conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled A Greyhound of a Girl about Emer, Tansey, Mary with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gr 5-8-"Cheeky," Dublin-raised Mary O'Hara, 12, is "not a little girl anymore," but she is still a child in many ways. With her beloved grandmother, Emer, dying in the hospital, Mary meets Tansey, her great-grandmother's ghost. Tansey has returned to assure Emer that dying is not so bad and "it'll all be grand." The narrative skips between time periods and the point of view alters among the perspectives of Mary, her mother, Emer, and Tansey. Readers learn that Tansey died of the flu in 1928 when Emer was only three and has been lingering near her ever since. The four generations of women go on a late-night road trip to the old family farm and the sea, a journey that allows them to learn about one another and helps them cope with past and future losses. The Irish dialect may delight some readers but frustrate others. Windows into the past give depth and meaning to each woman's struggle. The theme that love and affection are handed down through generations of women is a bit understated, but that's part of its charm. Occasionally, the frequent dialogue becomes tiresome and reads more like poetry. Pair this story with Jacqueline Kelly's The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate (Holt, 2009). An affecting story about growing up, family, life, and death.-Richelle Roth, Boone County Public Library, KY(c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Greyhound of a Girl
  She came home at the same time most days, and she usually came home with her best friend, Ava. But today was different, because Ava wasn't with Mary. Ava had moved to another part of Dublin the day before, with her family. Today, some of the neighbors looked out their windows and saw Mary, alone. They knew all about it, of course. These were people who looked out windows. They'd seen the removals lorry outside Ava's house. They'd seen Mary and Ava hug each other, and they'd seen Ava get into their car and follow the removals lorry. As the car moved slowly up the street, they'd seen Mary wave, and run into her house. They might have heard the front door slam. They might have heard Mary's feet charging up the stairs, and the springs under Mary's mattress groan when she fell facedown on the bed. They probably didn't hear her crying, and they definitely didn't hear the softer sound of the bedsprings a little later when Mary realized that, although she was heartbroken, she was also starving. So she got up and went downstairs to the kitchen and ate until her face was stiff.
  Today, Mary walked alone, up the hill. She was nearly home. There were just a few houses left before she got to hers. There was a gap between the trees for a while, so the raindrops fell on her. But she didn't notice them, or care.
  Someone had once told her that people who'd had their leg cut off still felt the leg, even a long time after they'd lost it. They felt an itch and went to scratch, and remembered that there was no leg there. That was how Mary felt. She felt Ava walking beside her. She knew she wasn't, but she looked anyway—and that made it worse.
  Mary knew: Ava was somewhere else in Dublin, only seven kilometers away. But if she'd been acting in a film or a play and she was told she had to cry, she'd have thought of Ava and crying would have been easy. Feeling angry and looking angry would have been easy too. Mary couldn't understand why people moved house. It was stupid. And she couldn't understand why parents—Ava's parents—said no when two friends—Mary and Ava—asked if it was okay if one of them—Ava—didn't move but, instead, lived with the other friend—Mary.
  Which was exactly the sort of stupid thing that adults said. They saw two best friends clinging to each other, wanting to die rather than be separated—and they said it was sweet.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'The terror now was that she'd fall but wouldn't wake'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The terror now was that she'd fall but wouldn't wake. She'd keep falling, and the fall would never stop.
  Her grandmother held her hand. The bedroom door was open, at the top of the stairs. The curtains were closed. There were women in there, kneeling at the bed, praying, whispering to themselves. Emer could see their rosary beads. She saw one line of beads move as fingers finished with one bead and moved on to the next one.
  The women heard her grandmother's weight on the floorboards, and they stood up. One of them smiled at Emer. Emer knew her, and she'd see her many times later on, when she went to school and sat beside the woman's daughter, Noreen Cash, and Noreen became Emer's best friend, until the whole family of Cashes, every one of them, went to America, when Emer and Noreen were ten.
  Her mammy's face was lovely there, except for the pennies. Her hair was combed and shining, even in the dark. Her hands were together, on top of the quilt. Her rings were perfect and polished.
  Her grandmother picked her up. She held Emer over the bed, as if she was going to drop her onto her mammy and her mammy would wake and laugh and catch her.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mary and her mother waited, then they slowly slid off the bed. They leaned across and both kissed Emer's forehead.
  She hugged her mother, and her father. She even hugged her brothers. The room was full of sobs and snorts and sighs.
  She let go of Scarlett and got out of bed. She went across to her window. Scarlett went with her and they both looked out, at the night and the swaying trees. The streetlights lit the leaves, and when a car went by, the headlights seemed to make them dance. They watched the leaves bob and the branches sway.
  Scarlett opened the window, and now they could hear the rasping of the leaves. They could imagine they heard voices and laughter as people they couldn't see moved among the leaves.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mary and her mother waited, then they slowly slid off the bed. They leaned across and both kissed Emer's forehead.
  She hugged her mother, and her father. She even hugged her brothers. The room was full of sobs and snorts and sighs.
  She let go of Scarlett and got out of bed. She went across to her window. Scarlett went with her and they both looked out, at the night and the swaying trees. The streetlights lit the leaves, and when a car went by, the headlights seemed to make them dance. They watched the leaves bob and the branches sway.
  Scarlett opened the window, and now they could hear the rasping of the leaves.