By Lynn Stegner
Kate Riley isn't the type of heroine we meet in so much American novels. Self-centered, shape-shifting, pushed from one guy to a different and one urban to the following, she is all too real—but under no circumstances the dependable and regular homebody of idealized womanhood. once we first come across her, Kate (or Katherine, or Kate of the Prairie, or Katrina) is set to endure exploratory mind surgical procedure for a situation she herself has fabricated. Sobered through the gravity of the strategy, she commences a trip of reminiscence that takes us again to the Saskatchewan village the place she grew up and to the singular occasion that altered her ceaselessly and irrevocably set the process her life. From her formative years, during which she was once held captive to a mom long past mad, via her grownup lifestyles, which unfolds as a captivating series of fellows, deserted young children, and perpetual flow, Kate’s tale is one in all desperation and memorable invention, a unusually American story, brilliantly narrated via one in every of our most unusual writers. (20070413)
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Extra info for Because a Fire Was in My Head (Flyover Fiction)
I was sleeping, and off he went . ” There was a long pause. ” She heard the tinny sound of the knew and was pleased with her quick adult kate 29 adaptation, even while there was something unreal about it. “Poppy knew a lot,” she added sadly. ” Jan cleared his throat and for a moment gazed east out into the empty plains rolling away from them in every direction with a ﬁerce persistence. The wind whipped past them suddenly, dropped, picked up again and shoved along the cypress trees. Then Jan Larsen did something that startled her: he hugged her.
Pettigrew has her hubby to keep her through the winter. It’s another kettle of ﬁsh. ” By now Fiona’s tone had taken on an educational crispness, as if she had forgotten momentarily what they were really talking about. ” “Dad fairly worshipped you. My share, why, you took it, Kate, dear, long before he passed. ” Dipping her chin toward her right shoulder, she shot Kate a steady incontrovertible look, as if to say that she regretted having to mention this, it was awkward, bringing up such matters, but that if Kate refused to acknowledge the obvious, well, reluctantly, she’d have to.
She could not seem to shake the sensation of something rude, a vast affront. She even glanced sharply at her friend. Had she said something? But Miriam Pettigrew walked along in a companionable silence, letting her hand gently bump Kate’s, whereupon she clasped it perhaps a little too earnestly, for it annoyed Kate and she found excuse to withdraw her hand. Maybe it was just the place, the having to be there without him. The having to go on. At the edge of town in an abandoned farmyard there was a corrugated iron grain elevator still standing, and the wind slapped its broken door back and forth, whistled around the structure as if looking for a way to knock it down for good.