Cecilia, just thirteen years old, secluded herself from the party "wearing, as usual, the wedding dress with the shorn hem. The dress was vintage 1920s. It had sequins on the bust she didn't fill out, and someone, either Cecilia herself or the owner of the used clothing store had cut off the bottom of the dress with a jagged stroke so that is ended above Cecilia's chafed knees. She sat on a barstool, staring into her punch glass, and the shapeless bag of a dress fell over her. She had colored her lips with red crayon, which gave her face a deranged harlot look, but she acted as though no one were there… The bandages had been removed, but she was wearing a collection of bracelets to hide the scars. Scotch tape held the undersides of the bracelets to Cecilia’s skin, so they wouldn’t slide. The wedding dress bore spots of hospital food, stewed carrots and beets.”
Eugenides lists a litany of eccentricities that, viewed as a whole, make up a sad human being. Yet, the manner in which he goes about introducing her various oddities is done in such a fashion that rather than trying to evoke pity for the girl with the slit wrists, he takes a stab at humor over the thought of someone wearing bracelets taped to their forearms. These bits of comic relief laced throughout the story have an inadvertent quality to them. It’s as if the author is not even trying to make light of the situation. The simplistic way that these teenage boys perceive the Lisbon family and the memories connected to the times spent with those girls end up coming across as euphemisms, such as the taped bracelets, the dance around the suicide attempt at hand and make the description funny. At times, the direct approach is shocking, for example when the neighbor down the street is referred to as “Joe the Retard”, but although the explicit style may be an acquired preference, we have enjoyed Eugenides' sneaky black humor so far.
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