Translated by Julia Sanches.
''A rich and prophetic world of women and low, grey clouds that merge with the sea. Pure poetry'' Pilar Quintana
''Andrea Abreu is a lively meteorite in the landscape of Hispanic Literature'' Fernanda Melchor
''I am overwhelmed. What a marvellous book, what a miracle'' Sara Mesa
It is June and Shit is sad. She knows she will not get to leave her neighbourhood that summer, and the beach is far, far away. And that clouds like the bottom of a donkey''s belly will hover all summer over her town, high among the volcanoes of northern Tenerife.
But Shit - our nine-year-old narrator - has a best friend, Isora. Shit likes everything about Isora. The colour of her arms and her hair and her eyes. Her handwriting and the way she wrote the letter g with a huge tail. The way she called her shit because poop was a beautiful thing like the mist round the pines. But she envies her too. Envies her grits
