Caroline Stevermer
(from website)
Caroline Stevermer grew up miles from anywhere on a dairy farm in southeastern Minnesota. She has a sister and two brothers. After high school, she attended Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania, where she earned a B.A. degree in the history of art. She knew she wanted to be a writer when she was eight years old. She began by writing stories in her school notebooks. (They were not good. Many were not even finished. She persisted.)
By the time she graduated from college, she knew she would need to earn money in other ways, but she kept on writing. Her first professional sale was published by Ace in 1980. In the years since, she has had a variety of jobs and kept on writing. She likes libraries and museums. Her favorite painter is Nicholas Hilliard. Her favorite writer is Mark Twain. She lives in Minnesota.
“Thomas reached out and took my hand, turned it palm up, and said, "I believe that's healing very nicely." Aunt Charlotte opened the door just as he turned my hand over again and brushed a kiss across my knuckles. I experienced a nearly overpowering desire to hit him in the eye.”
“Luckily for you," he said, "you shed hairpins the way Hansel and Gretel shed crumbs. I followed your trail." He pressed a half dozen hairpins into the palm of my left hand. "Now let us return to light, safety, and society.”
“No, they'll dance with you and then say I am justly called mysterious," he said."You are odious.""Quite so, but admit you've never danced better than these last few moments when you were too angry to think about it.”
“How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules.”
“One is either packed or unpacked. There is no middle ground.”
“You must form your own fashions in a way which demonstrates that you flout the standards from knowledge, not from ignorance. . . But I may flout the standards? . . . Of course. What do you think standards are for?”
“Faris turned on him. "Why choose to wear black today, of all days? I know why I'm in black. Why are you? Mourning?He looked startled. "One does not wear mourning for a servant."You still don't understand, do you? He was not my servant."He regarded her anger, aghast. "What then? What else could he be?Her empty hands shook as she held them out to him. Her voice shook as she replied, "Glove to my hand." Slowly she closed her fists. "Everything.”