By Ron Rash
From the acclaimed, New York Times bestselling award-winning writer of Serena and The Cove, thirty of his best brief tales, gathered in a single volume.
No one captures the complexities of Appalachia—a rugged, brutal panorama of beautiful beauty—as evocatively and indelibly as writer and poet Ron Rash. Winner of the Frank O'Connor overseas brief tale Award, O Henry prizes, and a finalist for the PEN/Faulkner Award, Rash brilliantly illuminates the tensions among the normal and the trendy, the previous and new south, tenderness and violence, guy and nature. notwithstanding the focal point is neighborhood, the subjects of Rash’s paintings are common, impressive an emotional chord that resonates deep inside each one of our lives.
Something Rich and Strange showcases this respected master’s artistry and craftsmanship in thirty tales culled from his formerly released collections Nothing Gold Can remain, Burning vivid, Chemistry, and The evening New Jesus Fell to Earth. every one paintings of brief fiction demonstrates Rash’s awesome skill to awaken the guts and soul of this land and its people—men and ladies inexorably tethered to the geography that defines and shapes them. jam-packed with suspense and delusion, desire and heartbreak, informed in language that flows like “shimmering, liquid poetry” (Atlanta magazine Constitution), Something wealthy and Strange is an iconic paintings from an American literary virtuoso.
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Additional info for Something Rich and Strange: Selected Stories
Come fall of my senior yr, although, Angie and that i all started courting. We came across different activities at midnight. once or twice Wallace or one other pal joined me, yet I frequently fished on my own. After an afternoon on the supermarket, I didn’t brain being clear of humans awhile, and the pond at twilight used to be an excellent position. The swimmers and different fishermen have been long gone, forsaking beer and cola bottles, tangles of fishing line, grey cinder blocks used for seats. Later within the evening, got here to the pond, their leavings at the financial institution as well—rubbers and blankets, as soon as a couple of panties held on the white oak’s limb. yet that hour whilst day and evening made their gradual alternate, I had the pond to myself. through the years James Murray’s jon-boat had turn into communal estate. Having wearied of swimming out to retrieve the boat, I’d got twenty ft of blue nylon rope to maintain it moored. I’d unknot the rope from the white oak, set my fishing equipment and Coleman lantern within the bow, and paddle out to the pond’s middle. I’d fish till it used to be neither day nor evening, yet balanced among. There by no means appeared to be a breeze, pond and shore both smoothed. simply stillness, as if the area had taken a gentle breath, and was once preserving it in, or even time had leveled out, relocating neither ahead nor again. Then the frogs and crickets anticipating complete darkish introduced themselves, or a breeze got here up and that i back heard the slosh of water opposed to land. Or, one evening close to the top of that summer season, a truck rumbling towards the pond. On Saturday I depart at o’clock whilst the opposite shift supervisor is available in. I now not dwell close to the pond, yet my mom does, so I pull out of the grocery store’s parking zone and switch correct, passing lower than Lattimore’s one stoplight. at the left are 4 boarded-up shops, at the back of them like an anchored cloud, the mill’s water tower, blue paint chipping off the tank. I force via Glenn’s Café the place Angie works, quickly after that the small clapboard apartment the place she and our daughter, Rose, reside. Angie’s Ford Escort isn’t there, however the truck belonging to Rose’s boyfriend is. I don’t flip in. It’s now not my weekend to be dependable, and at the very least i do know Rose is at the tablet, simply because I took her to the medical institution myself. quickly there are just farmhouses, such a lot in disrepair—slumping barns and woodsheds, rusty tractors snared by way of kudzu and trumpet vines. I make a last correct flip and park in entrance of my mother’s condo. She comes onto the porch and that i understand from her dissatisfied expression that she’s gotten the week stressed and expects to determine Rose. We speak a minute and he or she is going again within. I stroll down the sloping land, straddle the sagging barbed cord, and make my method via brambles and broom sedge, what used to be a pasture. The evening the truck got here to the pond, a day thunderstorm had rinsed the humidity from the air. The night felt extra like past due September than mid-August. After rowing out, I had forged towards the willows at the some distance financial institution, the place I’d stuck bass long ago. The entice I used was once a Rapala, my favourite simply because i may fish it at the floor or submerged.