The Palace Thief: Stories
Ethan Canin
Language: English
Pages: 224
ISBN: 0812976177
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
“Extraordinary for its craft and emotional effect . . . [Ethan Canin is] a writer of enormous talent and charm.”
–The Washington Post
“Character is destiny,” wrote Heraclitus–and in this collection of four unforgettable stories, we meet people struggling to understand themselves and the unexpected turns their lives have taken. In “Accountant,” a quintessential company man becomes obsessed with the phenomenal success of a reckless childhood friend. “Batorsag and Szerelem” tells the story of a boy’s fascination with the mysterious life and invented language of his brother, a math prodigy. In “City of Broken Hearts,” a divorced father tries to fathom the patterns of modern relationships. And in “The Palace Thief,” a history teacher at an exclusive boarding school reflects on the vicissitudes of a lifetime connection with a student scoundrel. A remarkable achievement by one of America’s finest writers, this brilliant volume reveals the moments of insight that illuminate everyday lives.
“Captivating . . . a heartening tribute to the form . . . an exquisite performance.”
–The Boston Sunday Globe
“A model of wit, wisdom, and empathy. Chekhov would have appreciated its frank renderings and quirky ironies.”
–Chicago Tribune
the lounge for a drink. Several of the men had preceded our arrival, joking as we entered about “milk and cookies” and the fact that we were “in training,” yet at the same time sipping cocktails from the hotel’s expensive tumblers. The one thing I have admired about Mr. Peters since we were children is his ease with all sorts of people, and now again I was impressed with how he moved among this group. He shook hands, told a joke here, laughed at one there. It has not eluded me that this has been
downstairs and knocked lightly on the Philco box. “I’ve been expecting you,” she said. “I brought some oranges.” “William of Oranges.” “They’re tangerines, actually.” “William of Tangerines.” She laughed, so I did too, although I didn’t understand. I took the tangerines from my pockets, set them on the windowsill, and watched her shake a Virginia Slims from the pack. “So,” she said. “William.” I could feel myself blushing. “Sorry about what my Dad said, Sandra. I thought it would turn out
drip from the shirts and spread through the water. “You and your brother are different,” she said quietly. “That’s all.” I tied up another shirt. “A lot of my friends shoplift,” I said with my back turned to her. “Billy DeSalz got caught once.” In February the Cleveland championship was held, and our parents drove Sandra and me to the city library to watch Clive. The room turned out to be too small for spectators, so we had to sit on plastic chairs in a hallway in the library basement. Behind
Mario Ceref, who was now pretending to kiss the lightpole. I went back and knocked on our father’s office. “It’s me, captain,” I said. He was leaning back at his desk, and when I walked in he lost his balance in the chair and nearly toppled. I steadied him with my hand and went to the corner of the room, where I looked out the window onto our deck. The radio was playing W-104 again. “Yes, sailor?” he said after a few moments. “I thought that was cool, what you said the other day about
out under the cloudless Fenway sky and broke the city’s heart. This is what the fans said. The old guys, the women in windbreakers, they all liked to say that the Red Sox had been cursed since 1920, the year they sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees. On Yawkey Way in front of the stadium, standing with the sausage barkers, they said, don’t put your heart behind this team. All they would do is break it. But Wilson hoped anyway. He went once a week or so, driving straight to the park from work, and when