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    Dusssie
    Dusssie
    Dusssie
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    Dusssie

    By Nancy Springer

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Dusie is having a bad day of mythological proportions

    Dusie wakes up one morning to a hissing sound. As she catches her reflection in the mirror, she finds that her hair has turned into snakes. That’s right—snakes. But her mom seems totally unfazed. That’s because underneath the turban, Dusie’s mom has a crown of vipers. She is an immortal gorgon—a kind of goddess—and had hoped Dusie wouldn’t inherit the family curse since her father was a mortal, but it looks like Dusie is stuck with it too.

    Middle school is tough enough without being cursed, and Dusie—or Dusssie, as the snakes call her—is about to learn that being half gorgon comes with its own set of challenges. She tries to keep her snakes hidden, but when a boy at school nearly blows her cover, Dusie is desperate to figure out a way to control her newfound powers. Growing up, with or without snakes for hair, isn’t kid stuff.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateDec 30, 2014
    ISBN9781497688735
    Dusssie
    Author

    Nancy Springer

    NANCY SPRINGER is the author of the nationally bestselling Enola Holmes novels, including The Case of the Missing Marquess, which was made into the hit Netflix movie, Enola Holmes. She is the author of more than 50 other books for children and adults. She has won many awards, including two Edgar Awards, and has been published in more than thirty countries. She lives in Florida.

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    Reviews for Dusssie

    3.5/5

    27 ratings4 reviews

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    • 4/5
      I like this! Poor Dusie - not only does she get her first period unexpectedly, the next day she wakes up with a head full of snakes. Standard American middle school student suddenly has to deal with being the daughter of a gorgon, the existence of a good many other mythological females (the Siren, the Sphinx (Greek, not Egyptian), etc), and her own abilities as a gorgon. Including petrifying the cute boy she's had her eye on, when he teases her a bit too much and gets her angry... Oh yes, and unlike her mother, Dusie (short for Medusa) can hear her snakes talking in her head - and they can hear her. Cy is confusing - I kept expecting him to turn out to be some kind of monster-hunter, but he seems to be just what he is. Nice ending, too - not too sweet, but solutions to a heck of a lot of problems. There are some convenient plot holes - Dusie's mom is petrified of being found out, but she still sends her daughter to a psychiatrist because she can hear the snakes, for instance. Still, fun story and nice moral(s) (though a leeetle bit too heavy-handed, I think - at least, reading as an adult). Enjoyable.
    • 5/5
      Dusie is having a bad day. Puberty has hit and it has hit 13 year old Dusie with a real curve. Not only is it her 'time of the month,' she has also woken up to find that she has a full head of writhing snakes instead of hair! Talk about freaking out!When her mother sees here the reaction is one of 'oh dear' and not freaking. Seems there is something that Dusie's mom has never told her. The reason why her mom wears a turban all the time? It isn't because she is a well known sculptor and it is just an artistic quirk. Nope, seems Dusie's mom is really a Gorgon...like in Greek mythology. In fact, Dusie is named for her aunt Medusa!This is just swell! How will Dusie ever get a boyfriend with a rainbow of snakes on her head? Don't boys notice the girls with nice clothes, hair and skin?On top of this she runs into the boy of her dreams and gives him a look that practically turns him into.... I don't want to give the whole story away.It is entertaining and there is a lesson to be learned from what Dusie goes through. A bit more meat to a humorous tale of a teen learning about life.
    • 4/5
      Springer, Nancy. (2007). Dusssie. New York: Walker & Company.0802796494166 pages.Appetizer: The morning after Dusie gets her first period she wakes to discover her hair has transformed into snakes (luckily, none of them are poisonous!). While this causes a wee-bit of a panic for thirteen-year-old Dusie, her mom doesn't seem to be surprised. In fact, it would seem her mother may have dreaded this. But even her mom is surprised when Dusie realizes she can hear the thoughts of all her new 27 snakes on her head.The shocking change on the top of her head leads Dusie to uncover the secrets her mother has been keeping from her all Dusie's life and she'll embark on a journey of self-discovery (as opposed to a mythological quest) to find a way to undo the magic curse.With both references to fairy tales and Greek Myths, it'd be easy to think of Dusssie as a "girl-version" of the Percy Jackson series. Dusssie is more focused on emotions and a potential romance than adventure. Dusie wants to feel loved, but she's not certain she can find love with 27 snakes slithering on top of her head. While there is a hint of a prophecy (or riddle, as the case may be) this book is more rooted in the personal, instead of a nation-saving quest. It feels a lot like an allegory, exploring a lot of the tensions of femininity and girl-becoming-womanhood-ness. Stuff.I thought Springer did an excllent job of putting the reader (me!) in the mind-set of what it would be like to have...snakes for hair. An early scene shows the snakes feeling threated when Dusie tries to return to school. How do the snakes attempt to deal with their fear? Well...."Deploy musssk! Deploy fecesss!" (p. 19).The horror. And, ewwwww (but also hilarious!). That would be a very not fun condition to deal with. It made me so thankful that my hair was an ordinary bunch of dead cells. Thank you, world, for that.Previously, I'd read Springer's first Enola Holmes mystery, The Case of the Missing Marquess. I absolutely LOVED the feminist twists she presented in Victorian England by giving Sherlock Holmes a super clever little sister. And that sense of female empowerment is also in Dusssie (which, personally, makes me want to do a little feminist happy dance. What does a feminist happy dance look like? It may or may not involve a lot of bending and flexing of muscles. That's all I'll possibly (not) reveal).As I was reading, I felt that Dusie's maturation from a girl into a woman and coming to terms with who her mother was and is seemed to be the heart of the story. Of course, others may disagree. (I would, of course, love to read your interpretations in the comments!)Some one else may want to focus on the way beauty is perceived. A teacher could also use this book with a lesson on the snakes that are commonly found in the U.S.A. To better understand her condtion, Dusie researches what the types of snakes are on her head (and this serves as a metaphor for her getting to know herself as well).But now, having been so positive for all these paragraphs, let's take a moment to look at the book cover once more:Hmmm. I don't like it. While it definitely made me think of Medusa, nothing about the girl's face would want to make me pick the book up. Plus, I didn't get that the middle 's' was being spelled with a snake at first. (This is especially confusing because the character's actual name is Dusie. Only the snakes call her Dusssie.)I think the cover is too literal. It doesn't make me want to pick up this story. Ya know? In my head, I see more of an outline of a Medusa head. Or maybe an image that would be more symbolic. But since I have no art skills, I can't actually show you what I'm thinking.What do you-all think?Dinner Conversation:"Color me stupid, but I was thirteen before I understood why my mother always wore a turban. I thought it was just part of her artistic weirdness. I had no clue until my own hair turned into snakes" (p. 1)."Mom's name hadn't meant a thing to me. I mean, who knows what a gorgon is anymore? Mom hadn't told me until today that under the turban her hair was vipers, under the polish her fingernails were bronze, under the caps her teeth were fangs. She hadn't told me that she'd had wings surgically removed by a doctor who could be blackmailed to keep quiet. She had told me, years ago, that she'd named me after her dead sister, but she hadn't told me that Dusie was a nickname--short for Medusa" (pp. 7-8)."A coldly regal voice said in my mind, we prefer to be addresssed as ssserpentsss."I would prefer if you would shut up!"I heard a hissy murmur from the crowd, and the regal one said, Be polite. We bite" (p. 13)."He never got to say any more. If looks could kill...but mine could. I didn't realize in time, but I felt it happen as anger blazed in me, my snakes thrashed and struck at the air, my eyes flared fire, and Troy...Troy turned to white stone" (p. 20)."My mother had been lying to me. All my life. She'd let me think that while I was in school she spent her days at some studio somewhere, chipping away like Michelangelo, when really...really she was a serial killer, sort of" (p. 24)."I am going to get rid of you, " I told my snakes...Go ahead, said the scarlet king snake, and all the others gave a hissy titter, sss-sss-sss. They didn't act like I was scaring them. Not at all. They seemed completely sure I couldn't do it.Or maybe they knew something I didn't" (pp. 77-78).Tasty Rating: !!!!
    • 4/5
      I happen to love Nancy Springer's work to begin with, but this slight novel is still well-handled, while playing on the Greek Myth trend popular these days. It's only when 13-year-old Dussie wakes up with a head full of snakes the day after getting her first period that she learns that her mother is in fact one of the Gorgon sisters, and Dussie herself is half-immortal. Dussie reacts in a perfectly reasonable adolescent fashion, mad at her mother and unwilling to talk to her. That the turban her mother always wears conceals a coif of vipers is bad enough, but unlike Dussie, her mother doesn't hear her own snakes talking-- and doesn't believe Dussie does. Once Dussie tries to leave the house with facial-mudded snakes disguised as dredlocks, things get worse. A visit to "The Sisterhood" suggests there may be a way out, and a kindly acquaintance might also help... but Dussie herself makes the final choices.

    Book preview

    Dusssie - Nancy Springer

    ONE

    Color me stupid, but I was thirteen before I understood why my mother always wore a turban. I thought it was just part of her artistic weirdness. I had no clue until my own hair turned into snakes.

    Naturally this happened the morning after I got my first period, which could have waited another thirteen years in my opinion. It so did not enhance my mood, what with having to get up in the middle of the night and change the sheets and everything, plus cramps, plus Mom being totally sentimental and annoying, congratulating me on becoming a woman. I barely got back to sleep before the alarm went off, and right away I started worrying about what to wear to school. See, there was this boy I liked, and everything depended on how I looked. Not that I looked like much anyway: average height, average weight (fat), average face, brown hair and brown eyes, nose in the middle, and then on top of being totally not gorgeous, I started worrying whether boys could tell when you got your period, and I felt all swollen—even fatter than usual. I did not need anymore stress as I lurched into the bathroom with my eyes barely open.

    I was so sleepy I didn’t notice the crawly feeling in my scalp at first. But then I heard a hissing noise. And I caught a bleary glimpse of myself in the mirror.

    I woke up fast, screaming, "Mom!"

    She came running into the bathroom in her black silk sleep turban and jammies, took a look at me, and said, Oh. Just like that, like she’d been hoping it wouldn’t happen, but now it had, so we would just have to deal with it; Mom is all about being able to handle whatever happens without complaining. Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Not even surprised, which was pretty bizarre, considering that I had a head full of snakes.

    "Mom, do something!" I mean, I’m a city girl. I’d never even seen a snake except in a zoo or on TV. Totally freaked, I hopped around flapping my arms, wanting to rip the snakes off my head but afraid to touch them.

    Now, Dusie, calm down. But there was a shadowy look in Mom’s eyes as she leaned over me. Let me see. Garden snakes, black snakes, corn snakes—oh, no, is that a coral snake? Leaning closer, she peered at my head as if inspecting me for dandruff. No, thank goodness, it’s just a king snake. I don’t see any poisonous species.

    Weirder and weirder. Like, my mom knew how to tell snakes apart? Since when?

    And I must say, she added in a different, softer tone, as if she were critiquing somebody’s abstract canvas, the colors are quite striking. Jade green, jet black, ruby, topaz, in—what a daring combination of stripes and rings. The juxtaposition—

    I stood there stunned. I mean, up till then it hadn’t been a problem that Mom was all about being an Artist, with a capital A. Famous even, because she had a sculpture in the lobby of the Whitney, a life-size stone man with an expression nobody could understand—yearning, quizzical, tragic, amused? A masterpiece, anyway, kind of the Mona Lisa of sculpture.

    So my mother, Euryale Gorgon, was a celebrity, always going to parties and getting in People magazine. They loved her because she wore lots of extreme clothes. Mom’s taste and mine couldn’t be more different.

    Especially now. Mom was saying,—sophisticated, Dusie. So individualistic, so unique! So original! They make quite a dramatic statement—

    "I don’t want to make a statement!" I shrieked. Then I burst out crying.

    Dusie … Mom put her arms around me, stroking my back with her strong hands. Honey, please don’t get so upset.

    I sagged against her. Always, up until then, whenever Mom hugged me, I’d felt sure everything was going to be all right.

    It’s not the end of the world, she murmured, patting my back. You’ll find ways to cope. Trust me.

    Cope?

    Like, for how long?

    What if my friends found out?

    Cope? Was that the best Mom could do?

    Her hug was a lie. I yanked myself away from her, bawling even harder. The snakes thrashed and coiled. I could feel their movements through my scalp right into my skull, their bones connected to my bone. I screamed again.

    Mom turned stern. Dusie, stop it.

    And somebody else said, "Dusssie, ssstop it." A hissy voice, not Mom’s, sounded right inside my head. Or, not a voice, exactly, and it didn’t really speak, just kind of goosed my mind. I can’t explain, but there it was. Sarcastic: Ssstop it, Ssstupid.

    My scream spun into a screech.

    Mom ordered, Dusie, stop! It’s no use having a hissy fit.

    A hissy fit was exactly what the snakes were throwing, moshing on my head and hissing like mad cats, giving me the worst bad hair day in recorded history. I howled, "I can’t go to school like this! Mom, you’ve got to do something! I just want to die!" Overnight I had become, absolutely, no contest, the ugliest girl in school. Make that the ugliest girl in the country. Make that the ugliest girl in the world.

    Mom sighed. I’d never seen her look sadder, yet her voice stayed situation-normal, like the toilet had clogged or the elevators had broken down again. All right, Dusie. You can stay home from school today. Now, wash your face and get yourself under control. I think it’s time we had a little talk.

    It took me till mid-afternoon to calm down enough to halfway listen and start asking questions. Like, Mom, why didn’t you tell me this stuff before?

    Sitting in the apartment window, Mom just stared down at Greene Street like she needed to really study the fire escapes and pigeons and the Chinese umbrella vendor on the corner. Daylight came in gray through the February rain, and for the first time I noticed the lines on Mom’s face—a beautiful face, to me, anyway. Grecian nose, jutting cheekbones, cleft chin. To anybody who was into bland blonde cover girls, Mom probably looked ugly, but to me, she was the rock-solid, most perfect person in the world, like a goddess—

    Whoa. She was a goddess, kind of. I’d just found out she was immortal. Several thousand years old. Those were lines of time on her face.

    Her voice low, she said, I thought—the snakes—I was hoping it wouldn’t happen to you, too.

    Silence, except for taxicabs and delivery vans beeping below. Slumping on the sofa, I closed my eyes.

    Mom said, Your father was mortal. You’re half-human.

    Half-human? And here I’d been going around thinking I was, you know, normal. Like, okay, my best friend Stephe was half-Hungarian and my other best friend Keisha was half-black, but half-human? Nobody went around being only half-human.

    What if somebody found out about me?

    Oh, God, it was too much to think about all at once.

    Mom was saying, You are a lot like your father. So I hoped maybe … Her voice trailed off.

    She was the one who had mentioned my father! Maybe, now that the secrets were coming out …? Keeping my voice soft, I gave it a try. Who was my father?

    But no go. She just shook her head and said, He was very brave.

    That was Mom’s highest praise, brave—she was sooo all about being a strong person. It was also her standard answer whenever I asked about my father. We’d been through this many times before, although considering what I now knew, I was beginning to understand why I had no father. Before, I had been clueless. Mom’s name hadn’t meant a thing to me. I mean, who knows what a gorgon is anymore? Mom hadn’t told me until today that under the turban her hair was vipers, under the polish her fingernails were bronze, under the caps her teeth were fangs. She hadn’t told me that she’d had wings surgically removed by a doctor who could be blackmailed to keep quiet. She had told me, years ago, that she’d named me after her dead sister, but she hadn’t told me that Dusie was a nickname—short for Medusa.

    Could you eat something now? Mom asked.

    "No." Eat? Was she totally crazy? Couldn’t she see there were snakes on my head? Quiet snakes now, but I could feel their weight, I could feel them lazily coiling, I could feel their slithery length against my neck and temples, and I could just barely stand it.

    Mom, I begged, can’t we cut them off?

    Like dark, distant echoes deep inside my mind, the voices that were not voices spoke to each other:

    She’sss kind of ssstupid, said one.

    But sssweet, came a gentler reply.

    Sssweet? She hatesss usss.

    Shaking her head, looking tired, Mom was saying, "I’ve tried that myself, honey. I’ve tried cutting

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