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280 pages, Paperback
First published September 27, 2014
“Bryony Adams was the type of girl who got murdered. This was always so, and it was apparent from the way that men looked at her as she adjusted her knee socks to the way that women shook their heads in pity when she rode by on her bicycle.”
"He was sprinting, because he did not need to make it to the edge of town: he only needed to make it to the girl. His feet hit the ground like pistons, cold and mechanical, and he held the knife tightly in his grip, blade down. Oh, oh, how tragically this shall unfold."
"The desert had a trick up its sleeve, oh yes it did. For it may be thwarted at the moment, but it will not be thwarted for long, and even now there was a rumbling deep underground that made the desert cease feeling sorry for itself. In fact, it began to smile, a harsh smile, a terrible smile, and anybody who witnessed it certainly would have been frozen in horror, pierced by the chill one feels when they drop something fragile, something that was given to them by somebody very dear who is now dead, and now they have nothing with which to remember them, and shall never be able to recall their features exactly ever again."
[Eddie] was intimately familiar with the awfulness of murder and the way it destroys everything from the inside out. There is the murder itself, a gruesome thing, and then there is the parasite it leaves behind, worming and gnawing its way through everybody near enough to touch. The Paranoia of the landlord, the suspicion of the neighbors, the heartbreak of the church congregation and the guilt of the loved ones.... Oh, the guilt of the loved ones.I've never heard anyone ever write about the aftermath of murder as "a parasite," such an effective and useful image.
She was a woman born of grief, and yet somehow she was breaking under the weight of it. It was a lovely thing to see, actually, like the branches of a tree snapping under an ice storm, a sort of beauty in the pale horror of the event, but at the same time, he didn't enjoy seeing her suffer. She moved him in a way he hadn't often been moved. It was like watching a ghost fade away after you had grown accustomed to it. It was a difficult thing.... Well, he would see what he could do.
"Well, perhaps it concerned him, maybe a little bit," you say, because you are a sweet and gentle reader, and are apparently hoping for the best. And that is very gallant of you to think, but no, you'd be wrong. For Chad thought of no one but himself.I'm of the opinion that if the narrator or author is going to break the fourth wall and address the audience, it better be for a very good reason, either stylistically, or narratively. Yardley never meets one of these thresholds, so I wish she had chosen a different technique here.