By Susan Scarf Merrell
Publish 12 months note: First released June twelfth 2013
Two enforcing literary figures are on the middle of this fascinating novel: the distinguished Shirley Jackson, top recognized for her brief tale "The Lottery," and her husband, Stanley Edgar Hyman, a literary critic and professor at Bennington collage. whilst a tender graduate pupil and his pregnant wife—Fred and Rose Nemser—move into Shirley and Stanley's domestic within the fall of 1964, they're speedy forged below the magnetic spell in their incredible and proudly unconventional hosts.
whereas Fred turns into preoccupied along with his educating time table, Rose types an not likely, turbulent friendship with the bothered and unpredictable Shirley. enthusiastic about the Hymans' unstable marriage and inexplicable interested in the darkly enigmatic writer, Rose still senses anything amiss—something to do with nightly unanswered telephone calls and inscrutable bills of a long-missing girl scholar. Chillingly atmospheric and evocative of Jackson's personal vintage tales, Shirley is a sublime mystery with one in every of America's maximum horror writers at its center.
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Extra info for Shirley: A Novel
The scent of nachos teased me. My fingers itched to pick up a ball, to send it flying down the lane. I loved bowling. I just hadn’t done it in weeks…because of him. Of Aaron. This was where we had our first date. Where we were supposed to be having a date. Right now. A sharp pang stabbed my heart and each thud was like a hammer against my chest. How had things gotten so messed up? Before we started dating—and even during—I used to think of him as Heart Stopper; I’d see his smile and my heart would give one solid thump and then poof, stop.
Are you getting a divorce? Are we becoming a statistic? ” My father let out a startled laugh, erasing the seriousness from his face for at least two full seconds. ” He quickly waved his hands. ” I let out a deep breath and sat back down, eyeing them warily. I wasn’t ready to relax just yet. The ‘nothing like that’ left a lot of ground uncovered. For instance, they could tell me I had been adopted or something. ” I asked. I shouldn’t have. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it’d been a mistake.
And then I burst into hysterics, laughing and crying at the same time. It was a silver necklace with a pendent. The pendent was…I couldn’t fathom the words. It was a small silver heart. Shooting through the heart was a single arrow, the tip made of a black stone. Onyx. My heart leaped and I wasn’t sure my ribs could contain it long. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, the word bubbling out of nowhere. ” It was beautiful and ironic. And I didn’t deserve it. ” The words, spoken so softly, hit me like a lead fist and went straight through my chest to my heart.