Nightwoods: A Novel

Nightwoods: A Novel

Charles Frazier

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0812978803

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Nightwoods: A Novel

Charles Frazier

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0812978803

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
 
Charles Frazier, the acclaimed author of Cold Mountain and Thirteen Moons, returns with a dazzling novel set in small-town North Carolina in the early 1960s. With his brilliant portrait of Luce, a young woman who inherits her murdered sister’s troubled twins, Frazier has created his most memorable heroine. Before the children, Luce was content with the reimbursements of the rich Appalachian landscape, choosing to live apart from the small community around her. But the coming of the children changes everything, cracking open her solitary life in difficult, hopeful, dangerous ways. In a lean, tight narrative, Nightwoods resonates with the timelessness of a great work of art.
 
“Impossible to shake.”—Entertainment Weekly
 
“Fantastic.”—The Washington Post
 
“Astute and compassionate.”—The Boston Globe

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goddamn money? Where else but with the mute witness kids? Bud walked down the street to the bank and checked Lily’s account balance. It was exactly what he’d guessed it would be. He zeroed it out, which only bought him a beat-up Remington revolver and one box of shells at a pawnshop. Only enough left over for a club sandwich and a Coke at the Woolworth’s counter. Homeless and penniless, but armed and pondering deeply, he wandered the streets of the capital city. The lawyer already had papers

broad-brimmed man’s hat and tended a slow fire of wood coals under a big three-legged iron cauldron of simmering cane squeezings. She sat on an upturned stub of log with her shanks crossed and her boots unlaced, and when Luce and the children arrived, she tipped her face out of the shadow of her hat brim and winked a pale eye at them. She scraped at a raw split cane with a pocketknife and then licked the white marrow off the blade. When the pony came around at less than the necessary pace, Maddie

even with Lit on the uppers and beer, and he floated various lies and evasions that never rose above fair to middling. He could see where this was all heading. Lit penning him in. No way Bud could keep a string of lies consistent forever. In a few days, Lit would be right back at him, and Bud would have forgotten many details of his answers. His new lies would mismatch the old ones, which was exactly the way they trapped you. Then you went down. Bud said, Come on, fuck this shit. What do you

toward the quarter-mile slashes. He probed deep into Lit’s side where essential organs lay greasy and dark against one another. Every thrust opened the wound wider and dug deeper. Lit’s concentration on driving wavered. The car went tacking up the road. Bud leaned and took the wheel one-handed. He threw a leg over the drivetrain hump and kicked Lit’s foot from the pedals. The car stalled and rolled to a stop. Then it rolled slowly backward, jerking and grinding against the transmission until

look down on it, studying the novelty of sunlight glinting off the tops of its spread wings, the brown feathers like bronze. With two strokes, it rises and sweeps over them, close enough that they hear the sound of its wings cutting the air, a faint rattle of feathers. Sally stands and walks stiff-legged a few yards across the bald and begins cropping long grass, dead brown and lapped over by frost in smooth striated waveforms. The children each take fists of grain from the bag. Much tingling

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