“You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?”
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<b>Crank. Glass. Ice. Crystal. Whatever you call it, it's all the same: a monster. And once it's got hold of you, this monster will never let you go.</b><br><br>Kristina thinks she can control the urge, the addiction, the monster trying to drag her down. Now with a baby to care for, she's determined to be the one deciding when and how much, the one calling the shots. But the monster is too strong, and before she knows it, Kristina is back in its grips. She needs the monster to keep going, to face the pressures of day-to-day life. She needs it to feel alive.<br> <br> Once again the monster takes over Kristina's life and she will do anything for it, including giving up the one person who gives her the unconditional love she craves—her baby.<br> <br> A vivid portrait of a victim to addiction, this sequel to <i>Crank</i> is the continuing story of Kristina and her descent back to hell. Told in verse, it's a harrowing and disturbing look at addiction and the damage that it inflicts.
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Ellen Hopkins
Canonical work source
“You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?”
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“In England, coffeehouses were dubbed penny-universities, because for the admission price of one cent, a person could sit and be edified all day long by scholars, merchants, travelers, commun...”
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“Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days. It is as if I could dip my hand down into time and scoop up blue and green lozenges of April heat a year...”
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“At meals Mama and Papa would observe each other from opposite ends of the long table, and Mama's grey eyes would fly angry silences at Papa, who would catch them in his enormous mustache. Th...”
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“The basic rules of male-female relations were imparted atmospherically in our family, no direct speech allowed.”
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“I don't know why we stopped reading together, but gradually we were not doing it regularly, and then without realizing it was happening we were reading different books, and gradually we came...”
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“There is nowhere morning does not go.”
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“Girls are cruelest to themselves. Someone like Emily Brontë, who remained a girl all her life despite her body as a woman, had cruelty drifted up in all the cracks of her like spring snow.”
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