the eighth day book 2
LITERARY FICTION © Copyright 2020 Kirkus Media LLC. Helen would kill him. “Anyone home?
“It’s probably what he did with the Home Depot stuff.
He could hear . THE LETTERS OF GERTRUDE STEIN AND THORNTON WILDER, Brit Bennett Wrestles With Identity in New Novel, Brit Bennett on the ‘Wildest Week’ of Her Life, Author Makes Claims Against Jojo Moyes Book. Took his own failure way too hard. “Sort of.”On a shelf beneath the tool bench Delaney noticed a red plastic container marked: mower fuel.
Well, actually .
Delaney had responded to a couple of hundred calls like this during his ten years with the department, and nine times out of ten the missing person was senile or off on a bender. The occasional rotting barn.“You ever been out this way?” Poliakoff asked.Delaney shrugged. Along with several other women (including one black woman, Sophia, whose employment causes controversy in a town that doesn’t believe black and white people should be allowed to use the same library), Margery and Alice supply magazines, Bible stories, and copies of books like Little Women to the largely poor residents who live in remote areas. ‧ a laugh track. No doubt Thornton Wilder in presenting something so anachronistic, so pre-Freudian and late Victorian as The Eighth Day, a folk-saga purring with eternal verities and nostalgic Americana, had something of Tolstoy's odd nobility in mind. Become a member to write your own review. “That the way you found them?”Poliakoff nodded. –Genesis, 2: 2-3 From the New York Times bestselling author of The Genesis Code and The Syndrome, here is a spellbinding new thriller of …
“Whaddya think? The air trembled with the on-again, off-again rasp of cicadas and, in the distance, the insectoid murmur of traffic.
. Stella, ensconced in White society, is shedding her fur coat. She writes about Kentucky with lush descriptions of the landscape and tender respect for the townspeople, most of whom are poor, uneducated, and grateful for the chance to learn. Bennett keeps all these plot threads thrumming and her social commentary crisp.
A single fluorescent light buzzed and flickered over a dusty tool bench in a corner of the room.
At once both darker and more hopeful than its predecessor (The Benedict Option), it is ruthlessly clear-eyed about the precise threats it identifies, and yet equally clear-eyed about the ways in which ordinary Christians ought to respond to them. Books for the Hour, Books for All Time .
Delaney picked off a piece and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger.“You don’t think this guy . “Maybe it’ll rain,” he muttered.Poliakoff nodded.
by “It’s probably gas,” he told his partner.Poliakoff shook his head.
“Could be a burglary, I guess–but let’s make it quick.” He was thinking, Dear God, don’t let there be a stiff down there, or we’ll be here all night.Poliakoff ducked his head, calling out Terio’s name as he descended the steps, Delaney right behind him.The basement was utilitarian–a long rectangular room with a seven-foot ceiling, cinder-block walls, and a cement floor.
GENERAL FICTION, by No doubt Thornton Wilder in presenting something so anachronistic, so pre-Freudian and late Victorian as The Eighth Day… In a year or two, the farmhouse up ahead–a yellow farmhouse, suddenly visible on the left–would be gone, drowned by a rising tide of town houses, Wal-Marts, and Targets.The mailbox was at the end of the driveway, a battered aluminum cylinder with a faded red flag nailed to the top of a four-by-four T set in concrete.
Blobs of mortar bulged between the cinder blocks, which were stacked in a half-assed way that wasn’t quite plumb. A dozen other editions lay on the ground in a neatish pile, some already turning yellow.When the mailman had reached out to 911, he’d suggested, “You should go in, take a look around the house, see what you can see.”But of course, they couldn’t exactly do that.
At the north end of the basement, a corner was partitioned off by what looked like a pair of hastily built cinder-block walls.
“Hullo?”Silence.“Hel-lo?” Poliakoff cocked his head and listened hard.
In his evangelical dotage, Tolstoy disowned not only his masterpieces but the complex world of art as wells the simple soul, the peasant, the pure of heart—these were those to whom he directed his later works. |
“You gotta turn.”They found themselves on a narrow dirt road, flanked by weeds and at the edge of a dense wood. Kin “[find] each other’s lives inscrutable” in this rich, sharp story about the way identity is formed. Poignancy is here, aphoristic charm, pleasant stretches of unabashed story-telling, and incidental riches.