The Drowning People - Rilegato

Mason, Richard

Rilegato

ISBN 10: 0385258305 ISBN 13: 9780385258302

Casa editrice: Doubleday Canada, 1999

Riassunto

So begins The Drowning People, an extraordinary debut novel by a twenty-year-old Oxford student.

When he first lays eyes on her sitting by the Thames, James Farrell, an aspiring violinist, falls instantly in love with Ella Harewood, a young and beautiful society girl engaged to a Cambridge don. Defying the strict social standards of upper-class England, the two carry on a passionate affair, believing that the burning power of their love will justify all their actions, guarantee them a life of happiness, and keep them on top of the world.

But the heady rush of first love threatens to ruin their lives forever. In the ultimate test of loyalty, Ella forces James to violently betray his best friend, and, in doing so, sets off a chain of events that will lead to murder and bitter revenge.

Written with wisdom beyond the author's years, The Drowning People is both a trenchant portrayal of the British upper class and a passionate story about the limits of friendship, the legacy of family, and the volatile power of first love.

I see her fumble absently in her bag for a cigarette, watch her light it, and follow silver-grey smoke circles upwards to a pale blue sky. The park is noticeably warmer now; people are trickling in, and as they pass they cannot help but look at us, an odd pair under the trees. I can smell the faint odour of sweet perfume and soap and stale cigarette smoke which surrounds her; can hear the click of her lighter flint as she makes a flame; can see, as she holds her cigarette, that one of her nails is bitten to the quick.

"Have you been out here all night?" I ask.

She nods, with a little tightening of pale lips. "Oh yes," she says. "This bench and I are old friends. It's heard more of my secrets than it cares to remember, I suspect."

Su questo libro

L'autore:

Richard Mason began writing The Drowning People at the age of 18. He is currently twenty and a student at Oxford University, where he studies with Martin Amis's former tutor.

Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:

My wife of more than forty-five years shot herself yesterday afternoon.

At least that is what the police assume, and I am playing the part of grieving widower with enthusiasm and success, Life with Sarah has schooled me in self-deception, which I find -- as she did -- to be an excellent training in the deceiving of others. Of course, I know she did nothing of the kind. My wife was far too sane, far too rooted in the present to think of harming herself. In my opinion she never gave a thought to what she had done. She was incapable of guilt.

It was I who killed her.

And my reasons were not those you might expect. We were not unhappily married, you see; far from it. Sarah was -- until yesterday -- an excellent and loving wife, for she was conscientious, in some respects, to her core. It's funny that, isn't it? How completely contrasting standards can coexists in a person without seeming to trouble them. My wife was, at least outwardly, never anything but dutiful, correct, serene. 'She gave of herself tirelessly in the true service of this island and its people"; that's what the chaplain will say of her when the time comes; and he will be right. Sarah had many virtues, chief amongst which was an unflinching sense of duty made graceful by serene execution. That is what she will be remembered for. And her serenity was not only for herself: she had a way of making the lives of those around her serene also -- serene, ordered, and secure. It was security on her terms, of course; but I would have welcomed it on anybody's terms when I married her, and that has held true over forty-five years.

If you knew me, you wouldn't think me at all the murdering type. Indeed I don't consider myself a violent man, and I don't suppose that my having killed Sarah will change that. I have learned my faults over seventy years on this earth, and violence -- physical, at least -- is not among them. I killed my wife because justice demanded it; and by killing her I have at last seen a sort of justice reopen. My obsession with sin and punishment, laid to rest so imperfectly so long ago, is returning. I find myself wondering what right I had to judge Sarah, and how much more harshly I will be judged for having judged her too; judged her and punished her in a way I have never been judged or punished myself.

It might not have come this; I might never have known. But Sarah's inexorable sense of wifely duty exposed her. If only she'd been slightly less considerate, slightly less conscientious, she might not be dead now. She was organizing a surprise birthday party for my seventieth birthday, you see; not that the arrangements for it could have remained secret for long on this island. Nor did they. I've known that something was afoot for a month or more. And I was touched. But I'm particular about parties. I don't like the tenants invited; and I don't like some of Sarah's more fawningly agreeable friends. So it was understandable that I should want to consult a guest list so that by hinting at least I could have made my wishes known.

I chose last Monday to search her desk because my wife was out, supervising the extension to the ticket office. And quite by chance I found the drawer she has kept it in all these years.

Even now, with her dead and nearly buried, the arrogance of it chills me.

Su questa edizione

• Editore: Doubleday Canada
• Data di pubblicazione: 1999
• ISBN 10: 0385258305
• ISBN 13: 9780385258302
• Rilegatura: Copertina rigida
• Numero edizione: 1
• Numero di pagine: 352