By Joyce Carol Oates
A tender girl's disappearance rocks a neighborhood and a kinfolk during this stirring exam of grief, religion, justice, and the atrocities of struggle from Joyce Carol Oates, "one of the nice inventive forces of our time" (The Nation)
Zeno Mayfield's daughter has disappeared into the evening, long past lacking within the wilds of the Adirondacks. but if the neighborhood of Carthage joins a father's frantic look for the lady, they realize the unlikeliest of suspects—a embellished Iraq warfare veteran with shut ties to the Mayfield kinfolk. As grisly proof mounts opposed to the stricken conflict hero, the relatives needs to combat with the opportunity of having misplaced a daughter forever.
Carthage plunges us deep into the psyche of a wounded younger corporal haunted by means of unspeakable acts of wartime aggression, whereas unraveling the tale of a disaffected younger woman whose exile from her relatives can have come lengthy ahead of her disappearance.
Dark and riveting, Carthage is a robust addition to the Joyce Carol Oates canon, one who explores the human potential for violence, love, and forgiveness, and asks if it's ever really attainable to return domestic back.
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Additional info for Carthage
Why am I explaining myself at all? What right does this boy have to treat me like a pig-tailed schoolgirl? “It was on sale,” I add. ” Do you like it? I’m about to ask this aloud, but something stops me. What answer would he give? It would be terrible, surely. Honest and mean and unforgettable. Something I would pretend to laugh at and never recover from. Wallace continues to grin at me, waiting for further self-incrimination. ” I say. ” Without thinking, I curl my lips into my mouth, hiding their coat of Maybelline Dusty Rose.
Red as salsa. Splashed over the marble tiles brought deep into the rainforest to decorate the plaza for the arrival of the great Caruso in . Everyone turns at once. The Germans, the Americans, the Japanese, Barry and Wallace. The entire world stops being educated about its colonial past to look at it: bright and thick in the perfect clarity of midday. Then we look to each other to see which of us has been knifed by the glue-addict pickpocket we’d been repeatedly warned about. It’s Barry I think of first—his white Brooks Brothers button-down seems just the thing to be seeped through with hot insides, his swollen fingers trembling over the wound.
Otherwise, my losing wouldn’t be any fun. ” Wallace snaps his fingers and points at me, his thumb raised like the hammer on a pistol. “Last guess. But it’s only one-in-five odds now. Not at all bad. Any sideshow gypsy could get this in a flash. ” “Not really. You just open it up and see what’s there, one’s as easy as the other. Like a book. I bet you read a lot of books, but not too many minds. ” “You,” I say. ” Wallace makes no move to slide the napkin over so that I have to stand and bend halfway over the table to reach it, my hand over my chest to keep my breasts from slipping free.
Carthage by Joyce Carol Oates