conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Five Minutes More about DArcy, DArcys, ALS with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: DArcys dad used to tell her that she could survive anything for just five minutes more, but when he drives his car off a bridge, it appears that even five minutes more with ALS (Lou Gehrigs Disease) was too much for him. While trying to cope with her grief and adjust to her new, fatherless life, DArcy distances herself from everyone she was previously close to but finds a modicum of comfort in math tutor Seths unquestioning and uncomplicated presence. She also begins to cut class and drink, playing off the sympathy of teachers and counselors to get away with her indiscretions. Some revelations and final reconciliations seem rushed, but this compelling dramas bittersweet and hopeful conclusion is its salvation. Grades 7-10. --Heather Booth
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Soon, Seth, DArcy, complicated, noticed.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: DArcys dad used to tell her that she could survive anything for just five minutes more, but when he drives his car off a bridge, it appears that even five minutes more with ALS (Lou Gehrigs Disease) was too much for him. While trying to cope with her grief and adjust to her new, fatherless life, DArcy distances herself from everyone she was previously close to but finds a modicum of comfort in math tutor Seths unquestioning and uncomplicated presence. She also begins to cut class and drink, playing off the sympathy of teachers and counselors to get away with her indiscretions. Soon, though, Seth turns out to be much more complicated than DArcy had noticed in her fog of self-absorption, and his suicide attempt provokes her to run away from home. Some revelations and final reconciliations seem rushed, but this compelling dramas bittersweet and hopeful conclusion is its salvation. Grades 7-10. --Heather Booth
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Five Minutes More
  Cover and text design by Teresa Bubela Typesetting by Christine Toller Cover artwork by Getty Images Author photo by Kevin Ryan
  Mom and Mr. Rosborough are standing up now, so I get up too. "And no visitation," she says, smoothing her skirt.
  Mr. Rosborough is the funeral director. He's very tall and thin, with lots of white hair combed back from his forehead. He's wearing a dark blue suit and tie with a very white shirt. His skin is very white too, and he has deep hollows below his cheekbones, as though his face is just skin and bone and nothing else. He looks exactly how I would have expected a funeral director to look if I had ever actually thought about it before today.
  We go up to the second floor. I trail my hand up the banister. The wood is smooth and dark with age. This used to be someone's house. People lived here.
  My breath sticks in my chest. I hear myself make a sucking sound halfway between a gasp and a heave, but no one else seems to notice. There's nowhere to look and not see the coffins. They're hanging from the ceiling, mounted on the walls, displayed on stands in rows like some kind of death department store. There's polished wood, metals that gleam like new change, velour and even some kind of white vinyl with studs that looks like it was recycled from an old car seat.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Claire sighs and tucks her perfect blond hair behind her perfect tiny ear. "You're just a spoiled baby."
  The remaining carton of china is right beside me. I bend down, flip up the flaps of the box and pull out the first tissue-covered piece my hand touches. I hold it high above my head and then smash it to the floor. I don't even know what I've broken, but I like the sound it made. "Goo-goo gah-gah," I say to Claire.
  Mom is across the room in two steps. She grabs my arms and whips me around to face her. "What the hell's wrong with you?" she says. Her fingernails are pinching my skin. "You're going to replace that."
  Claire is down on one knee, picking shards of china out of the crumpled paper. "You can't replace this. It's not something you buy at Wal-Mart." Her face is all sharp edges and pinched-together lines.
  Claire's face is white with anger except for a small red spot on the edge of each perfect cheekbone. It looks like someone has pressed their thumbs hard into the skin. "Didn't you hear what I said? This china is irreplaceable. It was my grandmother's." She glares at me with angry, slitted eyes. "It was always supposed to be mine."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last two paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Tomorrow my mother and I are going to see Claire. I don't know if we can be the family Dad wanted, but I am going to try, harder than I have ever tried at anything before.
  Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease, attacks nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord, causing muscle weakness, atrophy and paralysis. There is no known cure. Suicide has been called a permanent solution to a temporary problem. If you suspect someone close to you is thinking about suicide, please tell someone.