Excerpt from Suggested in the Stars by Yoko Tawada, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"What a boring show," Vita said, sounding like she was really into it, kneeling right in front of the TV. Her nose was almost touching the screen.

"Want to change the channel-panel?"

"You can't do that. A ghost-toast will come on."

"Ha, ha, ha," I laughed. Change the channel and get a ghost? That sounds like fun. C'mon you ghosts and ghouls, you shady old ladies  —  you're all a lot more fun than this dumb TV show. She said it was boring, then kept staring at the screen, not even blinking. She must really like this guy.

"Let's go to bed."

"I'm going to stay up-pup and watch TV. Because I really like this guy. He, he, he."

"Who-shoe?"

"Lars Von Trier-beer. He makes movies."

"That's a dumb thing to do."

"We're all living inside-bide the movies."

"What do you mean-green?"

"Dunno-go."

Vita sometimes says things even she doesn't understand. So do I. Not that we're lying. We just open our mouths and the words come out.

I hate mornings. The alarm clock is like a frying pan, shaking my body around, but I'm wrapped in a warm blanket and don't want to come out. I put my fingers in my ears and lie still. The ringing stops. Feeling happy, I sigh and roll over to sleep a little more. But the blanket's gone. I'm like an actor on a stage with a spotlight beaming down. It's too bright. Vita's looking down on me like the sun.

"Get up-pup."

I roll over, stick my butt in the air, lean on my arms, and slowly lift my head up  —  that's the easiest way to get up. When I'm on my back my tummy gets in the way, and that makes it harder.

Hope it rains again today. I hate having the sun beat down on me when I'm sleepy. I like rain. Vita loves the sun, so when it's bright outside, her face shines, too. Maybe all women are like that, more or less. I had a big sister who was like the sun, head of a company called Solar System. She was always bright and shiny, never got tired or shadowy. That's a story I made up when I was little to surprise my friends. "Sister sun, sister sun," I started singing and then for some reason the words "Brother moon" popped out.

That day all the breakfast plates were smeared with Nutella. Why did the patients spread Nutella on their plates instead of on the bread? It's sticky and nutelly, so it's hard to wash off. After I cleaned off the plates I sighed and sank down on the living room sofa, and that's when Dr. Velmer came down to our half basement. He's the only doctor I know. There are lots of doctors in the hospital, but none of the others have names. Just white coats. They never say anything to us, so we don't talk to them, either.

About six months ago, Dr. Velmer suddenly came down to see us.

"Please help me with my work," he said. "Next week, I'd like do a test on you, for my research on language."

Even though I didn't know him, I was happy he asked me to help, so I nodded.

"I'm going be a guinea pig," I told the counselor when she came the next day. She got really upset and came back with a lawyer who asked me in lots of different ways if I had agreed, of my own free will, to be part of Dr. Velmer's test. He told me why I shouldn't call myself a "guinea pig," too, but he talked for so long I can't remember what he said now.

"You told someone about that test," Dr. Velmer said, "so I got a real grilling." I could tell he wasn't happy with me, but even so he gave me some cookies from Scotland with lots of butter in them. Not that I'm going to let him bribe me into taking back what I said. Our counselor had warned me not to do that. "You must never accept a present from someone who asks you to tell a lie." she said. "That kind of present is called a bribe, and anyone who takes a bribe is a criminal."

Ever since then, when I watch the TV news about politicians taking bribes from a construction company, I think to myself, oh, so that's what our counselor was talking about. I'll bet those politicians got at least ten boxes of cookies  — how nice to get so many.

Excerpted from Suggested in the Stars by Yoko Tawanda. Copyright © 2024 by Yoko Tawanda. Excerpted by permission of New Directions Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.