The Heights
(Sprache: Englisch)
The Welches are seemingly the last middle-class family in the Heights whose world is turned upside down by a new wealthy neighbor. The author of "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" once again turns his keen eye to the surprising truths of daily life.
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The Welches are seemingly the last middle-class family in the Heights whose world is turned upside down by a new wealthy neighbor. The author of "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" once again turns his keen eye to the surprising truths of daily life.
Klappentext zu „The Heights “
A "devilishly delightful" (Bookpage) new novel from an Academy Award-nominated screenwriter and the author of What's Eating Gilbert Grape. Tim and Kate Welch are seemingly the last middle-class family in the exclusive neighborhood of Brooklyn Heights, NewYork. Tim is a popular history teacher, and an ordinary guy. Kate is not ordinary, but she aspires to be. Brought up by a hippie mother, Kate stays home with their two young sons trying to be the responsible parent she never had. But their neat and tidy world is turned upside down when Anna Brody- beautiful, wealthy, and impulsive-moves into the most expensive brownstone in Brooklyn, and draws Kate and Tim into her world.
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3 KATE
THAT MORNING WE WOKE TO FIND OUR STREET BURIED IN SNOW. THE STOOPS, THE sidewalk, the row of parked cars were a blanket of white; the trees looked as if they d been dipped in frosting, and the whole of Oak Lane with its impeccably preserved century-old brownstones had the look of a vintage photograph. Only the loud scrape from an approaching snowplow betrayed what Tim, my history-teaching husband, would like to believe: Erase the plow, remove the light poles and the telephone wires, toss out all electrical appliances, and it could be any other Brooklyn Heights morning, circa 1848 or 1902.
Staring down from our fourth-floor apartment, I made out the faint prints from Tim s boots. Before sunrise, he d crossed between two parked cars and trudged with his backpack full of graded papers toward Montague Street, where he d climbed the steps to the Montague Academy. During the night, the thick flakes had fallen gently, but now it was morning, and the wind blew in gusts that rattled the windows of the living room/dining room/toy room where I was standing. I felt a chill.
Sam came running down the hall, his diaperless pants at his knees, crying, Mommy, pee-pee! Pee-pee! Teddy, newly four, followed, saying, Sam made a mess! Minutes before, I d abruptly left the kitchen because, between the repeated calls of More milk, Mommy and I m hungry, Mommy and Mommy, Sam s hitting me, I knew either they d stop, as asked, or I would snap.
With few places to look, it took no time for them to find me. Teddy had been up early due to a bad dream, and Sam had eaten hardly any breakfast, feeding himself only the brightly colored minimarshmallows from his favorite sugared cereal. This will not do, I announced grandly. But, of course, it would. It did.
When Tim phoned from school, I had to shout over Sam, who was shrieking, while Teddy kept pushing the button that made the phone go on speaker. Tim asked, How s it going? more out
... mehr
of habit, I suppose, because one little moment of listening, and he d know.
Good, it s going good, I said, choosing not to tell him about a mysterious smell in the bathroom (the toilet was clogged and would not flush); the bar of oatmeal soap half-melted in the empty bathtub; the growing stack of unpaid bills; the clothes strewn, a Hansel and Gretel trail of little boys pants and shirts and underwear; and how when I finally made it to the sock drawer to finish dressing Sam, no socks matched. I made no mention of how the winter wind was sure to shatter our front windows, nor my prediction that this was going to be the coldest day of the year. After all, Tim was hard at work. Better to spare him.
Later, in the vestibule of our building, I managed to open the stroller and carry it down the stoop, all the while coaxing the boys to follow. I belted Sam in, lowered Teddy so he could ride standing in back, and we began our walk. Both boys were practically smothered under sweaters and coats and scarves and hats, gloves, boots only their eyes could be seen. Beneath it all, I could hear them crying, and when I leaned forward to ask what was the matter, Teddy sobbed, My eyes are cold.
I don t know what to do about your eyes.
Never enough. Never enough. A parent can never, ever do enough. I had the makings of a song.
Gloveless, scarfless, with my down jacket still unbuttoned up top I d forgotten about me.
Soon after we set off, it became clear that, because of the snow, our stroller wasn t going to work. So, with the wind whipping and the need to think fast, I turned us around. Back home, I left the stroller in the vestibule and hurried to our storage closet in the basement to fetch Tim s childhood sle
Good, it s going good, I said, choosing not to tell him about a mysterious smell in the bathroom (the toilet was clogged and would not flush); the bar of oatmeal soap half-melted in the empty bathtub; the growing stack of unpaid bills; the clothes strewn, a Hansel and Gretel trail of little boys pants and shirts and underwear; and how when I finally made it to the sock drawer to finish dressing Sam, no socks matched. I made no mention of how the winter wind was sure to shatter our front windows, nor my prediction that this was going to be the coldest day of the year. After all, Tim was hard at work. Better to spare him.
Later, in the vestibule of our building, I managed to open the stroller and carry it down the stoop, all the while coaxing the boys to follow. I belted Sam in, lowered Teddy so he could ride standing in back, and we began our walk. Both boys were practically smothered under sweaters and coats and scarves and hats, gloves, boots only their eyes could be seen. Beneath it all, I could hear them crying, and when I leaned forward to ask what was the matter, Teddy sobbed, My eyes are cold.
I don t know what to do about your eyes.
Never enough. Never enough. A parent can never, ever do enough. I had the makings of a song.
Gloveless, scarfless, with my down jacket still unbuttoned up top I d forgotten about me.
Soon after we set off, it became clear that, because of the snow, our stroller wasn t going to work. So, with the wind whipping and the need to think fast, I turned us around. Back home, I left the stroller in the vestibule and hurried to our storage closet in the basement to fetch Tim s childhood sle
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Peter Hedges
PETER HEDGES is a novelist, playwright, and filmmaker. He wrote both the novel and the screenplay What s Eating Gilbert Grape, and is the writer-director of Pieces of April starring Katie Holmes and Dan in Real Life starring Steve Carrell. His screenplay for About a Boy was nominated for an Academy Award. Hedges lives with his wife and children in Brooklyn, New York.Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Peter Hedges
- 2011, Repr., 304 Seiten, Maße: 13,6 x 20,3 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0452296773
- ISBN-13: 9780452296770
- Erscheinungsdatum: 03.03.2011
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Hedges delivers an insightful portrayal of parenthood and the strains and temptations of marriage, even in a seemingly perfect relationship. He also makes some wonderful observations about family life." -Associated Press
"[A] quirky, amusing book."
-Washington Post
"The Heights' witty and honest take on marital claustrophobia shows the virtue of taking your time."
-GQ Magazine
"The Heights stays with you. As much a metaphor for being swept off your feet by lofty people or aspirations or location, The Heights delves into the marriage of a futurist woman working for a nonprofit and a history teacher at a Brooklyn Heights private school taking a sabbatical to finish his dissertation on the history of loss."
-New York Daily News
"Hedges has a knack for taking everyday life and making it fascinating...The Heights us a no-holds-barred expose of suburbia and the strains of marriage and childrearing, but Hedges deftly transforms this weighty subject matter into an addictive blend of melodrama carefully balanced with comedy...creating a novel that is devilishly delightful."
-BookPage
"A must-read if you've ever longed for more excitement in your life."
-Parenting magazine
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