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Item Barcode | Collection | Call Number | Status | Item Holds |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 33607003073247 | Large Print Fiction | HEALEY | Searching... Unknown | Searching... Unavailable |
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Summary
Summary
A #1 Library Reads PickMaud, an aging grandmother, is slowly losing her memory ? and her grip on everyday life. Yet she refuses to forget her best friend Elizabeth, whom she is convinced is missing and in terrible danger. When no one will listen to Maud, she resolves to discover the truth and save her beloved friend. This singular obsession forms a cornerstone of Maud's rapidly dissolving present. But the clues she discovers seem only to lead deeper into her past . . .
Author Notes
Emma Healey is a Montreal-based writer and the founder and editor-in-chief of the Incongruous Quarterly, an online literary magazine devoted to the publication of unpublishable literature. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in magazines such as Matrix, Broken Pencil and the Void, and in various online publications including Joyland, Said the Gramophone, Cellstories, an Lemon Hound. Her work has been featured in the anthologies Can'tLit: Fearless Fiction from Broken Pencil Magazine and Gulch: An Anthology of Poetry and Prose. Her poem "The National Research Council Official Time Signal" was published as a limited-edition monograph by No Press in 2011. She was the 2010 recipient of the Irving Layton award for poetry and was shortlisted for the same award in 2011 and 2012. She was the recipient of the Irving Layton Award for Creative Writing in both 2010 and 2013, a National Magazine Award nominee in 2015, and a finalist for the K.M. Hunter award in 2016.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (2)
Publisher's Weekly Review
British author Healey draws on her own grandmothers' experiences to create the distinctive narrator of her first novel. Maud Horsham can no longer function safely in the present, and one of the unanswered questions of this sad, unsettling psychological mystery is why Maud lives alone in the south of England, with only a little part-time help and daily visits from Helen, her grown daughter. When Maud becomes obsessed with the apparent disappearance of Elizabeth, "the only friend I have left," her already erratic life becomes chaotic. All of her attempts to find Elizabeth, including visits to the police, are unsuccessful. Meanwhile, Maud's search for Elizabeth elicits memories of another disappearance-that of her sister, Sukey, back in 1948. Few readers may want to journey through the mind of a person with dementia, but Healey demonstrates that an absorbing tale can indeed be written from such a perspective. Agent: Karolina Sutton, Curtis Brown (U.K.). (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Library Journal Review
Maud's memory is going quickly. She doesn't always know who her daughter is and ends up buying cans of peaches at the store every time she shops because she can't figure out how to find the items on her list. One thing Maud is sure of though, her friend Elizabeth is missing. But she can't convince anyone else. So Maud leaves herself notes and attempts to visit Elizabeth, only to be turned away by her angry son, Peter. Maud's investigative attempts also awaken memories of an earlier disappearance, that of her sister Sukey many years ago. Where Maud has difficulty keeping track of her current life from moment to moment, the past becomes clearer and forms a disturbing picture-one that may connect to the missing Elizabeth. VERDICT Delving into the mind of a woman suffering from dementia, Healey uses her unreliable narrator to create realistic tension. Suspenseful and emotional in equal parts, the author's debut hits all the right notes. Fans of other books with questionable narrators like Alice LaPlante's Turn of Mind and S.J. Watson's Before I Go To Sleep will find much to love here. [See Prepub Alert, 1/6/14.]-Jane -Jorgenson, Madison P.L., WI (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Prologue 'Maud? Was I boring you so much that you'd rather stand outside in the dark?' A woman calls to me from the warm light of a cluttered dining room. My breath curls towards her, wet and ghostly, but no words follow. The snow, sparse but bright on the ground, reflects the light on to her face, which is drawn tight in an attempt to see. I know, though, that she can't see very well, even in the daylight. 'Come inside,' she says. 'It's freezing. I promise I won't say another word about frogs and snails and majolica ware.' 'I wasn't bored,' I say, realizing too late that she's joking. 'I'll be there in a minute. I'm just looking for something.' In my hand is the thing I've already found, still clotted with mud. A small thing, easily missed. The broken lid of an old compact, its silver tarnished, its navy-blue enamel no longer glassy but scratched and dull. The mildewed mirror is like a window on a faded world, like a porthole looking out under the ocean. It makes me squirm with memories. 'What have you lost?' The woman steps, precarious and trembling, out on to the patio. 'Can I help? I might not be able to see it, but I can probably manage to trip over it if it's not too well hidden.' I smile, but I don't move from the grass. Snow has collected on the ridges of a shoeprint and it looks like a tiny dinosaur fossil freshly uncovered. I clutch at the compact lid in my hand, soil tightening my skin as it dries. I've missed this tiny thing for nearly seventy years. And now the earth, made sludgy and chewable with the melting snow, has spat out a relic. Spat it into my hand. But where from? That's what I can't discover. Where did it lie before it became the gristle in the earth's meal? An ancient noise, like a fox bark, makes an attempt at the edges of my brain. 'Elizabeth?' I ask. 'Did you ever grow marrows?' Excerpted from Elizabeth Is Missing by Emma Healey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.