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470 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2011
"I am the One, the all and the only. I live in the Pendleton as surely as I live everywhere. I am the Pendelton's history and it's destiny. The building is my place of conception, my monument, my killing ground."
"Not just a great house, not merely a mansion, the Pendleton was more accurately a Beaux Arts palace, built in 1889, at the height of the Gilded Age, sixty thousand square feet under roof, not counting the vast basement or the separate carriage house. A combination of Georgian and French Renaissance styles, the building was clad in limestone, with elaborately carved window surrounds. Neither the Carnegies nor the Vanderbilts, nor even the Rockefellers, had ever owned a grander house."
"Iris was that perhaps rarer of autistic savants: one who had an intuitive grasp of the relationship between phonemes, the basic sounds by which a language was constructed, and the printed word. One day when she was five, Iris picked up a childrens book for the first time- and quickly began reading, having had no instruction, because when she looked at a word on the page, she heard the sound of it in her mind and knew its meaning. When she had never encountered a word before, she searched for its definition in a dictionary and thereafter never forgot it."
"Winny was surprised to see so many books, because he thought some autistic kids never read well , maybe not at all. Evidently, Iris read a lot. He knew why. Books were another life. If you were shy and didn't know what to say and felt you didn't belong anywhere, books were a way to lead another life, a way to be someone else entirely, to be anyone at all. Winny didn't know what he would do without his books, except probably go berserk and start killing people and making ashtrays out of their skulls even though he didn't smoke and never would."