Ahab's Wife: Or, The Star-Gazer: A Novel by Sena Jeter Naslund

By Sena Jeter Naslund

From the outlet line—"Captain Ahab used to be neither my first husband nor my last"—you will be aware of that you're within the palms of a grasp storyteller and within the corporation of a desirable lady hero. encouraged via a short passage in Moby-Dick, Sena Jeter Naslund has created a captivating and compellingly readable saga, spanning a wealthy, eventful, and dramatic existence. without delay a relatives drama, a romantic experience, and a portrait of a true and loving marriage, Ahab's Wife supplies new viewpoint at the American experience.

This P.S. version positive aspects an additional sixteen pages of insights into the booklet, together with writer interviews, suggested analyzing, and more.

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And I held her hands, and big girl that I was, jumped up 30 and down with her. Breathlessly, I asked could we pick the roses and could we pet the goats, and my aunt sent us off to do whichever we preferred without demanding so much as the semblance of proper introductions. We scampered away, through a gate, up rocks till I knelt to pet a little white goat, and its hairs were very distinct, long and wiry, not nearly so soft as a cow’s, but less sharp than a pig’s. With its insistent, solid little head, the kid nuzzled hard against my chest and hurt me where my bosom was beginning.

Someone played an accordion from within. I peeked in to see an old black man with tight-curled, snow-white hair hunched over the squeeze-box, an unvarying smile carved into his face, his eyes focused on the floor. Sometimes he closed his eyes as his fingers flew over the buttons and keys. Mother walked me around to the rear, on the Kentucky side, where the posters hung. Without hesitation she grasped the edge of the paper bearing one of the sketches and ripped it from the cork. The tacks burst out.

I had only disappointment and an empty womb to offer. In his age, with passion, Ahab had given me seed; I in my youth had failed to birth a thriving child. The only comfort was to turn and curl toward the warmth of Susan’s dark body, radiant beside me in the bed. I nestled against her as though she were my husband, mother, sister, shadow, angel. CHAPTER 2 I N THREE DAYS, The Dirge the snow had still not melted, but the river had begun to break up. Those days! I will not tell of them now. Imagine Christ crucified and not yet risen.

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