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Where the Crawdads Sing

The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh's moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog.

The Imaginary Lives of James Poneke

I am not yet seventeen years of age, but I have a thought that I may be dying.

Shadow Tyrants

The air reeked of smoke and burnt flesh.

The Silence of the Girls

Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles . . . How the epithets pile up.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation

Whenever I woke up, night or day, I’d shuffle through the bright marble foyer of my building and go up the block and around the corner where there was a bodega that never closed.

The Mars Room

Chain Night happens once a week on Thursdays.

Past Tense

Jack Reacher caught the last of the summer sun in a small town on the coast of Maine, and then, like the birds in the sky above him, he began his long migration south.

Watching You

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.

Fatal Inheritance

If Vera arrives before Harry her whole life will change.

The Possible World

My mom has three freckles, light brown and almost perfectly square, two on her right cheek and one on her nose.

The Secret Keeper

I was sixteen when Sean Kenyon came into my life; he was twenty-two.

My Life, My Fight

I like being the underdog because the only way is up.

Liar Liar

Something was not right.

Black Klansman

All of this began in October 1978.

The Wife

The moment I decided to leave him, the moment I thought, enough, we were thirty-five thousand feet above the ocean, hurtling forward but giving the illusion of stillness and tranquility.

An Unwanted Guest

The road curves and twists unexpectedly as it leads higher and deeper into the Catskill Mountains, as if the further you get from civilization, the more uncertain the path.

A Ladder to the Sky

From the moment I accepted the invitation, I was nervous about returning to Germany.

Is It Bedtime Yet?

When a baby is born, we say welcome.

Baby Teeth

Maybe the machine could see the words she never spoke.

This Mortal Boy

October 1955. If Albert Black sings to himself he can almost see himself back home in Belfast, the place where he came from.