By Ann Cummins
For her acclaimed number of tales, crimson Ant condominium, Joyce Carol Oates hailed Ann Cummins as “a grasp storyteller." The San Francisco Chronicle referred to as her “startlingly original." Now, in her debut novel, Cummins stakes declare to wealthy new literary territory with a narrative of straddling cultures and dishonest destiny within the American Southwest.
Yellowcake introduces us to 2 unforgettable families—one Navajo, one Anglo—some thirty years after the final of the uranium mill close to which they as soon as made their houses. whilst little Becky Atcitty indicates up at the Mahoneys' doorstep all grown up, the prior comes crashing in on Ryland and his vigorous brood. Becky, the daughter of 1 of the Navajo mill staff Ryland had supervised, is now fascinated by a bunch looking damages for these harmed through the radioactive dirt that infected their global. yet Ryland desires no a part of dredging up their past—or acknowledging his destiny. whilst his spouse joins the reason, the messy, glossy lives of this eclectic forged of characters collide once more, trying out their mettle, stretching their religion, and reconnecting previous and found in unforeseen new ways.
Finely crafted, deeply felt, and bursting with heartache and hilarity, Yellowcake is a relocating tale of ways daily humans kind their manner via lifestyles, with all its hidden risks.
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Ryan smiled. “Doooo as I say,” he hypnotizes, his hands up in a puppet-master mime. ” Luke smiles weakly and nods. “It bothers me. A lot. ” *** At lunch—and they usually spend the lunch hour in the library in the company of nerds and ne’er-do-wells— Luke keeps up a low-toned stream of dialogue. He’s been doing “research,” studying up on all those school shootings to learn from the mistakes of others. “Blah blah Klebold, blah blah Jonesboro,” Luke says. Ryan’s not really listening. He’s looking around at the kids doing homework, probably worrying about GPAs and class rank and SATs.
The once endless forests of Douglas-firs and spruces are now half-destroyed, hacked from the ground for cheap profit and greed, turned into clear-cuts, the most hideous way that land can look, really scary to come upon, like I did once on a hike. ), forgetting my shitty life because of endorphins, and then, there it was: a stream that didn’t know where to flow, lost in a sea of fallen pines. It was so truly hideous, so ugly and so evil it took my breath away. Really. I couldn’t take in air. I fell to my knees and jacked off right there on the barren mud, somehow thinking that my come would fertilize the soil again and make the giant pines return.
I held a switchblade to his throat. His pants were already loose on his waist and I tugged them down. Skinny, white ass; aren’t you going to say anything? qxd:Layout 1 38 7/9/08 11:25 AM Page 38 COOL THING didn’t stop me. I slid right in, burying my dick to the hilt. Resist fucker! Resist!! I rammed him against the dumpster a few times, shook him, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t moan either. I wasn’t sure why I even bothered with the knife. Half of them were prostitutes when they had the looks.