By Lori Roy
Winner of the Edgar Award for top First Novel
"Don't be fooled through the novel's obvious simplicity: What emerges from the outside is a story of awesome emotional energy, certainly one of longstanding soreness set opposed to the pulsating drumbeat of social change."
-Sarah Weinman, NPR.org
For two decades, Celia Scott has watched her husband, Arthur, disguise from the secrets and techniques surrounding his sister Eve's dying. but if the 1967 Detroit riots frighten him much more than his Kansas prior, he convinces Celia to close up their kinfolk and go back to the line he grew up on, Bent street, and an identical small city the place Eve mysteriously died. after which an area woman disappears, catapulting the relations headlong right into a lifeless man's curve. . . .
On Bent street, a battered crimson truck cruises ominously alongside the prairie; a lonely little woman clothes in her lifeless aunt's outfits; a boy hefts his father's rifle looking for a objective; and a mom realizes she now not is aware find out how to safeguard her youngsters. it's a position the place humans research: occasionally killing is the kindest way.
Bent Road has been optioned for movie in 2012 by way of move Creek photos with Mark Mallouk to evolve and Benderspink to produce.
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En ce printemps 1938, personne n’aurait pu prévoir qu’un événement familial tragique allait heurter Charles de plein fouet.
Volent alors en éclats toutes les certitudes d’homme, de père et de mari de cet entrepreneur respecté, si fier de sa scierie et particulièrement de sa cadette, Léontine, l. a. seule parmi les siens à avoir su toucher son cœur.
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Extra resources for Bent Road: A Novel
He had enjoyed the earlier train trip through Europe. In Rome he’d even got a chance to visit the room where Keats died and the Protestant cemetery, where he’d seen the poet’s grave. Standing above the simple headstone near the grand Pyramid of Cestius he’d looked down at the engraving of a broken lyre and the strangely ambiguous epitaph: Here lies one whose name was writ in water. The poet’s friend Charles Brown had interpreted this as Keats’ abandonment of any hope of posthumous fame, but standing there looking at it with the perspective of eighty years’ hindsight Arthur liked to think it was not this simple.
Part of its facade was covered in a crude scaffolding and half-naked workmen clambered over its stone like animated hieroglyphs. Arthur realised it must be Beit el Ajaib, the House of Wonders that Frank had written to him about, and on closer inspection he saw he was right. There, behind the scaffolding, the white walls gave to a shattered dark hole, the last remaining damage of the British shells that had thudded into the palace back in 1896 in what turned out to be the world’s shortest war. Just forty minutes long, Frank had said.
Her face dismantled under the weight of them, and gave way completely with a bursting sob as she pushed her chair away from the table and ran through the huge double doors into the central vestibule. They heard her small feet on the wooden floorboards receding behind them, then the slam of another heavy door. The merchant looked sheepishly around at them all. ‘Gosh, I do apologise. It’s been a long day, and the heat you know…I’ll just…’ He made to get out of his chair. ’ It was the Governor’s wife, speaking for the first time that night.
Bent Road: A Novel by Lori Roy