dark chocolate.”
It wasn’t quite that sudden actually. It wasn’t like what happens in that Franz Kafka story, Metamorphosis, where poor Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning to find he has turned into a bug. It wasn’t that yucky and gross really, at least not in the beginning. No, mine was a much subtler transformation, a gradual darkening of the skin much like what happens when you spend hours in the sun every day for an entire summer; except that my “tan” was a dark brown and did not fade.
We usually spent our summer vacations in the South. Mother’s younger sister, Soumiya, and her husband, Anis, owned a big farm near Agadir, in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Mother had mentioned taking us to the Costa del Sol that summer. By 1985, Spain was already becoming the preferred vacation spot of the Moroccan bourgeoisie of which Mother so aspired to be a part. She certainly had enough money to take us there. The small fortune that Father had left her when he died must have doubled or tripled by then. In addition to renting out several apartments, Mother ran a small but trendy clothing boutique in Rabat.
In the end though, despite having the means to travel abroad, Mother declared that it was better to spend time “in the countryside.” That meant in our own country, and so we found ourselves once again on the plane from Rabat to Agadir and then on the hot and winding road to the farm. I have often wondered if we had gone to Spain that summer whether my life might have taken a different turn. But I don’t really think so. I believe some things are destined or “written” as we say in Morocco; that our fate, like the color of our skin, is non-negotiable.
Uncle Anis picked us up at the airport in his big new Mercedes, purchased from an emigrant worker visiting for the month of July. As we left the city and climbed into the mountains, the scenery changed from chalky white to reddish brown to green. The tufts of sun-baked grass and mile after mile of all kinds of cactuses gave way to olive groves and argan trees. We passed a few boys selling argan oil on the side of the road, but there was no need to stop. My auntie, Tatie Soumiya, lived near the local cooperative and had a ready supply of oil as well as the skin-smoothing soap made from the same trees.
We did stop when we came to the Palm grove. Already tired and sticky from the journey, Zakia, my seven-year-old sister, and I insisted we sit on the white rocks a few minutes, dabbling our feet in the river. Uncle Anis offered us some fruit he’d brought along, small, bright yellow bananas called plantains.
But, even though we were hungry, Mother said, “Don’t eat anything until we get to the farm. You know what happens if you do.”
So, we splashed the cool water at each other and admired the little oasis, surrounded by evergreens and spiky palms and the beautiful mountains, while our stomachs growled. Back on the road, we were reminded why Mother was right about not eating. As we climbed into the mountains, the road became more and more twisty and the drop down into the river gorge more impressive.
“It’s too scary. I can’t look,” cried Zakia, covering her face with her hands.
“You’re such a baby,” I said. Just to bother her, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. The tires of the car seemed only inches from the edge of the cliff; so close that I felt a little dizzy.
“Close it right now,” Mother said. “You’re letting in all the dust from the road.”
“Sorry, the air conditioning isn’t working right,” Uncle Anis apologized. “I have to take it into the shop next week.”
He switched on the fan, but it did not help much and I ended up closing my eyes like Zakia and hoping we would get there soon.
About the Author
A native New Yorker, Eileen Colucci has been living in Rabat with her Moroccan husband for the past thirty-plus years. She is a former teacher and recently retired after twenty-eight years as a translator with the U.S. Embassy, Rabat. Her articles and short stories have appeared in various publications and ezines including Fodor's Morocco, Parents' Press, The New Dominion and Expat Women. SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW is her second novel.
A native New Yorker, Eileen Colucci has been living in Rabat with her Moroccan husband for the past thirty-plus years. She is a former teacher and recently retired after twenty-eight years as a translator with the U.S. Embassy, Rabat. Her articles and short stories have appeared in various publications and ezines including Fodor's Morocco, Parents' Press, The New Dominion and Expat Women. SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW is her second novel.
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This book sounds very interesting
ReplyDeleteThanks for hosting this giveaway :)
ReplyDeleteShe's like a rainbow sounds like a good read. Thank you
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like an emotional story.
ReplyDeleteSounds great,thanks for sharing!!
ReplyDeleteThis sounds like a very intriguing book. Unique cover!
ReplyDeleteLook like a great book. I like the imagery and word choice such as " whipped cream colored girl." I am not on Facebook so it will not allow me to enter the giveaway. Good luck to those that can.
ReplyDeleteLook like a great book. I like the imagery and word choice such as " whipped cream colored girl." I am not on Facebook so it will not allow me to enter the giveaway. Good luck to those that can.
ReplyDeleteThe book description and excerpt sounds intriguing. Thanks for sharing. Love the cover too.
ReplyDeleteThank you all for your interest and support! Hope you enjoy the book.
ReplyDeleteHere is a little bit more about me:
Colucci holds a BA in French and English from the University at Albany and an MA in Education from Framingham State University.
When not writing, Colucci enjoys practicing yoga, taking long walks and playing with her chocolate Labrador Retriever, Phoebo. Now that she and her husband have four grandchildren, they spend as much time as possible in Virginia with their two sons and their families.
Eileen Colucci
Thank you !
ReplyDeleteJust wanted to add that my husband, who is an architect and very good with CAD programs, designed the cover. We're so glad you like it!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the great giveaway!
ReplyDeleteI would really like this book! It seems amazing!