By Bret Anthony Johnson
From an acclaimed and award-winning younger author comes an intensely relocating debut assortment set within the eye of life's storms. In Corpus Christi, Texas--a city frequently hit by way of hurricanes-- mom and dad, young children, and fans come jointly and crumble, bonded and battered through stories of loss that they believe as acutely as actual discomfort.
A automobile twist of fate joins strangers associated via an intimate wisdom of insanity. A teenage boy recalls his father's act of surprising and self-righteous violence. A "hurricane party" reunites a pair whom tragedy parted. And, in an unforgettable three-story cycle, an affliction units in profound aid a man's courting along with his mom and the strange, moving constancy of fact to love.
Told in clean, lyrical voices and taut, creative types, those narratives discover the advanced volatility of affection and intimacy, sorrow and renewal--and reveal how frequently those reviews suppose just like the contrary of themselves. From the lady whose younger son's uncanny rapport with snakes illuminates her personal overlooked possibilities to the fellow confronting his spouse and her lover in a home jam-packed with unlawful unique birds, the entire characters the following face moments of profound choice and popularity during which no selection is obviously or thoroughly right.
Writing with difficult humor, deep humanity, and a prepared eye for the typical setting, Bret Anthony Johnston creates a global the place the place cataclysmic occasions lower humans free from their "regular lives, floating and spiraling clear of the place we have been the day before." Corpus Christi is a terribly bold debut. It marks the arriving of an incredible, exquisitely proficient voice to American fiction.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Extra info for Corpus Christi: Stories
Hiding my disgust, I trudged past him, sack in hand. ‘My thanks to you,’ he called after me, ‘and to the old woman too. ’ After which, the door of the hovel banged shut. Because of the recent rain, it didn’t take long to dig a second grave alongside the first. That done, I unhitched the horse and was climbing into the buggy when I remembered leaving my bag on the porch. I hurried back, tiptoeing the last few paces so as not to disturb those inside. As I stooped for the bag, however, I heard something.
I couldn’t help but obey. Slowly, I raised my head, and as our eyes met, I knew instantly that I had given myself away. ‘Ah,’ he sighed. ’ I nodded. ’ ‘It’s not just you,’ I confessed. ’ He regarded me in silence for some moments. ‘This presents us with a problem,’ he said finally. ’ I echoed him, the fear audible in my voice. But there, on that crowded lawn, he was reluctant to explain. ‘You will tell no one about us, you understand,’ he said by way of warning. ’ I hated the sound of that word ‘later’.
That’s part of our price,’ he went on. ‘The other part is this. Even if some man looks past your disfigurement or loves you in spite of it, you’ll reject him. You’ll live alone for the rest of your days. In exchange, I leave you with the gift of seeing, which you stole from us that night – more than just an eye. ’ ‘Agreed,’ I whispered, and felt for his hand, but he had already gone. Alone in the cottage I cleaned and staunched the bleeding wound, though that was all. In the clear morning light I could see that he’d done his work well.