“When he awakens her, they begin to build a confessional from all that they have. A sacred place, where words can be stripped bare. A sanctuary for thirst and ambition.”
– Elle Wonders, Mapa da Boa.
Excerpt from Pour Mon Bzou:
“A blaze of epiphany. Like baneberries in dim light, he could not have imagined the whites of her eyes. Her stare caught his flaws, like fireflies in a bell jar, and his good fortune wandered off like a gypsy.”
Excerpt from The Dirty Little Shrine:
“She sees the hunger in his face, but not in his heart, because like the sound on her tongue, it has been hidden. “If my heart was pulled out of my chest and put, beating, in front of you, would you know what it wants?” he asks. Look how easily he betrays his heart for her, ripping it out of his chest like an Aztec god. She just nods as they sit in their dinner bath, and play like warriors, and he sees how her fire begins in her mouth. Like a dragon.
And there was feeling back in his chest.”
Genre: Memoir/Satire
Synopsis
In her early forties, during a period of restlessness, Elle Wonders narrowly escapes a mid-life crisis by planning not one but three trips to Europe. After two back-to-back vacations to England and Norway, Elle embarks on a ten day road trip around Ireland and Northern Ireland with her favorite Englishman and their newly adopted potato. This sometimes witty and poignant memoir chronicles the many shenanigans they attend to in country pubs, old graveyards, and long winding roads that inevitably lead to stinging nettles and a cuppa tea.
In their quest for freedom and alcohol and with nary a travel itinerary or GPS in site, Elle and Pierre (her very English traveling companion with a French name) navigate their way past real-life zombies, stressful roundabouts, and locals who insist on telling them six irrelevant stories when all they want is directions to a nearby petrol station before their rental car runs out of fuel (and Pierre runs out of bacon flavored crisps).
In typical style the exasperating pair spend their days on the open road quarreling over the rules of food-ordering etiquette and the proper way to read (and fold) a genuine paper road map. They narrowly escape a run-in with traveler-folk, stumble upon a stampede of (semi) wild sheep, and very nearly steal the sweetest dog ever from a small village beach. But they experience true enlightenment during a long drunken night in Galway, where in a seemingly normal pub they encounter evil fiddlers who play never-ending songs and an assortment of old Irish men who distract Elle with non-stop dancing while their sons plot marriage proposals.
By the time this journey of madness and delight comes to an end, the exhausted duo discover the secret to cross-cultural friendship, the value of rust-free water, and the fact that petrol stations that sell bonafide Irish potatoes is what you will find at the end of a rainbow.
Oh, and there may or may not be a bit of nudity along the way. And quite possibly crown theft, leprechauns, and a small amount of crying. But not necessarily in that order.
© Elle Wonders 2009–2016
C’est Lou qu’on la nommait
Il est des loups de toute sorte
Je connais le plus inhumain
Mon cœur que le diable l’emporte
Et qu’il le dépose à sa porte
N’est plus qu’un jouet dans sa mainGuillaume Apollinaire (1880 – 1918)
There are wolves of all kind.
I know the most inhuman.
My heart, the devil takes,
and deposits at his door,
is no more than a toy in his hand.
