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She cans blueberries. She reassures her daughter that a loose tooth is nothing to worry about. She goes face-to-face with bears and doesn’t break a sweat. And in the opening pages of Blueberries for Sal, she looks right at you, the reader, with a look that says, Yah, you wish. (Note: My wife looks sufficiently enough like the Sal’s mom in Blueberries For Sal that our daughter points and says “mama” when she sees this character. I look nothing like Sal’s dad, and I hate that motherfucker. I mean, he digs for clams, rows a boat and fixes a motor all in like ten pages. I write words on the internet and forgot how to sleep six months ago.)