By Pascale Quiviger, Sheila Fischman
Marianne, a tender Montrealer, has come to stay in Tuscany to attract and write and look at her lifestyles. the following she meets Marco, a temptingly seductive guy who nonetheless lives in his mother's residence within the village and who's no longer ready to dedicate himself to something equivalent to a shared lifestyles. even though he breaks her middle, repeatedly, Marianne can merely stay away from him through returning to Canada. this primary novel by way of Pascale Quiviger is marked by means of its luminous language and its unstinting examine what makes Marianne, and Marco, and, certainly, a whole village and the realm past it, tick.
Translated by way of Sheila Fischman
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Extra info for The Perfect Circle
Peach Tree reached out and smacked me on the shoulder. I wouldn’t even look at him. The little man sneered, showing his off-white teeth. ” He paused and undid his jacket. ” “You don’t know me,” I said. “I know what happened in Cedar Rapids. ” A few of the others looked at me now, sidelong glances of judgment. The little man walked to a chair and pulled it out for himself. “Oh, I know about all of you. Don’t go acting like he’s the only one. You bunch of crackheads and criminals. Sit down already!
I didn’t bother with my gloves, and pretty soon my hands dried out. Digging into the salt made my fingertips bleed. It only took me about fifteen minutes to do one side of the station. Then I moved out to the parking spaces, but when I looked back at the building, it had disappeared. The snow came down like a shroud and I couldn’t see the cars behind me, and I stood alone in the storm. You made a promise in Cedar Rapids in 2002. Time to honor it. How did they know? Wind got into the hood of my parka and raked across my face, so I shut my eyes and moved with one hand out in front of me.
Or willing. Now I saw it. The interior lights smoldered, and the Library glowed bleakly in the great woods. It looked like God’s gravestone. 7 YOU’D THINK I’D SLEEP for twenty-four hours after that long trip, but I only passed out for five. Awake by eleven, I strolled around my cabin as if its four rooms made it a manor. Bedroom, living room, bathroom, and kitchen. I felt pretty giddy about each one. Nothing too fancy. There weren’t mink blankets or platinum faucets or whatever the wealthy buy with their loot.