“There were no mulatto gangs. He was alone here, and he felt the weight of his isolation every time he hit the street, the disdain, the anger his obvious mixed blood caused in people. It was a dangerous place to be without backup.” (30)
richard wagamese is a national treasure. i had never even heard of him before last year, but his books have only ever been recommended to me by librarians, and that’s pretty spectacular. shoutout to nancy of (mostly) parkdale for talking to me about ragged company first and to pam for introducing me to the ola who have once again suggested one of his books to be on this year’s summer reading list. i can’t wait to devour that one in conjunction with the buffet of delicious and nutrituous works in his canon.
“The way he figured it, smell was the one sense that allowed you to hold on to things, to remember, recollect, reassemble a life, and he came here to do just that.” (12)
“The whiskey smell spewed into the room with each snore. It seeped from his skin, hung in the air like the curses from an hour ago, and her throat constricted from its sour, sickly richness.” (16)
“It struck her then that language is built of silences, the real words tucked away inside the wide gulf of the silences people fall into between the words.” (200)
“But hope bruised too, and Claire fingered her swollen nose and felt the crush of loss that hurt more than the beating. Hope sometimes felt worse than dying.” (77)
mister wagamese-i’m great-full for the beauty and the heartbreak that you wordpaint-thank you.