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Findings from Our Work and Reading

Entries in fiction (2)


Proofreading for Pleasure?

It's always nice when a project I am proofreading turns out to be a book I would be very likely to read even without being paid for it.

In this case the book is a novel entitled One More River by Mary Glickman, published by Open Road Integrated Media.

It is not even listed at Amazon yet, but the author's previous novel, Home in the Morning, can be found at Amazon's Mary Glickman page. I suspect that I will be purchasing a copy, most likely of the Kindle edition, in the near future. (Unless the publisher would like to send me the paperback, of course.) In both novels Glickman writes about Jews in the American South. One More River tells the tale of Mickey Moe Levy, and forebears, from the early 20th twentieth century to the Vietnam War era.

I won't say much here because I really want to get back to work on it. I mean, I love beating deadlines but I also really want to know what's going to happen next...


[Update, October 6: One More River is now available for pre-order at Amazon (click on image below) or at Open Road.]



. . . Mimicking a Face that Wasn't Human

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

Wow! An amazingly beautiful novel by a young woman who grew up in the former Yugoslavia. The kind of rich fictional experience we're always looking for in novels, but so rarely find.

An excerpt:

The tiger’s wife must have seen the hesitation in his face, because at that moment, her upper lip lifted and her teeth flashed out, and she hissed at him with the ridge of her nose folded up against her eyes. The sound — the only sound he ever heard her make, when she had made no sound over broken bones and bruises that spread like continents over her body — went through him like a rifle report and left him there, left him paralyzed. She was naked, furious, and he knew suddenly that she had learned to make that sound mimicking a face that wasn’t human. He left with the bottle, without turning his back to her, reaching behind him to feel for the door, and when he opened it he couldn’t even feel the cold air coming in. The heat of the house stayed with him like a mark as he walked back. (pages 319-320)