{"product_id":"angel-hannah-isbn-9780593134320","title":"Angel \u0026 Hannah","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe sweeping, unforgettable story of an interracial couple in 1990s New York City who are determined to protect their love against all odds—a reimagining of \u003ci\u003eRomeo and Juliet\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Triumphant . . . sensuous, tender, and faceted like cut glass.”—Cathy Park Hong, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eMinor Feelings\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHannah, a Korean American girl from Queens, New York, and Angel, a Puerto Rican boy from Brooklyn, fall in love in the spring of 1993 at a quinceañera: \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eunder a torn pink streamer\u003cbr\u003eloose as a tendril of hair—lush—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis eyes. Darkluminous. Warm. A blush\u003cbr\u003efloods her. Hannah sucks in her breath, but \u003cbr\u003ecan’t pull back. Music fades. A hush ~\u003cbr\u003ehe’s a young buck in the underbrush,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003estill in a disco ball dance of shadow \u0026amp; light\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir forbidden love instantly and wildly blooms along the Jackie Robinson Expressway. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTold across the changing seasons, \u003ci\u003eAngel \u0026amp; Hannah \u003c\/i\u003eholds all of the tension and cadence of blank verse while adding dynamic and expressive language rooted in a long tradition of hip-hop and spoken word, creating new and magnetic forms. The poetry of Angel and Hannah’s relationship is dynamic, arresting, observant, and magical, conveying the intimacies and sacrifices of love and family and the devastating realities of struggle and loss.“Ishle Yi Park speaks to us from the most tender, furious, and emotionally raw space in her breathtaking novel in verse. \u003ci\u003eAngel \u0026amp; Hannah \u003c\/i\u003emakes love feel revolutionary and desire feel like embattled truth. Reading it, I was often breathless, believing in the brilliance that is the bruised wonder of youth. Park brings us as close to a heart’s fire as we are willing to go and leaves us soaring over the possibility of a new dream.”\u003cb\u003e—Tina Chang, award-winning poet and author of \u003ci\u003eHybrida\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I love the way that verse and form offer a type of restraint, inside of which the imagination of both writer and reader can flourish. Ishle Yi Park does a stunning job of using bursts of language and imagery to reconceptualize and reframe a familiar narrative. I loved sinking into the world of this book. I could feel the seasons changing.”\u003cb\u003e—Hanif Abdurraqib, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eA Fortune for Your Disaster\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eGo Ahead in the Rain\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eAngel \u0026amp; Hannah\u003c\/i\u003e is a gorgeously written, unforgettable, sweet, and wild love story. In the heart of Queens and Brooklyn, we feel the electricity of a first love, race and culture, desire and trouble, as the young lovers come alive, ‘stunned in sweetness.’ Park writes, ‘Why are they in love, you ask? Why does water love sky? Moon chase sun? Light reflect light?’ The brilliant, cinematic verse and boundless heart let us breathe in the music of Angel and Hannah’s grace and grief. I love and recommend this book with my whole heart.”\u003cb\u003e—Lee Herrick, former poet laureate of Fresno, California, and author of \u003ci\u003eScar and Flower\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eAngel \u0026amp; Hannah \u003c\/i\u003eis triumphant. Ishle Yi Park’s narrative sequence of sonnets is sensuous, tender, and faceted like cut glass. I feel protective of\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eAngel and Hannah. I want their love to flourish like an empress tree growing in an abandoned lot in Queens. These fresh and absolutely necessary poems of a cross-racial romance need to be trumpeted from the rooftops, overtaking the canonized Romeos and Juliets and Heathcliffs and Catherines. I love this book.”\u003cb\u003e—Cathy Park Hong, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eMinor Feelings\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eIshle Yi Park\u003c\/b\u003e is the first woman to become poet laureate of Queens, New York. An award-winning poet, singer, hula dancer, surfer, certified yoga teacher, lomilomi practitioner, and mother, she’s traveled the world reading and performing at universities and writing festivals. Park has organized benefits and shared the stage with other activists, including Sonia Sanchez and Angela Davis. She is of Korean ancestry, and both her daughters were born and are now being raised on the Hawai’ian islands.\u003cb\u003eI.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePrimavera\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSpring\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePsst. Ven acá. Illuwah.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLet me whisper you a story.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWay back in the spring of 1993,\u003cbr\u003eHannah met Angel in the heart of Jamaica, Queens.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were crossing Union Turnpike in da blue of the night\u003cbr\u003ewhen they caught eyes. Froze like winter headlights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was shock at first sight, loud as lightning, da charge\u003cbr\u003ebetween them nearly stopped traffic\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eas the city slipped away like a raw silk dress\u003cbr\u003e~stood two wingless angels, a lovely mess\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ebut desde el primero, Love was put to the test\u003cbr\u003eHannah kept Angel hidden from her strict parents,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003enestled in his twin bed, imagined them a rebel\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eRomeo \u0026amp; Juliet\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(the book slept dog-­eared in her JanSport as she cradled\u003cbr\u003ehis head, \u0026amp; dreamt a wild new life: star-­crossed, star-­blessed).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePerfect\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy second grade, Hannah learns how to please.\u003cbr\u003eSits first row, hand raised like a timid daisy.\u003cbr\u003e96% on math, 100% on spelling.\u003cbr\u003eMs. Olive wants her to skip a grade.\u003cbr\u003ePerfect, except when she turns mute,\u003cbr\u003ewhen her eyelids droop like deadweights.\u003cbr\u003eNo one knows her father robbed her sleep,\u003cbr\u003ekicking her mother at night. How she stood between,\u003cbr\u003ea boxing referee, sobbing, \u003ci\u003eHajimah!\u003c\/i\u003e Stop it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePlease\u003c\/i\u003e . . . voice crumbling like chalk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNext morning, her mother pulls Hannah’s hair\u003cbr\u003einto two high, happy pigtails. Clips her OshKosh dungarees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBe good girl\u003c\/i\u003e, Uma asks. \u003ci\u003eYes, Uma,\u003c\/i\u003e Hannah says, voice bright\u003cbr\u003e\u0026amp; thin as her classroom’s sick fluorescent lights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLittle Soldier\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn second grade, Angel’s a small, inept soldier,\u003cbr\u003eshoved daily by Alex, one head taller, one year older,\u003cbr\u003ewho calls him Red-­bone, Spic, Rice n’ Beans.\u003cbr\u003eCokebottle glasses enlarge Angel’s eyes as he finger-­traces\u003cbr\u003ewords in \u003ci\u003eLassie. Bark\u003c\/i\u003e becomes \u003ci\u003edark.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConsonants loom like pines.\u003cbr\u003eHe’s sunless, compassless\u003cbr\u003ein the last row’s backwoods. No one\u003cbr\u003esearches for him. Mr. Heller, lost in crosswords,\u003cbr\u003esips coffee. Snaps, \u003ci\u003ewill ya shut up please?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAll of you—­heads down! Keep reading.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnder his desk, Angel breaks a pencil . . .\u003cbr\u003ea quiet pressure of thumbs —­ crackk! —­\u003cbr\u003eMr. Heller’s head shoots up, a startled buck —­\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWho did that?\u003c\/i\u003e Silence. Alex’s spitball\u003cbr\u003egrazes Angel’s ear, a white bullet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eBefore Angel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe neighborhood whizzes past her. Hannah flees.\u003cbr\u003eRides her ten-­speed to the bay, air tinged\u003cbr\u003ewith gull-­squawks and salt-­wind.\u003cbr\u003eA tongue of rock laps into water. She\u003cbr\u003ewalks barefoot over crevices, stinkweed,\u003cbr\u003ea stone with Tony \u0026amp; Gina forever inked\u003cbr\u003ein Wite-­Out. A rat clinks past a Heineken.\u003cbr\u003eShe stares out to where the sky bleeds\u003cbr\u003eblue into water, to the very edge\u003cbr\u003eof herself. She wishes herself there. Past\u003cbr\u003ethe low slurp and suck of ebb \u0026amp; tide,\u003cbr\u003epast Apa’s backhanded slap,\u003cbr\u003efist choked with Uma’s hair, where a crescent\u003cbr\u003emoon thins like a daughter pedaling into air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBed\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHannah lies on a bed of books at night.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe enters them, portals to escape\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ethe sad, repressed air of her parents,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eshe flies on a magic carpet of words\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eout the window over wild, lush gardens,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eto fat gold pear trees. Leaps off fire escapes,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eto moonscapes where a stallion huffs\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eand paws at the broken silver beneath\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eher hooves, she feels their ghost snorts\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eon her neck as she nuzzles them,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ethe stallion crunches fat green apples, words\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003elike duende, hearth, tribe, flute her ears . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ethin book ~ spines press against her spine,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eand shadowy pages billow with her breath.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAviation\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAngel goes to Aviation High School,\u003cbr\u003ecuz even though he rarely leaves his hood,\u003cbr\u003ehe dreams of soaring sky high, a cool\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003elegend in control of flight ~ he can\u003cbr\u003etaste the sweet wind, when he makes a fleet of paper planes\u003cbr\u003ein class, but Mr. Heller misunderstands\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis daydreams for disrespect, claims\u003cbr\u003eAngel aimed the paper missiles to hit his balding head.\u003cbr\u003eSuspended for three days. Teachers are all the same,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe thinks, while rolling up a Philly blunt.\u003cbr\u003eHe’ll get his high another way now, blowing\u003cbr\u003eO’s of gray smoke out his kitchen window for fun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInside, he feels a small despair growing,\u003cbr\u003ebut keeps his guard up, no hurt showing.","brand":"One World","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303109284069,"sku":"NP9780593134320","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593134320.jpg?v=1767721578","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/angel-hannah-isbn-9780593134320","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}