Little Beasts: A Novel - Softcover

McGevna, Matthew

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1617753475 ISBN 13: 9781617753473

Verlag: KAYLIE JONES BOOKS, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

“McGevna’s debut novel captures the familiar rhythms of summertime, following young people on the edge of violence.” —Kirkus Reviews

“A serious, searing debut novel by a wonderful new writer.” —Book Riot

The latest from Akashic’s Kaylie Jones Books imprint.

Turnbull is a working-class town full of weary people who struggle to make ends meet. Evictions, alcoholism, and random violence are commonplace. In the heat of July 1983, when eight-year-olds James Illworth, Dallas Darwin, and Felix Cassidy leave their homes to play in the woods, they have to navigate between the potentially violent world of angry adults and even angrier teens. Little do they know that by the end of the summer, one of them will lay dead, after a bit of playful bullying from older teens escalates to tragedy.

Loosely based on a real crime that took place on Long Island in 1979, Little Beasts is a panorama of a poor, mostly white neighborhood surrounded by the affluent communities of the East End. After the murder, the novel’s main characters must come to grips with the aftermath, face down the decisions they’ve made, and reestablish their faith in the possibility of a better world.

Kaylie Jones is the award-winning author of five novels and a memoir. She teaches writing at two MFA programs and lives in New York City.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Matthew McGevna was born and raised in Mastic Beach, Long Island. Born of Irish descent, he attended fiction and poetry workshops in Galway, Ireland, through the University of Arkansas Writing Program. He received his MFA in creative writing from Long Island University's Southampton College in 2002. An award-winning poet, McGevna has also published numerous short stories in various publications, including Long Island Noir, Epiphany, and Confrontation. He currently lives in Center Moriches, New York, with his wife and two sons, Jackson and Dempsey. Little Beasts is his first novel.

Kaylie Jones (editor) is the award-winning author of five novels and a memoir. She teaches writing at two MFA programs and lives in New York City.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Little Beasts

By Matthew McGevna

Akashic Books

Copyright © 2015 Matthew McGevna
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-61775-347-3

CHAPTER 1

This is the town of Turnbull. In the month of July, in the sweltering town, the heat reminds its people of their limits. There are the day's demands and not much else. The smell of salt from the ocean to the south is faint in the hot air. The people wipe their brows, try to sit still when they can. Damp rags draped over the back of necks. The Pennysaver, usually left rotting off the edge of the mailbox until replaced by the next one, is taken out of its plastic sleeve. Its glossy pages make for hand-held fans. Though hardly a square foot of paint exists not spotted with rust, the men go out to wash their cars anyway and spray their children with hoses as they run by screeching. They silently lament their move from the city, where hydrants were made to be opened. In Turnbull block parties are never spontaneous. They never evolve from a stream of water pouring from a spigot.

Turnbull, a stretch of land on the south shore of Long Island that juts out into the Great South Bay like a sore thumb, has one road in, one road out. Turnbull Road runs north and south, an artery of potholes. On the shoulder the workers huddle near the westside of their yellow truck to grab what little shade they can. Water from their lunch boxes is poured through their scalps rather than their lips as they watch the steam rise from the mound of blacktop and tacitly curse their lot. White tank tops, greased with tar, line up like dirty daisies along the runner of the truck.

The road moves north and south, while a narrow creek cuts the thumb in half by running east and west. And when the heavy rains come, the puddle where Turnbull Road dips into a small valley is knee deep. The barefoot children gather their towels, and frollick in their temporary swimming holes.

But the roadway has been dry all month. See how the blacktop shimmers near the fender of the sheriff's car as it cruises along on cool tires? Just pulled out from the gas station where the sheriff paid an extra three quarters to have them topped off with air. In the front seat is the street map of Turnbull and the page is open to where his red ink has drawn a circle around Meadowgate Road. Set your eyes upon Meadowgate, and how it rises up from the other side of the creek, just after Turnbull Road dips down into the small valley.

The sheriff almost always notices the sink in the road and sighs with relief that on this day, for this whole month even, he hasn't had to chase the children away as they splash and twist out of reach, cursing at him in the rain. Instead he makes his right turn onto Meadowgate Road and narrows his eyes when he sees the movers — three of them — sitting in front of the house, fat as frogs.

One of them is sprawled on his back across the hood of his truck with his shades on, sunning. Another is wiping sweat from his neck and rubbing it onto his pants. The third one has taken refuge from the sun by sitting on the ground in the slip of shade near the tires of their pickup. This one sees the sheriff's car approaching and squints. He says something. The one sunning on the hood sits up and moves his shades to the top of his head. That's all the movement the sheriff will get, until he pulls over, gets out, and points out that the sticker with the red seal from the county office is on the door, so what in the hell are they waiting for?

"Waiting to win the lottery," one says as the two resting on top of the truck slide and melt off like slugs.

The one squatting in the shade eventually rises to his feet. "And for a little rain," he adds to the sheriff, who has already retreated to the air-conditioning of his car.

In Turnbull the children, off for the summer and set loose throughout the day, make their plans early. Transportation is a rare thing, and where would they go? Staying inside means possibly getting taxed with chores. And yet there is plenty to do.

A construction site for a new home makes a treasure of dirt-bombs nestled in the mountains of earth created by the bulldozers. In the winter they have snowball fights, but in the summer dirt-bomb fights are a fine replacement. Better if the foundation has already been poured, for the walls and bump-outs from which the chimney will eventually rise are great corners for sneak attacks. Even better if some kids from another part of Turnbull wander into the neighborhood, for rather than bickering to make teams, they can unite and descend upon the outsiders with a hail of dirt and shouts about their territory.

For the boys who live nearer to the creek, a relief from dirt-bomb fights is to wrap muck into a skunk cabbage leaf and hurl it at an opponent.

A third option on a hot day like this is to go and secretly watch the evictions. Spy on the men who carry them out by hiding in the woods nearby. Each child, each wild group running with untied shoelaces, will make its own plan.

It takes straws, but on this day, as the muck seems to crust beneath the sun, James Illworth, Dallas Darwin, and Felix Cassidy crouch in the woods near the top of the hill on the other side of the creek, waiting for something to happen. Eventually they spy the sheriff's car pulling onto Meadowgate Road, and they know what it means.

See the sheriff searching the empty house for drugs and weapons? Observe the men standing in the heat waiting to be let inside. Look just behind the house where the woods from the creek abruptly stop and the tall grass of the overgrown backyard takes over the landscape. The three boys crawl on their stomachs inching ever closer to watch. When the sheriff, from inside the house, bangs open the back door, a dog bolts out and in only two bounds seems to make it across the backyard and into the dense woods. The boys, ears pressed into the grass, close their eyes as though it might render them invisible.

Dallas crawls ahead of them once the sheriff goes back inside, and makes it to a thicket of evergreen bushes at the front edge of the driveway. Once inside the bushes, he pulls his knees in like a fetus and looks past his toes to see if the others are following.

His father, Michael, drove him past two evictions this summer, slowing down as they approached the pile of belongings stacked at the edge of the property. His father pointed at the pile and said, "Lesson learned, Dallas. Take care of your responsibilities."

James Illworth's father hates when his son goes to the evictions, but he will never tell him why. All James ever gets from his father is a grunt, or a wave, or he'll mutter, "Gross," as he walks out the back door and retreats to his horse barn to read the newspaper. Dallas laughs whenever James tries to explain his father's strange reaction.

Felix never shares his parents' opinions on much of anything. They are an occasional ride to the movies. A hand waving out of a passing car window to James and Dallas as they play ball in the street in autumn. James and Dallas haven't yet made up their minds about this fact. They sense sometimes that Felix is shielding his parents from his friends, rather than the other way around.

In any case, it never stops Felix from watching the evictions. And perhaps Felix's behavior during the task provides all the answer Dallas and James need, for Felix almost always leads the charge, picks up his head in the tall grass, looks around for places to take cover, and inches closer to being caught than the other two would ever dare.

The movers have drifted over to the front lawn while they await permission to start. One of them lights up a...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: KAYLIE JONES BOOKS
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1617753475
• ISBN 13: 9781617753473
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 288
• Herausgeber: Jones Kaylie
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar