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Benjamin Wood

A Station on the Path to Somewhere Better

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CWA Gold Dagger Award Finalist: “A slow-burn thriller about a road trip that takes a shocking turn, and the lasting impact of trauma.” —Shelf Awareness (starred review)
Shortlisted for the European Union Prize for Literature
“His mistakes are my inheritance. The rotten blood he gave me is the blood I will pass on.”
For twenty years, Daniel Hardesty, who now goes by a different name, has lived with the emotional scars of a childhood trauma he is powerless to undo. One August morning, young Daniel and his estranged father, Francis—a character of irresistible charm and roiling self-pity—set out on a road trip that seems a promise to salvage their relationship.
They have one shared interest: The Artifex—a children’s TV program where Fran works on set—and Daniel has been promised special access to the studio. But with every passing mile, the layers of Fran’s mendacity and desperation are exposed, pushing him to acts of violence that will define the rest of his son’s life.
From the author of The Ecliptic, this is a “harrowing and unforgettable” novel about the bond between fathers and sons, and the invention and reconciliation of self—weaving a haunting story of lost innocence and love (Booklist, starred review).
“A novel written from the gut, and with a correspondingly visceral power . . . superbly unsettling.” —Sarah Waters, author of The Paying Guests
“A novel of expertly woven tension and frightening glimpses into the mind of the deranged other.” —The Guardian
“Full of suspense and beautifully written . . . terrifically gripping.” —The Sunday Times
Эта книга сейчас недоступна
299 бумажных страниц
Дата публикации оригинала
2021
Год выхода издания
2021
Издательство
Europa Editions
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Цитаты

  • Aleksandra Pletnevaцитирует4 года назад
    It’s important to have targets. One summer, I would like to drive up to the coast of Massachusetts with Alisha, spend the whole of August in a quiet house with views of the Atlantic, and be with her entirely—no backsliding into other Augusts of my life, no measuring our interactions against my parents’ interactions, no recognition of the calendar dates as things to be endured, surmounted. Just the two of us unwinding in the sunshine, being at rest. As she’s skim-reading the local paper on the beach, I’ll say to her, ‘Hey, Lish, anything worth seeing at the cinema tonight? I’m in the mood for something brainless. Can you check?’ She’ll turn to the listings, find the tackiest film on offer: ‘There’s a six thirty we can go to on the seventeenth,’ she’ll say, ‘is that today?’ And I won’t know.
  • Aleksandra Pletnevaцитирует4 года назад
    If the small man lives his life outside disaster, then I’m hoping to become the smallest man on Earth.
  • Aleksandra Pletnevaцитирует4 года назад
    The rest of our likenesses were so insubstantial they don’t bear repeating. I’m not sure we ever saw the world with the same eyes. And yet, when I was twelve, I’d broadcast his achievements to anyone who’d listen. If babysitters asked me, ‘What about your dad? Does he come over much?’ my chest would swell with pride. I wouldn’t think about the shortage of our time together, the places he no longer took me, the films we didn’t watch, the meals we never ate at the same table. Because I knew that he was doing something more important with his life than taking care of me.

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