By Paulina Porizkova
An incisive, superbly written first novel by means of a former twiglet that explores the glamorous and gritty international she inhabitedOnly a handful of ladies on the planet have skilled what Paulina Porizkova has -- being whisked away to version in Paris whereas nonetheless undefined, attaining the head of the career earlier than her schoolmates had even graduated -- and less nonetheless have the perception to catch it on paper.In her first novel, Paulina tells the tale of Jirina. A tall, scrawny fifteen-year-old lady from Sweden, she's even more conversant in scoffs and disdain than admiration and affection, no matter if from her classmates or her circle of relatives. that each one adjustments while her merely buddy, Hatty, asks to perform her make-up and images talents on Jirina. nearly ahead of she is familiar with it Jirina is on a aircraft to Paris, the place she's going to spend the summer season in a milieu totally alien to her. residing on the domestic of her modeling agency's proprietor and continuously subjected to blunt actual exams, catty and sometimes merciless fellow types, and womanizing photographers -- and, miraculously sufficient, whereas occasionally feeling actually appealing -- Jirina embarks on a trip past her wildest imaginings. among photograph shoots in Italy and Morocco and events with types and musicians, Jirina manages to make a number of associates, fall in love, and, finally, suppose the very grownup ache of betrayal and heartbreak.Told with the grace, simplicity, and accuracy which may simply come from real-life adventure, A version summer time is either the debut of a significantly proficient novelist and an surprisingly well-informed glance behind the curtain at an international many folks fantasize approximately, yet few particularly understand.
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The noise intensifies and I yawn to unclog my ears. ” I shout to Britta, who has resumed her position. ” BRITTA HAS A NICE, sleek suitcase with polished metal locks, but it hits the luggage carousel at the very end along with my lumpy orange duffel. So much for my theory that nice luggage travels faster. We get in line for a taxi and inhale French air, which seems mostly composed of cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. It’s a little past noon and the flat, leaden sky threatens rain. My stomach lurches uncomfortably.
Numbers and math have never been my strong suit. One page, however, gives me pause. it goes on and on listing beautifying equipment, half of which I’ve never heard of. I’m also told I need “different shades of panty hose, flesh-colored lingerie, slips, scarves, and jewelry,” and that I needn’t be reminded that my lingerie and myself should be impeccably clean for my own image. I glance over at Britta, who’s splayed out and gently snoring. Does she have all those things? How the hell am I supposed to acquire them with a hundred francs?
It’s worse than a slap. Marina holds her awkwardly. “Goddamn fucking nanny’s day off,” she mutters. ” She holds out the child to me, while Olympe struggles to stay with her mother. “Non, maman. ” “I’ll get her a bottle,” Marina says and stomps off. Olympe goes stiff in my arms again and I struggle to get a better hold on her. “Look. Look at the fish, le poisson jaune—il est—” What’s the word for funny-looking? I suck in my cheeks and bulge out my eyes. A fish face. ” I have her attention now. A hesitant smile creeps across her face.
A model summer by Paulina Porizkova