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From the New York Times bestselling author of The Red Tent and Day After Night comes an unforgettable novel about family ties and values friendship and feminism told through the eyes of a young Jewish woman growing up in Boston in the early twentieth century Addie Baum is The Boston Girl born in 1900 to immigrant parents who were unprepared for and suspicious of America and its effect on their three daughters Growing up in the North End then a teeming multicultural neighborhood Addies intelligence and curiosity take her to a world her parents cant imagine-a world of short skirts movies celebrity culture and new opportunities for women Addie wants to finish high school and dreams of going to college She wants a career and to find true love Eighty-five-year-old Addie tells the story of her life to her twenty-two-year-old granddaughter who has asked her How did you get to be the woman you are today She begins in 1915 the year she found her voice and made friends who would help shape the course of her life From the one-room tenement apartment she shared with her parents and two sisters to the library group for girls she joins at a neighborhood settlement house to her first disastrous love affair Addie recalls her adventures with compassion for the naive girl she was and a wicked sense of humor Written with the same attention to historical detail and emotional resonance that made Anita Diamants previous novels bestsellers The Boston Girl is a moving portrait of one womans complicated life in twentieth century America and a fascinating look at a generation of women finding their places in a changing world



About the Author

Anita Diamant

In my first novel, The Red Tent, I re-imagined the culture of biblical women as close, sustaining, and strong, but I am not the least bit nostalgic for that world without antibiotics, or birth control, or the printed page. Women were restricted and vulnerable in body, mind, and spirit, a condition that persists wherever women are not permitted to read.

When I was a child, the public library on Osborne Terrace in Newark, New Jersey, was one of the first places I was allowed to walk to all by myself. I went every week, and I can still draw a map of the children's room, up a flight of stairs,where the Louisa May Alcott books were arranged to the left as you entered.
Nonfiction, near the middle of the room, was loaded with biographies. I read several about Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt, Marie Curie, Amelia Earhart, and Helen Keller, with whom I share a birthday.

But by the time I was 11, the children's library was starting to feel confining,so I snuck downstairs to the adult stacks for a copy of The Good Earth. (I had overheard a grown-up conversation about the book and it sounded interesting.) The librarian at the desk glanced at the title and said I wasn't old enough for the novel and furthermore my card only entitled me to take out children's books.

I defended my choice. I said my parents had given me permission, which was only half a fib since my mother and father had never denied me any book. Eventually,the librarian relented and I walked home, triumphant. I had access to the BIG LIBRARY. My world would never be the same.



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