A World Elsewhere
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Beloved author Wayne Johnston returns to the territory of his #1 national bestseller The Colony of Unrequited Dreams with this sweeping tale of ambition, remorse and hope.
A World Elsewhere is an astounding work of literature with all the hallmarks of Wayne Johnston's most beloved and acclaimed novels: outsiders yearning for acceptance, dreams that threaten to overpower their makers, and unlikely romance. The beating heart of this story is the touching relationship between a father and his adopted son. This sweeping tale immerses us in St. John's, Princeton and North Carolina at the close of the 19th century. Landish Druken is a formidable figure: broader than most doorways, quick-witted and sharp-tongued. As a student at Princeton, he is befriended by Padgett "Van" Vanderluyden, son of the wealthiest man in America. Years later, when Landish and his son turn to Van for help, he invites them to his self-constructed castle and pulls them into his web of lies and deceit.
has lived in poverty since he was born.” Landish knew she was right, knew that he’d not only been hurtful but selfish and reckless to mock Nun One who held Deacon’s fate in her hands. A man they nicknamed the “wealth inspector,” of whom Hogan often spoke and who Landish thought meant well, began, at the behest of the nuns, to come by once a month to give them food vouchers and to see if the contents of the attic matched the list of their possessions, which he held in front of him on a clipboard
people think to be my nature.” There were nights, still, when Landish lay sleepless on his bunk in the silent house on Dark Marsh Road, picturing Vivvie sinking, drifting slowly down, her dress buoyed up around her face, her arms above her head. Nothing so made him wish that he and Van had never parted as the image of that little girl in the mud-darkened water, her brother just inches away, flailing about in panic. They had been friends. How their friendship ended did not change that. Thick and
decided he must have it for no reason but that it belonged to Landish. “Because of Princeton?” Deacon asked. Landish said he wasn’t sure, but he was certain he was right that Van had the hat even though he had no proof. “But he picked us,” Deacon said. “To help us. He didn’t know about the hat.” Landish said he picked them because he felt guilty for what he did at Princeton, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt his friend again if he got the chance. Deacon wasn’t sure Mr. Vanderluyden had
left the butler uneaten,” Stavely said. “I wonder if what will prove to be a fruitless search for Goddie might not even now be under way.” Deacon drifted in and out of sleep, in and out of dreams and half dreams in which the only voices were those of the Blokes. “The Kid is Fed. Long Live the Kid.” Landish: “The Vanderland pantries empty lie/While he whom they were emptied by/But half-full lies and—you may laugh—thinks only of his empty half.” “Dining with the Vanderluydens,” Sedgewick said.
Vanderluyden doesn’t like New York.” “I don’t blame him. Not now.” “Because of Vivvie?” “She puts some things in a different light.” “Mr. Vanderluyden.” “Maybe.” “He made Vivvie sound nice. He sounded nice when he talked about her. Most of the time. He sounded happy.” “Almost happy.” “He remembers her. She was in the Murk, but he wasn’t. Maybe, in the Tomb of Time, she remembers him.” “Maybe she does.” Landish thought about Van alone in his room at night, pulling out from beneath his