By Diana Evans
A hauntingly attractive, wickedly humorous, and devastatingly relocating novel of innocence and goals that says the coming of a tremendous new expertise to the literary scene within the attic room at 26 Waifer road, exact twins Georgia and Bessi Hunter proportion nectarines and forge their identities, whereas escaping from the disappointment and risk that inhabit the flooring lower than. yet innocence lasts for less than so long—and desires, regardless of how bright and strong, can't gradual the relentless incursion of the genuine global.
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Additional info for 26a: A Novel (P.S.)
He avoided mirrors and they avoided him. If it wasn’t for his mother, who never failed to remind him, with unconditional devotion, with a dangerous love, of what he lacked, he might forever have escaped himself. When Judith Hunter let out one of her throatless, quivering laughs and said, “My Aubrey might not be much to look at but he’s my Einstein all right,” he’d wince and count the potatoes and pretend he wasn’t there. Auntie Mave and Uncle Cyril would be over for Sunday lunch, and Wallace Hunter, the strapping hulk at the head of the table whose brawn had bypassed Aubrey to such an extent that Wallace sometimes wondered about his wife’s ﬁdelity around the time of Aubrey’s conception, would be sawing into his Yorkshire beef, sleeves rolled up, the table legs trembling, and chew like a starved rhinoceros, pausing sometimes to breathe or ridicule his wife.
The thought of strangers sleeping in 26a and treating it like home was like imagining someone moving into your stomach, into your head, into your dreams. 26a 53 “Of course they are,” Aubrey had said, not understanding the intrusion of it. The lodgers were a big family. Six children, two parents, and a grandmother. The grandmother would live in the loft with the youngest girl (apparently, they were inseparable, and the grandmother liked having a private bathroom); two more girls would be in Kemy’s room and three boys in Bel’s.
Over there beyond the fence at the end of the garden, the school playground, where they ran at lunchtime, and shouted, and stood on the wall for differences. To the left in the far distance, the Welsh Harp, the river, with the clearing at the edge where a rope hung from a tree over quicksand and you had to be brave to swing it. The evergreen tree that was high enough to shield the moon and too far away to ﬁnd. And the smell of chocolate biscuits, with the chocolate still warm. 50. Aubrey was not impressed.
26a: A Novel (P.S.) by Diana Evans