conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled No Star Nights about oral, richly, Ages with the genre: Children's Books, Literature & Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: PW likened this book about childhood in a steel-mill town to an "oral history" enhanced by "richly textured and subtly shaded paintings." Ages 3-8. <BR>Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: No Star Nights
  Summary: A young girl growing up in a steel mill town in the 1950s describes her childhood and how it was affected by the local industry.
  When I was little, we couldn't see the stars in the nighttime sky because the furnaces of the mill turned the darkness into a red glow. But we would lie on the hill and look up at the sky anyway and wait for a bright orange light that seemed to breathe in and out to spread across it. And we would know that the golden spark-spitting steel was being poured out of giant buckets into molds to cool.
  Then we would look down on a train pulling cars mounted with giant thimbles rocking back and forth. They were filled with fiery-hot molten slag that in the night glowed orange. And when they were dumped, the sky lit up again.
  A loud steam whistle that echoed off the hills announced the change of shifts, and hundreds of men streamed out of the mill's gates.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Members of the Kennel Club marched their dogs in circles and figure eights. Kids rode bikes decorated with colored crepe paper, flags, and balloons. The mayor drove an old-fashioned car, and his children threw bubblegum and candies into the crowds.
  We went to school across from the mill. The smokestacks towered above us and the smoke billowed out in great puffy clouds of red, orange, and yellow, but mostly the color of rust. Everything but the little bits of graphite, and they glinted like silver in the dust. At recess when the wind whirled these sharp, shiny metal pieces around, we girls would crouch so that our skirts touched the ground and kept our bare legs from being stung.
  We would squint our eyes when the wind blew to keep the graphite out. Once a piece got caught in my eye, and no matter how much I blinked or how much my eye watered, it wouldn't come out. When the eye doctor finally took it out and showed it to me, I was amazed that a speck that small could feel so big.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Everything—houses, red.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Members of the Kennel Club marched their dogs in circles and figure eights. Kids rode bikes decorated with colored crepe paper, flags, and balloons. The mayor drove an old-fashioned car, and his children threw bubblegum and candies into the crowds. 
  We went to school across from the mill. The smokestacks towered above us and the smoke billowed out in great puffy clouds of red, orange, and yellow, but mostly the color of rust. Everything—houses, hedges, old cars—was a rusty red color. Everything but the little bits of graphite, and they glinted like silver in the dust. At recess when the wind whirled these sharp, shiny metal pieces around, we girls would crouch so that our skirts touched the ground and kept our bare legs from being stung. 
  We would squint our eyes when the wind blew to keep the graphite out. Once a piece got caught in my eye, and no matter how much I blinked or how much my eye watered, it wouldn't come out. When the eye doctor finally took it out and showed it to me, I was amazed that a speck that small could feel so big.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The driver finally heard us, and leaning out the window of the cab, he saw the little girls. He nodded and waved his hand, then the truck lurched forward back onto the road and disappeared around the curve.
  We sank exhausted to the ground, our hearts pounding in our ears. The roar of the truck's engine became fainter and fainter. The sky around us was turning red and orange and gold.
  From its long straight row of stacks, clouds of orange smoke swirled into the colors of the sunset. In the distance a whistle blew.
  Many years have passed since then, and now the slag hill is covered with grasses and blackberry bushes and sumac trees. The night sky is clear and star-filled because the mill is shut down. The big buckets no longer pour the hot, yellow steel. The furnaces whose fires lit up everything are rusting and cold.
  Not many children live in the town now. Most of the younger people have moved away to other places to find work. The valley's steelworking way of life is gone forever. But whenever the grandchildren come back to visit, they love more than anything else to listen to stories about the days when all night long the sky glowed red.