What do you think?
Rate this book


MP3 CD
First published May 5, 2015
...but he felt his own absence from the photo as if he'd been cut out with a penknife...
...the blue sky above so bright it might have been freshly painted...
...the kids tumbling down the stoop to see the new arrivals...
...she'd been strikingly beautiful once, but drugs and partying had stripped her of some vital binding element, leaving her features isolated on her face like pieces of jewellery...
...Nothing's worse than losing a child — the guilt, waking up turned inside out, all bone and gristle on the outside, frayed skin and nerves within...
You read about these personal catastrophes, relieved that your kid wasn't missing, but also secretly disappointed to have missed out on the experience, because how often in this bloodless age do you get the chance to test your mettle against the elements, against the bad guys? You imagine what you'd do in the parents' situation, how you'd act with courage, sacrifice, and resolve right up until the final scene, when your dirt-streaked child jumps into your arms, crying, “Daddy you found me!”
Bereft of ancestral lore, national myths, holy books, and rituals to bind the generations, Mike was initiating his sons in to the world of the Cool Geek, where aggressions and aspirations were channelled into superheroes, video games, movies, TV shows, and the right pop music.
They exuded self-denial and a sensual receptivity focused at the mouth, neck, and belly, their backs as rigid as aristocrats' wives in seventeenth-century portraiture. Time rushed forward and he saw each girl at eighteen, her body a map of tattooed Celtic knotwork, Chinese calligraphy, and Native American icons, a map for lovers, with piercings marking the erogenous zones.
As Joseph nestled the stock in a convenient hollow between his shoulder and chest he hadn't known existed, he was startled by a sense of impending climax. He stared down the barrel at a pile of boulders outside. Imagine if a man was standing in front of them. Who did he want it to be? Everyone had a list of worthy targets these days – bankers, CEOs, hedge-fund managers, career politicians, religious fundamentalists, climate-change deniers. He squeezed the trigger, wanting the room to fill with sound, smoke, and broken glass. He handed the rifle back to Alex, disoriented by a sudden feeling of weightlessness. It had felt good to hold the gun in his hands.
• Because it was still light out, the flaming logs looked artificial, like a video installation commenting on the cultural practice of building bonfires on summer holidays.
• Martha withdrew his hand, and the sordid history of their break-up lay on the table between them like a platter of freshly eviscerated entrails: his wavering commitment to their marriage; his refusal to ‘prostitute’ his talents and settle for a nine-to-five job; his inability to quantify what he provided in place of financial and domestic stability.
• The forest towered higher with every few steps, pulling him into its wake like a ship passing silently in the moonlight, and when the wind picked up, the rustling treetops became the silhouettes of rats running along the decks.