What do you think?
Rate this book


272 pages, ebook
First published May 15, 2018

“The truth has not mattered for a long time…the only thing that matters here…is what people are willing to believe.”Of the several lives recorded in this novel, there are two that don’t fit easily the genealogies revealed here. One is a woman artist and part-time mail carrier who marries a reformed alcoholic and auto mechanic. The two live well together, deeply in love. Her heritage is mixed race including Croatan, black, and white and her maiden name is Bride. He appears to be white, his surname Rivers, perhaps descended from Sheriff Patrick Rivers, a “wholly unremarkable” and dull man who appears in this history after the war in Virginia near Beauvais Plantation.
“Open your eyes. Tell me what it looks like. Come back in five years, in ten, in a hundred and tell me what you’ve accomplished.”
was taught a language beyond speech, one that existed when the ground on which all her torments occurred had been submerged below a channel sea, with a vocabulary that remained unchanged even with the unending forces of thrust and rift at work.
Though still very much a girl, Emily looked to Levallois like a woman who had once been beautiful. It seemed somehow difficult to see her clearly, as if a thin haze obscured that beauty, rather than the fact that what he saw in her was more possibility than residue, though each could have diverged from his ideals by a matter of the same degree.
The diary of William Byrd II of Westover still sat open on the table between them, though they never acknowledged it, and it’s doubtful either of them bothered to read the passage it lay open to, which was as follows: November 13, 1710 .... [we are then given the diary entry]
There always might be trouble. The good Lord’s up there playing dice, far as I can tell.
The trouble he was born with was not the kind that can be locked away in a cedar chest and left behind. And he also knew that the terms the world lays out for us are not negotiating me.
We are born forgetting. It’s a kindness nature grants us, one of the few, because it lets us believe we are not born whole, that we’ll have some say in the matter, when in fact our ending is written long before our beginning.