By Francesca Lia Block
Lonely urban A tangly-haired, purple-eyed lady named Witch child lives in glitzy L.A. She loves a man named Angel Juan. whilst he leaves for brand spanking new York she is aware she needs to locate him. searching for Love So she heads for town of glittery structures and rubbish and chinese language nutrition and drug purchasers and subways and children taking part in hip-hopscotch. discovering hassle Her clues are an empty tree residence within the park, a postcard in the street, a model in a diner. Angel Juan is at risk, and purely Witch Baby's heart-magic could make him secure. whilst Angel Juan leaves L. A.—and Witch Baby—to play his track and locate himself in manhattan, Witch child, wild and stressed with no him, follows. the tale that ensues "is an engagingly eccentric mixture of delusion and fact, enhanced—this time—by secret and suspense. it's also magical, relocating and mischievous, and—literally—marvelous."—SLJ.
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Additional info for Missing Angel Juan (Weetzie Bat)
I wanted to move in,” he says. “All the greatest of the greats played the Apollo. James Brown. Josephine Baker dressed up like a chandelier or a 55 peacock. Weetzie’s mother was always dressing up in things like that when I met her. ” I look at the theater. I try to imagine the music steaming out and the people rushing in, the dancing, sweating, the lights like jewel rain glossy on everybody’s skin. But it just looks like a run-down theater to me. I wonder if Angel Juan saw the Apollo, if he felt sad or if he could imagine everything the way it was.
W e go down into the subway. It’s so different today. Charlie—he’s a dazzle at my shoulder like rhinestones splitting up the sun—whispers in my ear which way to skate. An old woman with a shopping cart full of fish and bursting flowers made out of bright-colored rags. She’s sitting on a bench sewing like she’s in her living room or her little shop, sewing fast like she can’t stop, more and more tropical finned flower fish and exotic polkadot flowers, like if she stopped the subway would turn real.
I’m jolted out of Jamaica. ” “Oh, Angel City. You won’t be finding too many of those here. ” I look out the window at the meat-packing plants lining the cobblestone streets by the river. Men are unloading marbly sides of beef from a truck. There isn’t much sign of Christmas out here. ” I ask. 29 “Angels,” he says. “I just need to find one,” I say. We pull up to the brownstone building where Charlie Bat lived and died. ” “I’ve heard things about that building, that’s all,” he says, helping me unload.
Missing Angel Juan (Weetzie Bat) by Francesca Lia Block