Down There by the Train - Hardcover

Sterns, Kate

 
9780676973877: Down There by the Train

Synopsis

A witty and wistful Gothic romance, packed with magic, comic misunderstandings and metaphorical brilliance. Kate Sterns' acclaimed first novel, Thinking About Magritte, was heralded as the work of an exceptional talent. This new novel transcends that promise.

Out of prison on parole, Levon Hawke heads straight for the diner owned by his old friend, Sweeney. There Levon learns a suspect history of the unnamed, and unnameable, island where he has been offered a job at his cousin's bakery. Lulled by Sweeney's stories and the warmth of the diner, Levon misses the only ferry across and sets out over the frozen lake, alone and in failing light, provisioned with donuts and Sweeney's map.

Stumbling ashore at the wrong end of the island, Levon is confronted by a ruined house deep in a dark forest. From under the door comes a faint glimmer of light, and behind it, partially hidden by the last volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, awaits perhaps his nemesis, or perhaps his destiny: tall, red-haired Obdulia Limb, grieving for her mother ten years dead.

Obdulia's octogenarian femme fatale of a stepmother and her overbearing father try to engage Levon in a gruesome conspiracy to cure Obdulia of her grief. But Levon has his own grief, and besides, he has other plans.

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About the Author

Kate Sterns was born in Toronto in 1961 and grew up in Kingston, Ontario. Her first novel, Thinking About Magritte, was published to acclaim in 1992. She now lives in Montreal.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

An old-fashioned Coca-Cola sign hung above the door, creaking in the breeze. Red plastic letters that could be removed or scrambled to make new words were slotted into ledges, like a child's learn-to-read toy. The first line said Sweeney's Diner. Reputable since 1955. Underneath that was an advertisement for the $2.99 breakfast. Served all day. And then: Go d eats here.
He blinked twice, speculating as to whether Sweeney had succumbed in his old age to an uncharacteristic bout of religious fervour. Levon's aunt, Anna-Lee, had switched from the Anglican church to the Pentecostal after her divorce (More action! she claimed), and now spoke in tongues. Without stopping, his father grumbled.
Levon soon identified the problem: there was a gap between the o and the d. A letter had slipped in its mooring and sailed off on the wind. A missing, what, consonant? Gord eats here. No, of course not. A vowel, then. An o. That was it. The sign should have read Good eats here. God was meant to be good. How scandalized Anna Lee would be at the notion that He was a mere typo: an error. An absence. Levon guffawed. Religion, Harvey's great discovery, grief - that's all boiled down to in the end: a red o. A bloody circle with nothing at the centre of it.
To occupy his time while waiting for Sweeney's to open, Levon decided to search for the letter. First, he looked about at his feet but saw no telltale splash of red.
He'd have to seek it further afield.
The snow on the pavement was worn down and grubby as an old bar of soap. Ice, partially thawed, then frozen again, felt nubbly on the soles of his shoes. He trod accidentally on a patch of smoother ice and his feet shot forward while his upper body jerked back, as if a rug had been yanked out from under him. His arms windmilled in an undignified effort to right himself. He would have to watch his step. His shoes were prison-issue after all, designed to stick only to the straight and narrow.

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