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The Language of Flowers: A Novel Paperback – April 3, 2012
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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
The Victorian language of flowers was used to convey romantic expressions: honeysuckle for devotion, asters for patience, and red roses for love. But for Victoria Jones, it’s been more useful in communicating mistrust and solitude. After a childhood spent in the foster-care system, she is unable to get close to anybody, and her only connection to the world is through flowers and their meanings. Now eighteen and emancipated from the system with nowhere to go, Victoria realizes she has a gift for helping others through the flowers she chooses for them. But an unexpected encounter with a mysterious stranger has her questioning what’s been missing in her life. And when she’s forced to confront a painful secret from her past, she must decide whether it’s worth risking everything for a second chance at happiness.
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- Print length334 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherBallantine Books
- Publication dateApril 3, 2012
- Dimensions5.17 x 0.81 x 7.98 inches
- ISBN-100345525558
- ISBN-13978-0345525550
The chilling story of the abduction of two teenagers, their escape, and the dark secrets that, years later, bring them back to the scene of the crime. | Learn more
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Instantly entrancing.”—Elle
“[An] original and brilliant first novel . . . a mesmerizing storyteller . . . I would like to hand Vanessa Diffenbaugh a bouquet of bouvardia (enthusiasm), gladiolus (you pierce my heart) and lisianthus (appreciation). . . . And there is one more sprig I should add to her bouquet: a single pink carnation (I will never forget you).”—Brigitte Weeks, The Washington Post
“A captivating novel in which a single sprig of rosemary speaks louder than words . . . The Language of Flowers deftly weaves the sweetness of newfound love with the heartache of past mistakes. . . . [It] will certainly change how you choose your next bouquet.”—Minneapolis Star Tribune
“Fascinating . . . Diffenbaugh clearly knows both the human heart and her plants, and she keeps us rooting for the damaged Victoria.”—O: The Oprah Magazine (book of the week)
“Diffenbaugh effortlessly spins this enchanting tale, making even her prickly protagonist impossible not to love.”—Entertainment Weekly
“Compelling . . . immensely engaging . . . unabashedly romantic . . . an emotional arc of almost unbearable poignance.”—The Boston Globe
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
For eight years I dreamed of fire. Trees ignited as I passed them; oceans burned. The sugary smoke settled in my hair as I slept, the scent like a cloud left on my pillow as I rose. Even so, the moment my mattress started to burn, I bolted awake. The sharp, chemical smell was nothing like the hazy syrup of my dreams; the two were as different as Indian and Carolina jasmine, separation and attachment. They could not be confused.
Standing in the middle of the room, I located the source of the fire. A neat row of wooden matches lined the foot of the bed. They ignited, one after the next, a glowing picket fence across the piped edging. Watching them light, I felt a terror unequal to the size of the flickering flames, and for a paralyzing moment I was ten years old again, desperate and hopeful in a way I had never been before and would never be again.
But the bare synthetic mattress did not ignite like the thistle had in late October. It smoldered, and then the fire went out.
It was my eighteenth birthday.
In the living room, a row of fidgeting girls sat on the sagging couch. Their eyes scanned my body and settled on my bare, unburned feet. One girl looked relieved; another disappointed. If I’d been staying another week, I would have remembered each expression. I would have retaliated with rusty nails in the soles of shoes or small pebbles in bowls of chili. Once, I’d held the end of a glowing metal clothes hanger to a sleeping roommate’s shoulder, for an offense less severe than arson.
But in an hour, I’d be gone. The girls knew this, every one.
From the center of the couch, a girl stood up. She looked young—?fifteen, sixteen at most—and was pretty in a way I didn’t see much of: good posture, clear skin, new clothes. I didn’t immediately recognize her, but when she crossed the room there was something familiar about the way she walked, arms bent and aggressive. Though she’d just moved in, she was not a stranger; it struck me that I’d lived with her before, in the years after Elizabeth, when I was at my most angry and violent.
Inches from my body, she stopped, her chin jutting into the space between us.
“The fire,” she said evenly, “was from all of us. Happy birthday.”
Behind her, the row of girls on the couch squirmed. A hood was pulled up, a blanket wrapped tighter. Morning light flickered across a line of lowered eyes, and the girls looked suddenly young, trapped. The only ways out of a group home like this one were to run away, age out, or be institutionalized. Level 14 kids weren’t adopted; they rarely, if ever, went home. These girls knew their prospects. In their eyes was nothing but fear: of me, of their housemates, of the life they had earned or been given. I felt an unexpected rush of pity. I was leaving; they had no choice but to stay.
I tried to push my way toward the door, but the girl stepped to the side, blocking my path.
“Move,” I said.
A young woman working the night shift poked her head out of the kitchen. She was probably not yet twenty, and more terrified of me than any of the girls in the room.
“Please,” she said, her voice begging. “This is her last morning. Just let her go.”
I waited, ready, as the girl before me pulled her stomach in, fists clenched tight. But after a moment, she shook her head and turned away. I walked around her.
I had an hour before Meredith would come for me. Opening the front door, I stepped outside. It was a foggy San Francisco morning, the concrete porch cool on my bare feet. I paused, thinking. I’d planned to gather a response for the girls, something biting and hateful, but I felt strangely forgiving. Maybe it was because I was eighteen, because, all at once, it was over for me, that I was able to feel tenderness toward their crime. Before I left, I wanted to say something to combat the fear in their eyes.
Walking down Fell, I turned onto Market. My steps slowed as I reached a busy intersection, unsure of where to go. Any other day I would have plucked annuals from Duboce Park, scoured the overgrown lot at Page and Buchanan, or stolen herbs from the neighborhood market. For most of a decade I’d spent every spare moment memorizing the meanings and scientific descriptions of individual flowers, but the knowledge went mostly unutilized. I used the same flowers again and again: a bouquet of marigold, grief; a bucket of thistle, misanthropy; a pinch of dried basil, hate. Only occasionally did my communication vary: a pocketful of red carnations for the judge when I realized I would never go back to the vineyard, and peony for Meredith, as often as I could find it. Now, searching Market Street for a florist, I scoured my mental dictionary.
After three blocks I came to a liquor store, where paper-wrapped bouquets wilted in buckets under the barred windows. I paused in front of the store. They were mostly mixed arrangements, their messages conflicting. The selection of solid bouquets was small: standard roses in red and pink, a wilting bunch of striped carnations, and, bursting from its paper cone, a cluster of purple dahlias. Dignity. Immediately, I knew it was the message I wanted to give. Turning my back to the angled mirror above the door, I tucked the flowers inside my coat and ran.
I was out of breath by the time I returned to the house. The living room was empty, and I stepped inside to unwrap the dahlias. The flowers were perfect starbursts, layers of white-tipped purple petals unfurling from tight buds of a center. Biting off an elastic band, I detangled the stems. The girls would never understand the meaning of the dahlias (the meaning itself an ambiguous statement of encouragement); even so, I felt an unfamiliar lightness as I paced the long hall, slipping a stem under each closed bedroom door.
The remaining flowers I gave to the young woman who’d worked the night shift. She was standing by the kitchen window, waiting for her replacement.
“Thank you,” she said when I handed her the bouquet, confusion in her voice. She twirled the stiff stems between her palms.
Meredith arrived at ten o’clock, as she’d told me she would. I waited on the front porch, a cardboard box balanced on my thighs. In eighteen years I’d collected mostly books: the Dictionary of Flowers and Peterson Field Guide to Pacific States Wildflowers, both sent to me by Elizabeth a month after I left her home; botany textbooks from libraries all over the East Bay; thin paperback volumes of Victorian poetry stolen from quiet bookstores. Stacks of folded clothes covered the books, a collection of found and stolen items, some that fit, many that did not. Meredith was taking me to The Gathering House, a transitional home in the Outer Sunset. I’d been on the waiting list since I was ten.
“Happy birthday,” Meredith said as I put my box on the backseat of her county car. I didn’t say anything. We both knew that it might or might not have been my birthday. My first court report listed my age as approximately three weeks; my birth date and location were unknown, as were my biological parents. August 1 had been chosen for purposes of emancipation, not celebration.
I slunk into the front seat next to Meredith and closed the door, waiting for her to pull away from the curb. Her acrylic fingernails tapped against the steering wheel. I buckled my seat belt. Still, the car did not move. I turned to face Meredith. I had not changed out of my pajamas, and I pulled my flannel-covered knees up to my chest and wrapped my jacket around my legs. My eyes scanned the roof of Meredith’s car as I waited for her to speak.
“Well, are you ready?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“This is it, you know,” she said. “Your life starts here. No one to blame but yourself from here on out.”
Meredith Combs, the social worker responsible for selecting the stream of adoptive families that gave me back, wanted to talk to me about blame.
Product details
- Publisher : Ballantine Books; Reprint edition (April 3, 2012)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 334 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0345525558
- ISBN-13 : 978-0345525550
- Item Weight : 2.31 pounds
- Dimensions : 5.17 x 0.81 x 7.98 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #12,365 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #255 in Family Saga Fiction
- #316 in Psychological Fiction (Books)
- #1,306 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Vanessa Diffenbaugh was born and raised in northern California. After studying creative writing, she went on to teach art and technology to youth in low-income communities. She and her husband PK have four children: Donovan, Tre'von, Graciela and Miles. Vanessa is also the co-founder of Camellia Network, whose mission is to create a nationwide movement to support youth transitioning from foster care. She and and her family live in Monterey, California.
We Never Asked for Wings is her second novel. Her first, The Language of Flowers, was published in over forty countries, and was a Sunday Times Top Ten bestseller in the UK.
Customer reviews
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzed reviews to verify trustworthiness.
Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers enjoy the story and find it realistic. They appreciate learning about flowers and their meanings. The writing style is well-crafted and talented. Readers describe the emotional content as poignant without being sappy. They find the characters noble and favored. The book perfectly captures the essence of foster care and its effects on children.
AI-generated from the text of customer reviews
Customers enjoy the story. They find it engaging and true to life. Readers appreciate the author's realistic writing style and the first-person narrative. However, some feel the ending is disappointing.
"...And, holes need filling. Every detail, each symbol, each sub-theme, page by page means more to me now, almost as if I were beginning to..." Read more
"...The memories are explanatory for the reader, but at the same time serve as a catharsis for Victoria, whose actions are affected very much by her..." Read more
"...The story will not disappoint, and I recommend it to all and guarantee it will show you a perspective of humanity that you may have overlooked and..." Read more
"...Mystery and suspense are highly developed and it is only at the very end that all is revealed...." Read more
Customers enjoy learning about flowers and their meanings. They appreciate the book's focus on the language of flowers and its setting in summertime. The novel weaves together themes of mental health, motherhood, and gardening.
"...The title feels light-hearted, maybe literary, even botanical --- almost, even artificial. Yet, I know it’s not...." Read more
"...It is very old fashioned and very sweet. Angie went on to teach the language of flowers to her children, one of which, Mary, my mother, taught to me...." Read more
"...The novel features frequent retrospective chapters, going back to the time when Victoria was ten and the last adoption attempt was taking place...." Read more
"...This is a novel about growth, and the chance at healing. It is about optimism and perseverance...." Read more
Customers find the writing style engaging and well-crafted. They appreciate the author's talent and skill with strong verbs, powerful adjectives, and spot-on similes. The title feels lighthearted and literary, though some readers felt it stretched credulity a bit.
"...Why is the book called “The Language of Flowers?” The title feels light-hearted, maybe literary, even botanical --- almost, even artificial...." Read more
"...The redeeming aspect of this novel for me is the actual language of flowers...." Read more
"...to grow them, arrange them, and, as a bonus, she is familiar with the symbolic flower language...." Read more
"...She is good at using strong verbs, powerful adjectives, spot-on similes, and effective metaphors...." Read more
Customers find the book emotionally engaging and poignant. They appreciate the subtle characterization and the author's skill in creating tension between emotional themes. The book tugs at their heartstrings with its themes of love, abandonment, fear, revenge, forgiveness, and psychological depth. Readers value the hidden meanings of flowers and their symbolic and mystical aspects.
"...than simply Victoria's (Diffenbaugh's) flowers' symbolic and mystical meanings...." Read more
"...Language of Flowers" has everything a good novel needs: a great, emotionally loaded and well-told story, interesting cast of characters..." Read more
"...There is only one word I can use to describe this novel: heartwrenching...." Read more
"This is a beautiful story, although at times so sad and sorry. It's a story about foster children and how so many find it difficult to trust or love...." Read more
Customers like the character development. They find the characters good, noble, and incapable of anger. Elizabeth is their favorite character.
"...needs: a great, emotionally loaded and well-told story, interesting cast of characters..." Read more
"...It was difficult to put it down as the characters were multi-dimensional and it was intriguing how each person (primarily the main character)..." Read more
"...The supporting characters were quietly phenomenal. I suppose that is how I could describe the entire book. It was quietly brilliant...." Read more
"...A very interesting character and a great story of the ultimate power of love." Read more
Customers find the book insightful into foster children's experiences. They appreciate the realistic portrayal of the pitfalls and heartwarming message about relationships. The story gives readers compassion for foster children, even if they are not abused. They also value the complex relationships and human connections depicted in the book.
"...By slowly inching back into her broken life, she is realistic about her growth, which I believe is what set the story apart from any other generic "..." Read more
"...I liked this book which tells the tale of Victoria who survives the foster care system and makes a life for herself...." Read more
"...It was a different look at the foster care system, a topic I am passionate about...." Read more
"...It's also a love story - both romantic love and motherly love...." Read more
Customers find the book's flower meanings interesting. They appreciate the flowers' ability to reflect personalities and create a personalized dictionary. The book also highlights the heroine's floral arrangements and their support for the characters throughout the stories.
"...The novel is set in San Francisco, a beautiful city full of flowers in the summertime, an ideal setting for a book involving flowers...." Read more
"...It's actually conclusive and beautiful and not too oh-everything-is-going-to-be-perfect" Read more
"...I was really surprised how the flowers reflected my personality...." Read more
"...This relationship continues and produces a beautiful baby girl...." Read more
Customers find the book an excellent choice for book clubs. They say it's a good read for all ages, from high school to old age. The book is worth the time and can keep a book club discussion going for hours.
"...The language of the flowers, of course, made for fun discussion and challenges. We played a game based on flower trivia as it related to the fiction...." Read more
"...and I really hope they don't deter anyone from giving this wonderful book a chance. I read it in 24 hours on my Kindle...." Read more
"She already read and gifted to a friend. Good purchase" Read more
"...This would be a great selection for Book Clubs. For more reviews, check out my blog, Sarah's Book Shelves." Read more
Reviews with images
Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on April 24, 2020Only a day or two passed before I read “The Language of Flowers” a second time.
Thank goodness.
My memory, created during the first reading, holds story-holes. I created ugly potholes by not knowing which detail to understand, now or appreciate later --- during the first reading. And, holes need filling.
Every detail, each symbol, each sub-theme, page by page means more to me now, almost as if I were beginning to learn a new language. The second reading shows and validates details and sub-themes missed the first time. “It feels as if I’m reading a different book,” I say to myself. And I anticipate each additional reading will thicken understanding of what the story shares.
I love this story, as painful as it is at times..
During the first reading, I keep reading one more page, then one more chapter. Then I read another page, another chapter, on and on. To stop and wet my dry mouth and throat seems a time-waster. Each chapter introduces a surprise. Each chapter's last sentence keeps me anticipating the unexpected that Diffenbaugh will share next. While most of Victoria’s jaw-droppers displease me or make me feel uncomfortable, they keep fascinating and riveting my focus, as I read and turn page ... after page ... after page--- not able to stop.
Two questions birth themselves and stay with me, as I move through this tale:
• How real is this story? It feels like a dream, a bad one --- no, perhaps a nightmare, for all characters.
• Why is the book called “The Language of Flowers?” The title feels light-hearted, maybe literary, even botanical --- almost, even artificial. Yet, I know it’s not.
The second reading, I keep working to flesh-out a comfortable answer to the story’s purpose. Vanessa presents Victoria's story as a real-world experience --- yet it doesn’t feel believably so. Wounds and damages just don’t heal as quickly as the story's words and rhythms suggest, in real-life.
I ask: Might this story’s content be identified as a blend or a collage of an adult contemporary fairy tale, a fantasy, a story of secular-mysticism, a fictional memoir, a surrealistic metaphor, an unfinished psychological case-study draft?
Is it?
I wonder.
Perchance it’s imaginary.
I keep searching the story’s content. “Is it phantasmagoria-like?" I ask myself. "Does the text hide a less obvious more meaningful or realistic solution?"
Hmm?
Coincidently, I watched Offenbach’s fabulous opera “Les Contes de’ Hoffmann,” between my first and second readings. With tears in my eyes, I recognize that in the epilogue, sung by the muse (Kate Lindsey) and The Metropolitan Opera Chorus*, I hear Offenbach’s music, and the English subtitles answer the two questions which developed during my first read.
The opera’s ending words cause me to feel that Diffenbaugh’s muse might well have been like the one portrayed by Offenbach --- if not the same.
I share some words from Hoffman's opera for your consideration:
"Let the ashes of your heart rekindle your genius.
“Smile upon your sorrows with serenity.
“Your muse will comfort you.
“Your suffering will be blessed.
“One grows through love...and grows more through tears.
“Let the ashes of your heart...rekindle your genius.
“Smile upon your sorrows with serenity.
“Your muse will comfort you.
“Your suffering will be blessed.
“Love lends man greatness.
“Tears make him greater still. "
“The Language of Flowers” is about much, much more than simply Victoria's (Diffenbaugh's) flowers' symbolic and mystical meanings. May you grow from the pain and suffering you are likely to feel, about Victoria and memories of your life-experiences, while you read this remarkable book. What will your favored flowers communicate to you? What will you be trying to communicate with the someone to whom you send your selected flowers?
Victoria, Grant, and Elizabeth, and maybe you and me, grow and develop as we learn from life-experiences. And that we live individually and personally.
Let your muse speak insights to you.
As my reading-muse whispers insights from Diffenbaugh’s text, “The Language of Flowers” becomes increasingly valuable to me.
Some reviewers give 5-stars when a book introduces them to something that feels as if it's giving them an insight that may change their life. "The Language of Flowers" might be one that carries life-modifying and enriching insights. Insights revealed while reading a book that is shared surreptitiously, simultaneously, with another work that peels similar scales from our eyes, unexpectedly --- even when 180-years separate one text and the other. As they did in this review's example.
I gave the author’s book 4-stars when I finished the first read. After the second, I changed to 5-stars. Is there a rating higher than 5-stars, for me to use after I reread this wonderfully and beautifully written tale a third, fourth, and fifth time?
Yes, there is --- even though there is no place to validate higher rankings with a checkmark.
Instead, we may need to find a reading-muse to whisper Diffenbaugh’s secrets to us. And then be content with what we hear.
*(December 19, 2009 performance)
- Reviewed in the United States on March 17, 2014This is an interesting read because of the author's use of a Naive Narrator. When the story is told from the viewpoint of someone who is mentally or emotional ill, dysfunctional, or too young (think Huck Finn) to really understand the full ramifications of his/her actions or that of others, then an interesting and sometimes painful dicotomy arises between the "mature" reader and the main character. In other words, we know more than the narrator/main character. Such tension and agony arises as we watch the narrator plunge him/herself into more destructive episodes. That is the basis of this story which is filled with dysfunctional people.
What a pity they did not have a strong religious base from which to make decisions such as love one another, no adultery, loyalty to each other, adherence to proven commandments for happiness (wickedness never was happiness) etc.
What a strong indictment of generational dysfunction and how difficult it is to escape. The mentally ill mother leaves two daughters behind to struggle with the same kinds of mental illness, - One whose disloyalty and immorality produces such guilt that it destroys the only long lasting relationship she has in life, - And one whose obsessive loyalty to that dysfunctional sister prevents her from moving forward with her own life and loving relationships.
Then we have the main character's mother (and dad, if known) abandoning her child, which leads that child to feel unloveable, unwanted, and unworthy of love from anyone from there on, who then acts out in self-destructive ways, only to have the child/narrator do the very same thing to her female child. What a pity that the baby was not a boy because it seems that the male personality in this story is the only nearly sane person. And it is more than raging hormones that makes these women nuts! Grant - such a strong and giving name. Victoria - who is anything but victorious for 99% of the plot. The author needs to write a novel on the language of names!
The redeeming aspect of this novel for me is the actual language of flowers. My grandmother Angie Gabbott (1878) and her life time lover, my grandfather Robert Lindsay McGhie (1874)courted each other through letters wherein pressed flowers were inserted, expressing their current feelings and level of love and devotion to each other. It is very old fashioned and very sweet. Angie went on to teach the language of flowers to her children, one of which, Mary, my mother, taught to me. So my yard is filled with a variety of flowers, herbs, flowering bushes, and trees.
And being a self-described Shakespeare afficionado, I see the Elizabethan use of flowers describing characters and feelings as a device used through several centuries. That was what made this book fun for me. But then I'm a little weird. But knowing this kind of communication allows a certain level of refinement to enter into one's life too. Long live flower language. Let's pass it on to the next generation!
Top reviews from other countries
- Linda BabulicReviewed in Canada on September 1, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Heart breaking and heart warming at the same time.
How can it be that the emotions of each character is so deeply felt? Vanessa, you have reached into a depth of caring and humanity that everyone should experience. Well done.
-
Betty M.Reviewed in Mexico on August 23, 2023
5.0 out of 5 stars Hermoso libro
Hace mucho que lo quería. La espera valió la pena, es un libro muy lindo. Si te gustan las flores lo amarás
- ElleReviewed in Germany on December 26, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Beautiful book
My sister in law loved it
- HTRUReviewed in Spain on November 27, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Beautiful book
Love this and enjoy the quality of the printing. Wish it had the Heather flower included.
- NeelamReviewed in India on November 23, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Fascinating read!
Loved the book! Could read it again like seeing a movie that you loved, once again!!