Here They Come

by Yannick Murphy

Here They Come is the lyrical, startling and poignant third novel from Yannick Murphy, a National Endowment for the Arts award winner and one of the freshest voices in American fiction today. Splitting time between a ramshackle apartment and a lonely hot dog vendor, the observant thirteen-year-old who stands steadily at the center of Here They Come gives lyrical voice to an unforgettable instant —1970s New York, stifling, violent and full of life. Balanced between her enigmatic siblings, detached parents, and a quiet sense of the surreal, she recounts a year of startling moments with dark humor and deadpan resilience.

Genres: Fiction, Novels, Contemporary, Literary Fiction, Literature, Family

256 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2006

About the author

Yannick Murphy is the author of the novels, The Call, Signed, Mata Hari, Here They Come, and The Sea of Trees. Her story collections include Stories in Another Language and In a Bear's Eye. Her children's books include The Cold Water Witch, Baby Polar, and Ahwhoooooooo!. She is the recipient of various awards including a Whiting Writer's Award, a National Endowment for the Arts award, a Chesterfield Screenwriting award and her story In a Bear's Eye was recently published in the 2007 O'Henry Prize Stories.

Reviews

[Dusty Myers · Rating 2 out of 5]

Very early on in this book, its narrator—a preteen girl of unspecific age—confesses to saying "fuck" a lot: "I curse all the time, or maybe it's just 'fuck' I always say" (6). This comes after she narrates herself saying fuck in conversation, and so she's doing a fine job of contextualizing her own character. Then what follows her swearing confession is this paragraph:

My mother says shit in French all the time. Merde when the electric gets cut. Merde when the candlestick wax drips onto her clothes. Merde when the gas gets cut too and we eat cold sandwiches each night for dinner. (6)

This is the first time we ever find out that the narrator's family is poor, and it's this kind of linked-up narrative economy of letting segues act also as revealing, confessional moments that make this book a pretty masterful work.

A bit dull in the end, though. I want in a brief amount of space to argue for this book's fitting into a kind of Neo-Quirk school of fiction writing, and then I want to argue against that school's vitality. Miranda July, I'm looking in your direction.

Here They Come is narrated in the present-tense by a young girl with an incredibly rich vocabulary and an inanxious, almost jaded approach to sexuality (or maybe I'm just not hearing her anxieties having never been through this part of a young girl's life, though in my defense I'll say that at the end when she gets her first period it results in a party at some fancy restaurant where her jaded mother orders the girl champagne and everyone applauds). She calls her father's mistress "the slut" and can bend spoons with her mind, or at least wants her reader to believe she can. In other words she's a precocious child, and if the orphan is a central trope for melodrama, it's this little girl (or boy) to which Neo-Quirk returns every time. Think of the Tenenbaums in the prologue to the Wes Anderson film, or the young girl with her dowry collection in July's film (or the ASCII-artist, chat-room lothario brothers).

If as a person putting together a story you think about the precocious child you'll see what a great little tool he is. He gets to think and act like an adult (with his incredibly rich vocabulary and her sullenness derived from Shaw plays) while not actually having to be an adult (which is to say take responsibility for her actions or be beholden to anyone but himself). And so the precocious child is like this perfect little ego that can make whatever moves he wants in the novel without us expecting (m)any consequences.

Hence this novel's plot, which eschews causality not in any showy antagonistic way, but to me it seems just because. The narrator's father disappears one day. Not even the slut knows where he has gone. Then the middle third of the novel takes place and her brother goes with the slut to Spain, where they have a lead. Then the father reappears one day. The brother and slut return from Spain. I guess they've changed, but that his disappearance isn't really the cause of anything nor his reappearance any kind of reward makes me distrust the arbitrary use of plot arcs in the book. And there are many plot arcs, and they fall like canned echoes one after the other in the book's final ten pages. Everything up to that has been a lollygagging stroll from one quirky incident to another.

I guess the argument could (and should) be made that life itself isn't causal. That people disappear from our lives without us doing anything or knowing why. That coincidence is only the stuff of phonily constructed plots. But what I want to argue is that novels aren't supposed to just reenact daily existence. They're supposed to work as made-up stories that serve to help us make sense of our own lives. I dunno that I could spell out the difference, here, but I feel like I should, but I'm going to move on.

[Oriana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ok so I was smoking at work and I accidentally finished After Dark and I realized that I didn't have anything to read at lunch or on the subway ride home, and I started getting a little upset, thinking about the entire train ride with nothing to do but stare at hipsters and be bored. I cannot handle being bored. So I was thinking I'd maybe go to the Strand, but that would be silly becuase I hate going there during the daytime, and anyway I have only like 6,000 books at home that need to be read and I really didn't need to buy another one.

And then, fate intervened. The women at work asked me to go buy some dumb book for them at Barnes & Noble. I haven't even set foot in a B&N in months, and I haven't bought a full-price book in maybe six years. But, oh, surrounded by so many sweet, bright, crisp books! Arranged in gorgeous rows and on pyramid-ed tables... it was more than a little intoxicating. So the deal was that I would not deviate from my prescribed path (down the main aisle, to the info desk, to the children's section, to the registers), but if, while on said path, I came across a book I had been really really wanting to read, I would put it on the credit card, since I'm already in debt anyway from going to Toronto.

Long story short (ha ha), Here They Come was just chillin' on a table in the center aisle, waiting for me to come along and grab it. And holy fuck was it the right choice. Phenomenally great book, narrated by this precocious 13-year-old girl living in Manhattan in the 70s. The characters are fantastic, the story is great, the setting is of course terrif. Wow, I loved this book.

[Eva · Rating 4 out of 5]

i bought this book on a whim off the mcsweeney's shelf. what luck! it's just positively wonderful! it so simply and tragically captures the relationship between a young girl, her pathetic mother, and her absentee dad. it's dark dark DARK throughout, but always floats on that buoyant edge of childhood, so it never feels as unbearable as it should.

[Amber Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fuck, what a book.
It reminded me of a tree grows in Brooklyn. It deals with poverty, so it makes you appreciate what you have...but it also makes you miss childhood. And hate hot dog vendors.

[Alexa.elam · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is a quick read and good, though not great. It's an interesting portrait of an impoverished, lower east side loft-living family in the 70's. While Murphy conjures some powerful images, and the tale is compelling, I could have stood a little more depth- both to the characters, and to the story itself.

[Dave · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not great. Good story, but the writing didn't really grab me. Had to force myself to finish it, which is never a good sign.

[Carolyn · Rating 5 out of 5]

A badly-written review for one of my favorite books:

The prospect of capturing the moment when childhood is lost is one of modern literature's greatest quests. From Catcher in the Rye to East of Eden, coming-of-age novels depict character's maturing because change is so evocatively and universally remembered. Portraying characters on the brink of adulthood, however, risks nostalgia, or worse, caricature. Too many adolescent characters speak in a teenager's voice with an adult's comprehension of what's going on and what it means. Yannick Murphy expertly dodges nostalgia when she captures the fleetingness of youth in her second novel Here They Come.

This exuberant novel, by the author of The New York Times Notable Book Sea of Trees, is the story of an observant and unnamed thirteen year old girl living in 1970s Manhattan. She's precocious, of course, and about as clever, unapologetic, and shrewd as any heroine in fiction. Her unwavering voice is peppered with witticisms and brutal truths though it is decidedly adolescent; memories are obscured and distorted and she sees more than she can possibly grasp.

Her idiosyncratic family includes two equally precocious sisters named Jody and Louisa, a suicidal brother who keeps a loaded shotgun in his room, a big-hearted and empty-pocketed mother, and an alcoholic French grandmother named Ma Mere who is strapped to a chair. Their home is a ramshackle fifth floor walk-up, complete with vermin and garbage, which the narrator coolly explains is due to the fact that they do not have private pickup and have been cited for leaving bags in public receptacles on the street. Besides a herd of roving cats and a dog that resembles Peter Pan's "Nanny," the narrator spends most of her time in Central Park with a hot dog vendor who dispenses Hershey bars and words of wisdom in exchange for coping a feel.

Here They Come unfolds in scenes of absurdity and the everyday, a progression of declarative and sometimes surreal moments, in which the unflappable narrator faces the disappointments of normal life. These moments, described in straightforward vignettes and very funny scenes, can be introspective and insightful, aided by Murphy's roaming and decidedly poetic sentences. Murphy gives her narration a childlike energy at the beginning of the story, saucy but not necessarily savvy, and the weight of maturity towards the end.

It is the narrator's ne'er-do-well father, a pornographic film editor and gambler named Cal with a girlfriend referred to as "his slut," whose disappearance sets the action in motion. At first, Cal's absence does not surprise his children. "Check your wallet," the narrator's sister Louisa replies when "the slut" calls to ask if the children have seen their father. When the police say they believe Cal is in Malaga, "the slut" and the narrator's brother travel to the south of Spain to search.

Back in New York, the family continues to fend for itself as life goes from bad to worse. Meals are sporadic and the children feed themselves onion and mayonnaise sandwiches. Pulling at her gut, the mother says, "If I could slice this off and feed it to you, I would." What weighs heavier on the narrator than her hunger is the physical fading of the adults in her life. Her mother faints often, which she attributes to menopause, though cancer is suggested by the wobbly lump under her skin that is "so big and hard it could be the Hope Diamond." Ma Mere's health deteriorates also, as does the narrator's friend the hot dog vendor, who is sick with a heart condition.

As all of the adults around her waste away, the narrator and her sisters yearn for their absent parent. There seems to be no end to their longing for their father or the goodness they think his return will bring; "we dream of him and in the morning we tell each other our dreams where he is living with us again, fixing salads, whistling, standing in doorways." His reappearance inevitably disappoints their hopes. On their first visit to see their father, the narrator says that, "we hold out our hands to our father and he laughs and in our hands he places lint from his pockets instead of money." Even with their father back in town, the brood can't seem to catch a break.

While the remarkable resilience and humor of the narrator are at its heart, disappointment is the crux of Here They Come and it comes as no surprise. What is surprising is the grace with which Yannick Murphy shows her character's undoing, the moment when, unfulfilled and unsaved, the narrator has to change the way she sees her world. "You will always see less as you grow older," Ma Mere tells her granddaughter, "otherwise you would not want to go on." Here They Come may shake many from idealizing adolescence, but its sometimes brutal and always heartbreaking elegance will haunt all who read its masterfully written pages.

[Jennifer · Rating 5 out of 5]

was recommended by Alvin Orloff, and put aside by me for a hot year - you go, Yannick, a flawless portrait of a pleasingly feral family in a crappy apartmentL subjects for the ages.

[Brad · Rating 1 out of 5]

Not lyrical and very boring. The only reason I finished it was because I kept thinking something interesting would happen. Why did the sisters have names but not the brother? Why did she kill off the only interesting and redeeming character?

[Peg Gjertsen]

Owen really liked this book.

[Trinity Smith · Rating 5 out of 5]

It took me a few chapters to really get into but I loved this and it was really a great book.

[Liz · Rating 3 out of 5]

Why in the world did I put this on my “to read” list? Probably on the strength of a review like this:

From Publishers Weekly: Told by a precocious unnamed 13-year-old girl who bends spoons with her mind, Murphy's gorgeous third book of fiction recounts the story of a poor family's coming-of-age in 1970s New York. The young protagonist's world is populated by idiosyncratic characters, including her equally precocious sisters Jody and Louisa; her also unnamed suicidal musician brother, who keeps a shotgun in his room; her depressed but strong-willed mother; her ailing and confusedly nostalgic grandmother Ma Mere, and John, the hotdog vendor on the corner who trades Hershey bars for a chance to cop a feel. When Cal, her gambling, deadbeat dad, who lives with his new girlfriend, "the slut," goes missing, the family bands together to find him and tries to survive in a world where they can't catch a break. The brother and the girlfriend travel to Spain on a tip that Cal might be there. The others stay home, struggling through the trials of adolescence, single parenthood and deprivation. In thick, poetic prose that edges toward stream of consciousness and is peppered with slightly surreal details, Murphy (The Sea of Trees, 1997) creates a world as magical and harrowing as the struggle to come to grips with maturity. Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

After reading the book, though, I find myself aligned with this reviewer:

From Booklist: The family story has come a long way since Five Little Peppers and How They Grew (1881). Murphy's contemporary family lives in a fifth-floor New York apartment filled with maggot-ridden garbage bags. Grandmother is a drunk; the absent filmmaker father fails to pay child support; and the young female narrator (whose name the reader never learns) permits herself to be fondled by a hotdog vendor in exchange for food. No wonder Mother says she feels more like a tomato than a pepper, "a tomato, bruised and caving in and on its way to seed." All of this is reported in a flat, affectless, just-the-facts tone by a narrator who may be incapable of feeling but has the power to bend spoons. Meanwhile, the (also unnamed) Brother, who seems to wear nothing but a silk robe emblazoned with a dragon, wanders through Spain on a feckless quest for the vanished father. This bizarre mixture of naturalism and surrealism is intriguing--and well written--enough to hold the reader's attention, but its meaning will remain a mystery for most. Michael Cart Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

The poverty of this family is so vividly written you can almost smell the garbage in the words. And maybe the matter-of-fact acceptance by the narrator of the life her family leads – which would be a kind of hell for most of us – is what the author means for us to take away. There is no struggle to escape, no railing against her lot in life, just a simple stating of the way things are. And maybe that is the worst poverty of all.

[Amber · Rating 5 out of 5]

I initially stumbled upon this book while aimlessly wandering around Bookman's, drooling over all of the books I wanted to buy but couldn't afford. Having to limit myself to 2 books, I swapped a copy of 1984 (intending to replace it because, let's face it, when you lend books out there's a real danger that they aren't returned to you) for "Here They Come." The beautiful cover and lacking synopsis intrigued me. In this case, 'judging a book by its cover' was the best thing I could have done because this book was absolutely worth that last minute decision (sorry, Orwell, I'll replace you next time). Here, magical realism meets coming-of-age in this post-modern novel. I find that when it comes to post-modern works, I either hate them or love them, a conclusion that depends largely on the talent of the author. Yannick Murphey's lyrical prose was nothing short of fantastic, leaving me mesmerized as I finished the last, beautifully crafted sentence of this book. Sadly, though, all things must come to an end--which happens to be one of the many themes in this novel. If you are on the fence about whether or not to give it a go, I recommend that you read it. Like the cover, it's beautiful prose leaves you feeling deprived, but somehow satisfied at the same time; It's a very pleasantly-uncomfortable feeling to have.

p.s. If you had a soft spot for hotdog vendors, this novel may create a biased, fiction-fed distrust towards men of this occupation (sorry, Mr. Home Depot hotdog man).

[Corey Dempsey · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5/5

[Carmen · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is my second foray into the McSweeney's publishing world. McSweeney's certainly doesn't have a style or a type that they publish - this book was quite different than Icelander, which I also recently finished. The story compelled me to keep reading though I can't quite put my finger on why. The writing style may have been the author's attempt at the stream of consciousness thought process of an NYC adolescent - the main narrator, but for the fact that, on occasion, the point of view changes.

Sort of in the vein of the Angela's Ashes coming-of-age-tale-set-in-poor-and-dysfunctional-circumstances, I'll admit that I was caught up in the story, but wouldn't go as far to say that it was fantastic and everyone simply should read this book. The setting (1970's NYC) and the characters are awesomely developed, which must be what kept me engaged because the plot seemed a bit lacking of any greater meaning. Even if such things are not necessary, then it may have been lacking something that would make it more than just intriguing setting and characters. Or perhaps I am just missing something, as Ma Mère says toward the end of the book, "you will always see less as you grow older, otherwise you would not want to go on."

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked up this book because I thought it might be a good one to look at for a young narrator, which I don't think it ended up being the best for. The narrator is 13 at the start and only gets older from there, so maybe that is the problem. That and the fact that she's probably a little old for her age because of the sort of things she has to suffer. She isn't poorly constructed or anything. I just didn't pick up any youth narrator tricks I thought I could use. That being said, this is a great book. I like how the narrative is structured in a seemingly random stream of tiny little fragments, though there is a meaning for the reader to string together from the fragments. It really works well considering how fragmented life is for the narrator. There is no order on her world, things just happen. What impressed me most is the resonance of the images. The narrator is very unreflective, mostly observing. However, the impact of the images she reports in such a detached way is very powerful. I found much more meaning from how little the narrator admits to being affected by them.

[Melissa Lee-Tammeus · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read this book in hopes of having my 13 year old read it and I was quite amazed this is considered teen fiction. I decided that it was more a 17 year old read than a 13 year old read - at least for my teen. This was not your typical Judy Blume but more of a social outcry with incredibly intense themes such as sexual abuse, extreme poverty, and suicidal ideation. It is true it is from a 13 year old girl's viewpoint - her and her brother and sister live with their mother in a rundown tenement with cockroaches and a broken elevator. They live among garbage and filth and rarely have food. The father is a deadbeat but is loved unconditionally and lives with a woman called "slut." She befriends a hot dog man who she lets feel her up in order to get food. The entire story is written in beautifully depressing prose and you not only feel the devastation but the love this family has for one another. I do want my son to read this but not quite yet - I was depressed enough without sharing it with him too. I think this would be a great read for a sophomore English class.

[TJ Wilson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Loved the narrator. She is cynical, innocent and knowing. Her simple, honest prose completely work. We are guided through her crazy world questioning her bias, laughing at her blunt observations and cringing at the utter amounts of suckiness that she has to endure. I can't say how much I loved this narrator. I think Murphy really captured the scope of a teenager and blended it with the surreal in a very subtle and interesting way.

Murphy takes a lot of chances in this book. Her storyline is unorthodox but fitting. She does a great job building characters so that a central storyline is really not that important. Instead, we have a book of many small stories interweaving with a snapshot of a thirteen year old girl's life. I don't know how, but it works. I think that the main attraction lies in Murphy's beautiful, rich-with-meaning prose and the coarse frankness of the world she is writing about. Great book.

[Theresa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Three stars? Four stars? It was a difficult choice. While it contained some exceptional writing, I searched in vain for a plot. Perhaps that was the intention of the author. The narrator is a young girl growing up in poverty in New York City in the 1970's. She is never given a name and many others also remain nameless. The mother is always "our mother." While her sisters have names, I never recall the brother being anyone other than "our brother." Rather humorously, the father's girlfriend, who is a rather significant character in the book, is always referred to as "the slut." The book is worth four stars for literary value, but since I really did not enjoy reading it and was glad when I finished it, the final verdict was three stars. (For those who may be interested, it is a McSweeney's publication.)

[Perez Malone · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book had me from the beginning. It isn't overly proud of itself and the tragedies it details. Murphy lays things out, goes through the events, describes them in effective language, but doesn't over dramatize them. I really liked the insistence in this novel that even the horrible things in our lives (getting felt up by a hot dog vendor for instance) can become part of the bedrock of our lives. Again, unlike so many other authors, Yannick Murphy never seems overly proud of her ability to imagine the terrible. She lays it out for us and lets us also see the wonderful. There is sadness in this novel, but also joy and laughter. Here They Come was a joy to read. A joy to come back to every day, or at least for the few days it took to finish it.

[Tim · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book had me from the beginning. It isn't overly proud of itself and the tragedies it details. Murphy lays things out, goes through the events, describes them in effective language, but doesn't over dramatize them. I really liked the insistence in this novel that even the horrible things in our lives (getting felt up by a hot dog vendor for instance) can become part of the bedrock of our lives. Again, unlike so many other authors, Yannick Murphy never seems overly proud of her ability to imagine the terrible. She lays it out for us and lets us also see the wonderful. There is sadness in this novel, but also joy and laughter. Here They Come was a joy to read. A joy to come back to every day, or at least for the few days it took to finish it.

[Christy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm not sure how to rate this. It was beautiful but depressing. I admire Murphy for refusing to get into standard coming-of-age territory, even though the ingredients were present in liberal amounts throughout this novel. The book is a series of anecdotes/ruminations by a thirteen to fourteen year old girl. Supposedly it's set in the 1970s, but I didn't think that came across in the prose. Maybe the fact that the main characters are able to go on living in such abject poverty without the intervention of authorities is what is supposed to keep it out of the present day.

If you want a book that makes you uncomfortable but makes you stop and reread certain sentences because they're just that good, this is the one for you.

[Amanda · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love this book! Narrated by a thirteen-year-old girl living in the squalor of the LES in the seventies, it reads in bursts of scenes of about a year in her life: her "merde"-spewing mother watching TV naked, her half-estranged father and the girlfriend who is referred to exclusively as "the slut," a hot dog vendor who likes to hug her in a way she acknowledges is inappropriate for her age but she allows in exchange for Hershey's and hot dogs, a brother eternally clad in a silk robe embroidered with a dragon who locks himself in his room threatening to shoot himself... It's a fun and relatively quick read and unique enough to be surprising, which doesn't happen often enough.

[Ken · Rating 4 out of 5]

I stumbled across this novel in a small book store in Portsmouth, NH. The endorsement from Frank McCourt and the bookshop itself didn't hurt either the fact that I chose it either. Sometimes this is how you find some hidden treasures and "Here They Come" was just that. Although I felt the book was lacking in plot it was the power of Murphy's prose that propelled the novel. Her bold descriptions create a series of images and characters that would find themselves comfortable in any of McCourt's memoirs or a Charles Dickens novel. The people that inhabit her writing are sad, funny, and curiously odd. Through it all they still remain charming enough to pull us though their sad struggles.

[N. Miller · Rating 3 out of 5]

The basic premise: Holden Caulfield's long-estranged sister speaks her mind from a maggot-infested apartment in the boroughs of New York. Brought to you by McSweeney's, of course.

I liked this quite a bit, Ms. Murphy--although if Freud were to take a long, hard look at this novel, he'd say you almost certainly have some major daddy issues; not a single male character redeems himself for his sins in this novel. But sometimes a dude just, you know, doesn't. I can dig.

This novel is certainly worth a read for the new perspective that it offeres. I've never seen a character quite like this girl. Read it.

[kathryn · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wasn't sure at first on this one. I didn't know what the style was going to be when I picked it up, but overall I enjoyed it. I find books about growing up poor(well, no, this one was not primarily about growing up poor, but it was a huge part of it) frustrating and sad. Overall I liked it and did enjoy the style-i'd definitely read more Yannick Murphy. When I returned it to the library, the librarian and I talked about what a pretty book physically it is too-it is a great size, lovely font and comfortable cover.

[Leilani Clark · Rating 4 out of 5]

Yannick Murphy writes the kind of prose that runs into each other, lots of "ands" connecting shimmering descriptions of water, cities, hot dogs and horses. The novel tells the story of a thirteen year old girl growing up in a poverty with her French mother, musician brother and two other jolly, ragged sisters. The main character can barely finish a sentence without using the word "fuck," which she readily admits in the first two pages. This is the first I've read of Murphy and I will read her again because she creates a world I haven't inhabited before and want to know more about.

[Emily · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think this is the first McSweeny's book I have read the whole way through.

While I wouldn't necessarily call this a light read, it is written in delicate little vignettes, chapters rarely more than five pages long. The narrator is a thirteen-year old living in a trash-filled apartment with her mother, brother,sisters, and dog in New York in the 70s. It easily could have been depressing but Murphy's beautiful descriptions and biting humor infused throughout balances the sadness to make this an enjoyable read.

[Dylan · Rating 2 out of 5]

1: Had to pick it up because of the beautiful boards.
2: Was intrigued by the blurb about the little girl 'who can bend spoons with her mind'
3: Kept reading to get to the bottom of this.
4: Turns out it plays a very, very small part of the story. Nearly non-existent.
5: Wasn't disappointed, per se, but wasn't overwhelmed.

Pick this one up, if you don't really want to think about anything much, and are just looking read something pretty.

[Renee · Rating 4 out of 5]

I wish goodreads had offered a "1/2 star" because I would have given this book a rating of 3.5 The writing in this book is exceptionally clever and at the same time very simple. I had trouble with is the grave dismal lives of the characters. Could their lives really be so bleak, chaotic, and for lack of a better word pathetic? Because that is a possibility, I felt sad and exhausted by the end. Still, I say, worth the read!