Vintage Contemporaries / An Unfinished Life
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
In an extraordinary tale of love and forgiveness, Mark Spragg brings us this novel of a complex, prodigal homecoming.
Jean Gilkyson has a history of choosing the wrong men. After yet another night of argument turned to violence with...
Jean Gilkyson has a history of choosing the wrong men. After yet another night of argument turned to violence with...
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In an extraordinary tale of love and forgiveness, Mark Spragg brings us this novel of a complex, prodigal homecoming.Jean Gilkyson has a history of choosing the wrong men. After yet another night of argument turned to violence with her boyfriend, Roy, Jean knows it's time to leave if not for herself, then for her ten-year-old daughter, Griff. But the only place they can afford to go is Ishawooa, Wyoming, where Jean's family is dead and her deceased husband's father Einar wishes Jean was too.
Of course, Griff knows none of this only that here in Wyoming, with a grandfather she has never known and his crippled friend Mitch, she may finaly be able to find a home.
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The sapwood snaps and shifts in the low-bellied stove, and the heat swells up against the roofboards and weathered fir planking, and the whole small building seems to groan. It's the first cool night of the fall-a good night for a sweat-and Einar adjusts his wet back and ass in the webbing of the lawn chair. He feels the full weight of his seventy years and wishes he'd thought to bring a towel to drape over the webbing, but he was in here just this spring and hadn't remembered one then either. He scoops a dipper of water from the pail beside the chair and casts it across the stovetop where it sizzles and steams.
He wishes he'd have known this was the way it was going to be.
"Some old son of a bitch should've explained getting old to me," he says aloud and then bows his head against the wet pulse of heat. "Some old son of a bitch probably did and I wasn't listening."
The sweat drips from his nose and chin.
He reaches his denim shirt from where he hung it on a nail, soaks it in the bucket and then stands to wring it and mop his face and chest.
He spreads the shirt over the chair and sits back down, staring at the chair that stands empty before him, both chairs raised up on this platform into the heat.
Through the west window he watches the amber moonlight on the pasture and remembers the fall they skidded in the fieldstones and mortared them into the foundation under this board floor. The building was Griffin's idea. He'd said: "Dad, I need it. I really do."
"You need a sauna?" Einar had asked.
"I'm a Viking," the boy said. "It's what the Vikings did."
All of this twenty years ago, Mitch helping them frame the walls and the headers for the door and windows, and Griffin just a boy, but already used to working with the diligence of a man. And not a boy who'd ever asked for much.
They put in a south-facing window, this one to the west, and a square of double-pane glass in the slanting roof so they could see the stars. And a smaller
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pane low in the east wall for the benefit of the boy's dog, so Karl could lie on the porch and stare in at them.
When they were finished, Griffin took each man by a hand, standing between them, and bowed his head. "God bless this place," he said. He was serious, original, not just repeating something he'd heard.
"Is there anything else you need?" Mitch had asked.
The boy shaded his eyes, looking up at the man. "You could sit in here with us." Mitch's face shone even blacker in the sun, like wet obsidian. "Even though I'm no Viking?" He bent down over the boy. "Even though my great-granddad was an African man?"
"Does that mean no?" Griffin asked.
Mitch shoved him away playfully, the way men roughhouse with boys. "I guess I won't," he said. "I believe I've sweated enough in this life already."
Einar smiles at the clarity of the memory. He works his jaw, and his ears pop as if he were descending from a great height. The old dog fidgets on the porch, then settles its grayed jowls on its crossed forepaws and stares in through the little window. His name's Karl, but it's not the original Karl, just another dog taken from the town shelter, worked and fed and given a place to rest and grow lame. The first Karl lies buried behind the barn. Dead and buried like his son, Griffin, and his wife, Ella.
He straightens in the chair and wonders if the dog wishes it had a boy for company. Not his boy, just some other kid. He wonders what it is that dogs long for, or if they long. Maybe they just wait patiently for some improvement in their lives. He thinks he's a man who knows something of waiting, but the heat's gotten to him and he feels his stomach come up and shorten his breath. He cracks a window and sucks at the draft of night a
When they were finished, Griffin took each man by a hand, standing between them, and bowed his head. "God bless this place," he said. He was serious, original, not just repeating something he'd heard.
"Is there anything else you need?" Mitch had asked.
The boy shaded his eyes, looking up at the man. "You could sit in here with us." Mitch's face shone even blacker in the sun, like wet obsidian. "Even though I'm no Viking?" He bent down over the boy. "Even though my great-granddad was an African man?"
"Does that mean no?" Griffin asked.
Mitch shoved him away playfully, the way men roughhouse with boys. "I guess I won't," he said. "I believe I've sweated enough in this life already."
Einar smiles at the clarity of the memory. He works his jaw, and his ears pop as if he were descending from a great height. The old dog fidgets on the porch, then settles its grayed jowls on its crossed forepaws and stares in through the little window. His name's Karl, but it's not the original Karl, just another dog taken from the town shelter, worked and fed and given a place to rest and grow lame. The first Karl lies buried behind the barn. Dead and buried like his son, Griffin, and his wife, Ella.
He straightens in the chair and wonders if the dog wishes it had a boy for company. Not his boy, just some other kid. He wonders what it is that dogs long for, or if they long. Maybe they just wait patiently for some improvement in their lives. He thinks he's a man who knows something of waiting, but the heat's gotten to him and he feels his stomach come up and shorten his breath. He cracks a window and sucks at the draft of night a
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Autoren-Porträt von Mark Spragg
Mark Spragg is the author of Where Rivers Change Direction, a memoir that won the Mountains & Plains Independent Booksellers award, and the novels The Fruit of Stone and An Unfinished Life,which was chosen by the Rocky Mountain News as the Best Book of 2004. All three were top-ten Book Sense selections and have been translated into fifteen languages. He lives with his wife, Virginia, in Wyoming.Mark Spragg is represented by Random House Speakers Bureau (www.rhspeakers.com)
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Mark Spragg
- 2005, 272 Seiten, Maße: 13,2 x 20,3 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Vintage, New York
- ISBN-10: 1400076145
- ISBN-13: 9781400076147
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Reviews of Mark Spragg's An Unfinished Life"Ever since I became the books editor at The Kansas City Star in March 2000, folks have been asking me to recommend a reading experience as clean and sharp as Kent Haruf's Plainsong. . . . Finally, I have an answer. His name is Mark Spragg, his new novel is An Unfinished Life." John Mark Eberhart, The Kansas City Star"Spragg writes in the man's man literary school of Hemingway and Tom McGuane, where valor, brevity and minor epiphanies still count for something, yet An Unfinished Life's strength lies in its characters. It's best one is the irrepressible little girl, Griff, barely beating out the two old coots, bitter Einar and handicapped Mitch, who talk with winning honesty while struggling through their ablutions and medical ministrations. . . . An Unfinished Life makes you yearn for more of these characters and their prescient talk." The Oregonian"Wyoming, its winds and distances, never quits. What a pleasure it is to watch a few of its hard-forged citizens stay with the task of forgiving, cherishing and caring for one another. Mark Spragg has got the territory dead right in this moving testimony to seeing things through." William Kittredge"Spragg, with consummate skill, uses people and places we don't know to teach us something about ourselves. He explores human bonds, the difficulty of core change and ultimately the need for forgiveness if a person is to be emotionally whole. . . . An Unfinished Life is a deft contemplation of completion, of change and of coming home." The Denver Post"Intensely human, gently probing the longing for family and the inescapable grip of the past. Swiftly shifting perspectives lend the novel a pleasing dynamism." The Christian Science Monitor"Rich with ancillary characters worked into his elaborate plots. . . . When all the scattered elements of the story coalesce in strange and wondrous ways, so logical yet so unexpected, we are tempted to use a western
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idiom and state that Mark Spragg has put his brand on realistic Western novels in our time." St. Louis Post-Dispatch
I can t get more than a few pages into a novel unless the prose is good. In Mark Spragg s An Unfinished Life the writing is of considerable grace and beauty, plus there s a compelling tale of the New West which at times is an uncomfortable page turner where you are standing on the sidelines rooting for your heartbreaking favorites. Jim Harrison"Spragg has the remarkable ability to establish voices that feel indelibly genuine and true, yet belong to characters as different from each other as a sensitive and adventurous pre-pubescent girl, two aging ranchers ravaged by different kinds of pain, a confused and self-protective young mother and a man with a hair-trigger anger and a dangerously twisted concept of love, entitlement and family." Santa Fe New Mexican"The tension lies in the interior life Spragg creates for his characters. They are believably raw and wounded. And, above all, redeemable." New York Daily News"Mark Spragg invents characters that are as richly drawn and lovingly rendered as the landscape in which he sets them down. An Unfinished Life is honest, engaged, deeply satisfying, and full of an uncanny grace that resides both in the beauty of the language and in these valuable lives." Pam Houston"An Unfinished Life has dysfunction and menace and clipped, big-sky dialogue that's as spare as Cormac McCarthy's work but with a warmer patina. The carefully placed story hides surprising flashes of humor inside telling detail." USA Today"Packed with descriptive detail that pays tribute to Wyoming's harsh splendor, An Unfinished Life shows the power of place to save us." The Boston Phoenix
"Mark Spragg's An Unfinished Life is a tremendously accomplished, elegantly written and paced tale of love and loss, the bonds of grief and blood, and the complex turnings of the human heart. This is a heartbreaking yet uplifting novel that is most deeply satisfying. These characters, these people, will remain with me a long, long time." Jeffrey Lent"One of those once-in-a-blue-moon type novels that takes convention and stands it on its head. . . . Filled with often poetic meditations about the love we hold for those who have died--what sort of role their memories play in our lives--and the importance of laying the past to rest while moving into the future." St. Petersburg Times "Masterly . . . Highly recommended."--Bette-Lee Fox, Library Journal, starred review
I can t get more than a few pages into a novel unless the prose is good. In Mark Spragg s An Unfinished Life the writing is of considerable grace and beauty, plus there s a compelling tale of the New West which at times is an uncomfortable page turner where you are standing on the sidelines rooting for your heartbreaking favorites. Jim Harrison"Spragg has the remarkable ability to establish voices that feel indelibly genuine and true, yet belong to characters as different from each other as a sensitive and adventurous pre-pubescent girl, two aging ranchers ravaged by different kinds of pain, a confused and self-protective young mother and a man with a hair-trigger anger and a dangerously twisted concept of love, entitlement and family." Santa Fe New Mexican"The tension lies in the interior life Spragg creates for his characters. They are believably raw and wounded. And, above all, redeemable." New York Daily News"Mark Spragg invents characters that are as richly drawn and lovingly rendered as the landscape in which he sets them down. An Unfinished Life is honest, engaged, deeply satisfying, and full of an uncanny grace that resides both in the beauty of the language and in these valuable lives." Pam Houston"An Unfinished Life has dysfunction and menace and clipped, big-sky dialogue that's as spare as Cormac McCarthy's work but with a warmer patina. The carefully placed story hides surprising flashes of humor inside telling detail." USA Today"Packed with descriptive detail that pays tribute to Wyoming's harsh splendor, An Unfinished Life shows the power of place to save us." The Boston Phoenix
"Mark Spragg's An Unfinished Life is a tremendously accomplished, elegantly written and paced tale of love and loss, the bonds of grief and blood, and the complex turnings of the human heart. This is a heartbreaking yet uplifting novel that is most deeply satisfying. These characters, these people, will remain with me a long, long time." Jeffrey Lent"One of those once-in-a-blue-moon type novels that takes convention and stands it on its head. . . . Filled with often poetic meditations about the love we hold for those who have died--what sort of role their memories play in our lives--and the importance of laying the past to rest while moving into the future." St. Petersburg Times "Masterly . . . Highly recommended."--Bette-Lee Fox, Library Journal, starred review
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