2007 National Book Award Finalist,
Young People's Literature

Kathleen Duey

Skin Hunger: A Resurrection of Magic, Book One

Atheneum Books for Young Readers


About the Book and Author

Sadima and Hahp's worlds are separated by generations, but their lives are connected in surprising and powerful ways in this first book of a trilogy.

Kathleen Duey became fascinated with writing stories in the fourth grade and told everyone who would listen that she was going to be an author. But first she spent twenty years living in odd, off-the-grid places, subsistence farming, and reading.

Skin Hunger is the first volume in a trilogy that has taken 15 years to ripen. The next book, Sacred Scars, is in progress now.

Kathleen's titles include books for younger readers: The Unicorn's Secret is an 8-book saga for 2-4th graders. Her Hoofbeats books are middle grade historical novels. Kathleen currently lives in southern California.

Suggested Links

Author and book website

An excerpt from Skin Hunger

Kathleen's blog

Excerpt from Skin Hunger

SKIN HUNGER, by Kathleen Duey. Copyright © 2007. Used with permission of Atheneum Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing.

When I was eleven years old, my father decided to get rid of me. I don't
think he gave a crap if I lived or died me. Waiting for the carriage that morning, I stared westward through the steam rising off the river mouth. Beyond it, across the delta and the still-water marshes on the other side, the night-torches in the South-End slums of Limori were being snuffed out.

Once the eye-burning stench of the greasewood was gone, the beggars would swarm back to the boardwalk. But by then the shopkeepers' dogs would be off their leashes. Most were half-wolf. All were underfed. Some nights, when I knew my father was angry enough to hurt me, I crawled up the tree outside my window to get to the roof. I could usually hear them barking from up there. Once in a while, I heard someone scream. It always gave me shivers people live there? Aben went up to the roof with me once. Not to hide from our father, but for the adventure. My brother never had to hide.

"Hahp?" I turned. My mother was wearing one of her dim little smiles. She was holding herself straight, moving with exaggerated, fluid grace, looking vapid, which meant she was frantic with worry over me. And fear of my father.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a near whisper, as though the sound of her voice would be enough to ignite my father. He was faced away, but I knew by the set of his shoulders that she was right to be careful. He was not far from one of his rages. I nodded, then looked past her at the house. If the stories were true, I might not ever see it again.