{"product_id":"songs-in-ursa-major-isbn-9780593312377","title":"Songs in Ursa Major","description":"\u003cb\u003eA scintillating debut from a major new voice in fiction,\u003ci\u003e Songs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e is a love story set in 1969, alive with music, sex, and the trappings of fame.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRaised on an island off Massachusetts by a mother who wrote songs for famous musicians, Jane Quinn is singing in her own band before she's old enough to even read music. When folk legend Jesse Reid hears about Jane's performance at the island's music festival, a star is born--and so is a passionate love affair: they become inseparable when her band joins his on tour. Wary of being cast as his girlfriend--and haunted by her mother's shattered ambitions-- Jane shields her relationship from the public eye, but Jesse's star power pulls her into his orbit of fame. Caught up in the thrill of the road and the profound and lustful connection she has with Jesse, Jane is blind-sided by the discovery she makes about the dark secret beneath his music. Heartbroken and blackballed by the industry, Jane is now truly on her own: to make the music she loves, and to make peace with her family Shot through with the lyrics, the icons, the lore, the adrenaline of the early 70s music scene, \u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major \u003c\/i\u003epulses with romantic longing and asks the question so many female artists must face: What are we willing to sacrifice for our dreams?\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e New and Noteworthy Book • A\u003ci\u003e Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book to Read This Summer \u003cb\u003e•\u003c\/b\u003e A \u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e Must-Read Book\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Inspired by Joni Mitchell and James Taylor’s romance and creative collaboration, this alluring debut has an \u003ci\u003eAlmost Famous \u003c\/i\u003evibe as it explores the gritty—and sometimes chauvinistic—side of the music industry.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople, \u003c\/i\u003eBook of the Week\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “In the vein of \u003ci\u003eDaisy Jones and the Six\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Final Revival of Opal and Nev\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eSongs In Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e is an intoxicating chronicle of the music industry, inspired largely by the love affair between artists Joni Mitchell and James Taylor.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eElle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\"A delightfully engaging novel about music and chasing after your dreams... Brodie plays all the right chords in her debut... we could all use a bit of carefree fun as temperatures warm up this year. So whether you’re not quite ready to rip off your mask and go sway in the middle of a festival crowd, or you just need a break from all your post-vaccination celebrations, \u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e is a great opening act to the summer.\"\u003cbr\u003e—Cory Oldweiler,\u003ci\u003e The Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Brodie works with big themes — individuation, mental illness, legacy, self-destruction and redemption — but her touch is lighter than an onshore breeze. Little surprise that Village Roadshow has scooped the novel up for development as a movie... You can tell when a novelist truly loves her heroes and despises her villains... \u003ci\u003eUrsa Major \u003c\/i\u003eis plotted so tightly, its characters so vividly rendered, that you barely notice the author’s thumb on the scale.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eChris Vognar,\u003ci\u003e Los Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Emma Brodie's debut lilts easily between the power chords of a rock anthem and the soulful nostalgia of a blues ballad, evoking the seventies rock scene through two compelling protagonists: Jesse Reid, charismatic rock star on the rise, and Jane Quinn, electrically gifted songstress struggling to get her foot on the ladder of the music world. Their passion for each other, for performing, and above all for their music makes for splashy, engrossing reading. \u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major \u003c\/i\u003eis pure sun-soaked summer fun.\" \u003cbr\u003e—Kate Quinn, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Alice Network\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Buzzy... If you’re missing live music, look no further than \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eMajor \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eby Emma Brodie.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Real Simple\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Brodie captures the early-’70s singer\/songwriter scene in intricate detail, chronicling the ups and downs of the lives of working musicians—the grind of touring, the strain of recording, the joy of performing. But it’s also a novel about the inner life of a talented, unique woman determined to maintain her identity, even if it means sacrificing her chance at stardom.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eNanette Donohue,\u003ci\u003e The News-Gazette\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Entrancing… This superbly crafted debut novel immerses readers in a story of family, love, and music from the first page. Brodie makes a point about the destructive force of drug abuse, and bears witness to unsavory business practices in the music industry. This book would make a wonderful movie; readers will long for an album of Jane’s songs to go with it.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal,\u003c\/i\u003e starred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Inspired by the folk rock scene of the late 1960s and '70s, Brodie’s debut novel follows Jane Quinn, an ethereal and talented musician, as she navigates love, loss, and stardom... Brodie thoughtfully probes the different ways men and women were treated in the music industry: the men coddled and protected in the face of their faults while the women (especially rule breakers like Jane) were taken advantage of, undercut, and vilified... Brodie’s writing—about music, family, and grief—elevates the novel. An enjoyable debut that will appeal to fans of this iconic era.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Moving from New York to Los Angeles to Greece to the Grammys... Brodie's debut is a furious page turner, meditating on the glittering beast of fame.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In this spirited and fearless debut, Emma Brodie gets right to the heart of the matter: what—and who—will we sacrifice for art? Who has power over the stories we tell? What secrets will we keep for the people who love us? Like a perfect summer song, \u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e breathes new life into a familiar tune and will work its way into your heart and not let go.”\u003cbr\u003e  —Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Nest \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Good Company\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Emma Brodie is a gifted storyteller, taking us from exhilaration to heartbreak and back again, all the while tackling issues of sexism in the music industry, the stigma of mental illness, and the way artistry can cost us fame and vice versa. I loved this book.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e —Angie Kim, author of \u003ci\u003eMiracle Creek\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e reads like sexy, confessional liner notes to the age of the singer-songwriter. Emma Brodie sieves through history to give us a behind-the-scenes, behind-closed-doors view of an aspiring singer’s tumultuous rise to fame. But if Jane Quinn and Jesse Reid will be familiar to fans of Joni Mitchell and James Taylor, they are also intimate and sparklingly original. A drenching, delicious and impressive debut.”\u003cbr\u003e —Paula McLain, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Paris Wife \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e When the Stars Go Dark\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I’ve never read a book that so uniquely captures the experience of creativity and the shimmering coolness of being in a recording studio as music history is made.  Emma Brodie perfectly channels the languorous romance of the time and the beautiful struggle of an artistic soul trying to break free.  So many of the passages throughout \u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e are such pure poetry, I got chills as I read them.  I could drink a case of this book, and I’d still be on my feet.\"\u003cbr\u003e —Kevin Kwan, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eCrazy Rich Asians\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \"\u003ci\u003eSongs in Ursa Major\u003c\/i\u003e takes us on a propulsive journey: the rocky rise to stardom of a young singer songwriter who is as talented as she is beautiful, as vulnerable as she is ambitious, and as complicated as she is charismatic. Sexy, atmospheric, and entertaining — this novel is pure joy on the page.”\u003cbr\u003e —Christina Baker Kline, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOrphan Train\u003c\/i\u003eEMMA BRODIE has worked in book publishing for a decade, most recently as an Executive Editor at Little, Brown's Voracious imprint. She graduated from the Johns Hopkins University's Writing Seminars program, and is a longtime contributor to HuffPost and a faculty member at Catapult, Co. She lives in Brooklyn, NY with her husband and their dog, Freddie Mercury1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIsland Folk Fest\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSaturday, July 26, 1969\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs a stagehand cleared the dismantled pieces of Flower Moon’s drum set, the last shred of daylight formed a golden curve around the cymbal. It winked at the crowd; then the red sun slipped into the sea. In the gathering dusk, the platform shimmered like an enamel shell, reverberating with the audience’s anticipation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAny minute now, Jesse Reid would go on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis Wilks stood about thirty feet from the platform with the rest of the press. There was Billboard’s Zeke Felton, sharing a joint with a Flower Moon groupie in a beaded kaftan; Ted Munz from NME, reading over his notes under the nearest floodlight; Lee Harmon of Creem, trading stories with Time’s Jim Faust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Flower Moon groupie approached Curtis with the joint between her lips, eyeing the pass around his neck. It showed a picture of Curtis’s face—­which Keith Moon had once compared to “a homeless man’s Paddington Bear”—­printed above his name and the words Rolling Stone. The groupie offered Curtis the joint. He accepted it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis exhale became a brushstroke inside an Impressionist painting; swirls of smoke rose in the salty air, tanned limbs and youthful faces interweaving like daisy chains across the meadow. He handed the joint back to the girl and watched her skip into a ring of hippies. Someone had a conga; thrift-­store nymphs began dancing to an asynchronous rhythm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis had cut his teeth as a correspondent on the festival circuit. Berkeley, Philly, Big Sur, Newport—­none of them could touch Bayleen Island for atmosphere: the hike up the red clay cliffs, the wildflower meadow, the view of the Atlantic Ocean. There was something magical about having to take a ferry to get to a show.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he watched the girls dance, Curtis felt a wave of premature nostalgia. There was a sense in the industry that folk was on its way out; the Vietnam War had been dragging on so long, the protest songs that had made Dylan and Baez what they were now felt empty and tired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis had come to see what they’d all come to see: Jesse Reid ushering in a new epoch for the dying genre. As if on cue, the dancing girls began to sing Reid’s breakout single, their voices tremulous with excitement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My girl’s got beads of red and yellow,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer eyes are starry bright.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir feverish giggles recalled Curtis to the time a young Elvis Presley had played his high school in Gladewater, Texas, back in ’55. Eighteen-­year-­old Buddy Holly–­obsessed Curtis had watched girls he’d known since kindergarten openly weep, swept away by the fantasy that Elvis might choose them. The full Bye Bye Birdie. That was the power of a true rock star.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSoft-­spoken Jesse Reid’s persona couldn’t have been more different from Elvis’s, but Reid seemed to inspire the same devotion in his fans. He had the cowboy baritone of Kris Kristofferson (but Reid’s sounded effortless), and the lyrical guitar skills of Paul Simon—­plus, he was taller than both, with blue eyes that, according to Curtis’s guilty pleasure Snitch Magazine, were “the color of medium stonewash Levi’s.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She makes me feel so sweet and mellow,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe makes me feel all right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sweet and Mellow” was a Snickers bar of a song; to hear it was to crave it. Hands down the hit of the summer, it had been holding in Billboard’s top ten for eighteen weeks. Curtis had been tracking Reid since he opened for Fair Play at Wembley Stadium the previous year—­but this single from Reid’s self-­titled album had turned him from fringe hero to mainstream sensation overnight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd tonight, Reid would take his place as the heir apparent to folk rock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe crowd broke into applause as a bald man with a gray beard shuffled onstage—­Joe Maynard, the Festival Committee chair. The longer the audience clapped, the more pained Maynard looked. Curtis’s news radar bristled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes, hello, my beautiful friends,” he said. Maynard quieted the cheering with his hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it,” he said. “I’m afraid Jesse Reid won’t be performing tonight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis felt a stab of disappointment as his mental list of feature headlines turned to ash. A visceral shock wave passed through the crowd. One by one, dreamy expressions began to wilt, a field of dandelions turning white with anger, ready to blow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then they did. Cries of outrage rang the twilight like a bell. The girls who had been singing and dancing a moment before collapsed into sobs. Maynard shrank behind the mic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But we’ve got a great act for you up next—­it’ll just be a few minutes now,” he said, sweat gleaming at his temples. A second roar from the crowd buffeted him into the wings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis edged toward the platform. Something must have just happened—­he’d seen Reid’s A\u0026amp;R man backstage after Curtis had interviewed Flower Moon. Maybe Reid had gotten too drunk to go on. Maybe he’d lost it backstage. The festival tonight was performance number thirty-­six in a sixty-­arena global tour. Sometimes artists just cracked; Curtis had seen it before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe spied Mark Edison passing from the backstage area into the audience and caught his eye. Edison was a reporter for The Island Gazette, a local independent daily. Most of the Fest’s press corps found his snide antics insufferable, but he had always been useful to Curtis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe audience’s initial dismay had given way to movement. Amidst cries from the most stalwart Reid fanatics, lines had begun to form through the crowd, pushing toward the exits.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEdison reached Curtis. He offered Curtis his flask—­warm gin. They both drank deeply.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What’s happening back there?” said Curtis. “Where’s Reid?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEdison shook his head. They stepped aside as two girls thundered by, ripping up the peace love jesse sign they carried like a banner. Curtis did not envy the band about to perform to this mob.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who’s going on?” said Curtis. “Someone from tomorrow’s lineup?” Mark shook his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s a local band—­the Breakers,” said Mark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t know them,” said Curtis. “What’s their label?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Label?” said Mark. “They don’t have one. They’re just a bunch of kids. They were scheduled to play at the amateur stage down the hill, and the committee just scooped them up. The biggest show they’ve ever played is forty, fifty people.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Holy shit,” said Curtis. This was going to be a train wreck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he spoke, three young men began to set up onstage. They couldn’t have been more than twenty. The drummer looked the most filled out, with a chiseled jaw, shoulder-­length black hair, and almond-­toned skin. He and the bassist were clearly related; the bassist looked younger, hair shorn around his chin, a red bandanna tied across his brow. The guitarist was paler, with boyish features and a somber manner. His sandy hair flopped in front of his eyes as he tuned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We want Jesse!” a girl shrieked from over Curtis’s shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis began to wonder if it wasn’t better just to head back to town. The Elektra producers had rented a yacht and were hosting an after-­party for industry folk. Bayleen Island was only five miles from international waters, which meant good drugs; he could be flying within the hour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jesse Reid, Jesse Reid,” a chant rose up in the crowd among the faithful.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the boys checked their equipment, Curtis noticed a figure plugging in to the amplifier behind the drum set. As she straightened up, the spotlight caught her yellow hair, which hung down to her waist in a bolt of golden silk. Her clothing was simple: jean cutoffs and a white peasant shirt, an acoustic guitar strapped across her back. Her tanned legs looked girlish as she strode center stage, but she had a woman’s features: full lips, hollow cheekbones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe glowed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who is that?” said Curtis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jane Quinn,” said Mark. “Lead vocals and guitar.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs she got into position, the boys instinctively inched toward her. Their feet pawed the ground, like horses anxious at the starting gate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We want Jesse!” a hysterical girl cried out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJane Quinn stepped up to the mic. Curtis saw then that her feet were bare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wow,” she said, flushed with excitement. “Quite a view from up here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe crowd ignored her. Those headed toward the exits continued walking, as if she wasn’t there. A small contingent of Reid fans chanted his name like a descant over the din.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jesse Reid, Jesse Reid.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJane Quinn tried again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hi, everyone,” said Jane. “We’re the Breakers.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis had no impact; the crowd continued to chatter as though they were in a parking lot rather than at a concert. Onstage, the boys fidgeted in place. Jane exchanged a look with the guitarist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Get off the stage,” a shrill voice cried above the chaos.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJane glanced toward the drummer as though about to count off. She faltered. Curtis felt a wave of pity. How was this slip of a girl supposed to compete with one of the world’s biggest stars?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jesse Reid, Jesse Reid.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen Jane Quinn turned toward the crowd, squaring her shoulders. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She took a deep breath and placed a hand on the mic stand, closing her eyes. She stood perfectly still, listening. The crowd quieted half a decibel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen she opened her eyes, there was flint in her stare. She leaned toward the mic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My girl’s got beads of red and yellow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis’s heart skipped a beat as the chorus from “Sweet and Mellow” arched over the meadow like a silver comet. Jane’s bandmates exchanged mystified looks. The crowd gasped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHad she really just done that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Her eyes are starry bright.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJane Quinn surveyed the audience with self-­assurance, as though to say, I know you think you want Jesse Reid, but I’m about to show you something so much better. It was like watching someone hold a lighter up to a monsoon. The girl was bold as fuck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She makes me feel so sweet and mellow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat a range—­a soprano, in the school of Joan Baez and Judy Collins, though not nearly as patrician-­sounding as Collins, or as embattled as Baez. There was an untrained edge in her voice, an almost Appalachian coarseness, that raised the hair on Curtis’s neck. Just gorgeous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She makes me feel all right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJane glanced at her guitarist. He gave her a nod—­she had taken a leap, and they were right behind her. The root chords of the song were a simple A-major progression any practiced group could pick up. The drummer counted them in, and the Breakers began to play.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTime slowed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My girl makes every day a hello.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Jesse Reid sang “Sweet and Mellow,” his voice intoned the melody: no ornamentation, just his pure baritone and his guitar. As Jane Quinn sang, she cast off any memory of Reid’s rendition, adding runs and grace notes as she went, as though composing the song in real time. Curtis was astounded. She made choices no other musician would have—­or could have—­made.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Her eyes light up the night.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe crowd couldn’t help themselves—­they began to sing along. They had all come to witness a legend being born, and now they were: it just wasn’t Jesse Reid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She makes me feel so sweet and mellow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtis had been at Newport when Bob Dylan had walked onstage with his electric Fender Stratocaster. He’d been in Monterey two years later when Jimi Hendrix had lit his guitar on fire during “Wild Thing.” Neither compared to this. An unknown taking over the headlining spot—­a girl. They’d be talking about Island Folk Fest ’69 forever.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She makes me feel all right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThose who had been walking away turned back. Those who had been crying smiled. They whooped and cheered and kissed and hugged. When the song finished, they lost their minds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Janie Q!” shouted Edison, applauding beside Curtis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJanie Q.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It really is a beautiful night,” said Jane, as though continuing a conversation from earlier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith that, she counted the Breakers into their next song—­an up-­tempo original called “Indigo” that brought to mind “White Rabbit.” Curtis couldn’t catch the words, but the music was hot. The Breakers had a great sound—­a mix of art and psychedelic rock, all twisting notes and braying chords.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven so, Jane’s voice stole the show. Her loveliness felt personal—­it was impossible to look at her and not take flight in some small part of you. As she sang, Curtis felt that true rock-­star feeling—­he wanted her to see him. She gave her shoulders a small shimmy, light refracting off the silken strands of her hair. Then it happened. Jane Quinn grinned right at him. He just knew it.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303480348901,"sku":"NP9780593312377","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593312377.jpg?v=1767736957","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/songs-in-ursa-major-isbn-9780593312377","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}