То есть по базовому сюжету - очередная "Лолита" с вариациями, ей 18, ему 54, и все, что из этого следует. То есть, прочитав аннотацию, я бы не заинтересовалась. И манера изложения - не цепляет. Но некая изюминка все же присутствует. То есть какое-то обаяние, мягкий юмор, раздумчивая печаль...
Совершенно потрясающий пассаж про freckle people:
'Look, these freckles are not me. I'm me. Underneath. The real me.' But nobody could see the real me. And to be absolutely honest nobody much wanted to. They say until you've had a thing yourself - a stammer or a slipped disc - you cant' truly know what it's like. That applies to freckles. And even when you meet a fellow sufferer you avoid the subject like the plague; which is what it feeils like sometimes even though that might sound rather exaggerated. You can't get used to it because you see it every morning and every night when you brush your teeth and wash your face. Always there. And make-up's hopelss. Either you put on a mask like a circus clown or you throw in the towel. I threw in the towel at sixteen. Lipstick just about made it although my lips look like old potato skins; mascara and eyebrow pencil smuggled their way through; a touch of powder on the nose where there was a particularly evil freckle which at one stage. I was convinced, would turn into a wart; that was my lot.
People expect you to be a certain type of person when you have freckles. You're supposed to be the girl next-door. The next-door to where I lived was half a mile away. The expect you to say 'gosh' and be this terrific sport, full of whim, bursting into laughter at the slightest hint of anything amusing. Freckled people who don't behave like that - and I did not - are thought to have something a bit wrong about them. No sense of humour. No 'go' in them. I always find people with 'go' a little wearing.
Apart from putting a bag over your head - which I thought of trying once or twice as a young girl - we didn't have 'teenagers' then <...> - you just had to get on with it. Even the usual comparisons were not a great help. It was better than being blind, I would say. But was it? I knew a blind girl and everybody was lovely to her. It helped I suppose that she was lovely-looking. But there was a contentment about her that I never felt. Better that having just one leg? Artificial legs were improving by the day. They could even bicycle with them now. Better than having a hare-lip? They could operate on that. No, stupidly, I settled on freckles as the worst of all disasters that could have befallen me.
C ума сойти. А я так ужасно завидую рыжим. Фарфоровым, светящимся личикам с озорными веснушками... Ах, я была бы типичной веснушчатой a girl next-door...
приятные новые для меня обороты:
near the knuckle на грани неприличного ( о рассказе, шутке и т. п. )
tarred with the same brush/stick — одним миром мазаны; одним лыком шиты
речь идет о мини-юбке - the one that went up to my waist and showed off everything including the family silver
throw in the towel - поднимать лапки кверху
dyed-in-the-wool закоренелый, бескомпромиссный ( столь же не способный измениться, как цвет пряжи, полученной из предварительно окрашенной шерсти)
помогать; брать под свое крыло to give smb. a leg up
howler что-л. вопиющее, из ряда вон выходящее; грубая ошибка
I wouldn't have called the Queen my aunt - ни на что не променяю