I am standing on the terrace of the Alumnae House, listening to a classmate from Pem East whom I remember chiefly for her gentle wit and acne—which has cleared up completely after 25 years—and the egg stains on her pale blue woolen bathrobe.
The Surface of Earth. By Reynolds Price. Atheneum. $10.95.
WHEN a work of fiction as compelling and original as Reynolds Price's latest novel comes along, it deserves evaluation in its own terms. Why should the reader worry if, in its relatively [...]
On fragile finger bones
tight stretched with
the coin silver spoon
we watch it
into the bog
And we wait,
too shy to press
And sure enough [...]
(Dedicated to the memory of my other grandfather b. 1867
This is the corner where he kissed me
thirty-seven years ago
and stepped into a Yellow Cab. Off to New York City
to negotiate some business
which turned out
to be dying.
I rem [...]
The telephone was ringing, but Louise Reeves had her girdle only halfway on. Billows of white flesh were foaming at the waistband. She couldn't stop now. No matter who that was.
"Will you get it, Essie?" she shouted toward the hall. "And tell them [...]
"How about another drink?" Peter says to the out-of-town lawyer he has brought home unexpectedly for dinner. And he plucks the empty glass out of the man's hand.
"A short one," he explains to me, "while you're putting dinner on the table."
"But d [...]
It began bank at her birth, or at least her baptism, when she was named Clare Colston for the mother of her Richmond grandmother. Although this fact endeared her to her relatives in Richmond, it endangered her in Lexington, a dark, alien, and mount [...]