Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World: A Novel

Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World: A Novel

Donald Antrim

Language: English

Pages: 192

ISBN: 0670851396

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Announcing a bold new American voice laced with pitch black humor and as taut as a victim on a rack, this spectacularly provocative debut novel is graceful, electric, a wickedly funny tale of a world made riotous by life's mysterious and sometimes violent accidents. A Harper'sserial.

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adult audience’s yearning to raise their own inquiries, as I casually dropped the chalk in the chalk tray and returned to the podium. I watched Rita Henderson brush lint from her purple blouse. Jerry folded and refolded a napkin. Jim Kunkel chewed a toothpick. I let all these people contemplate the past. “In those days you were guilty until proven innocent.” I took another sip of water. Heads wagged, a fork scraped a plate, ice rattled. “Questions, anyone?” Jim raised his hand. “Pete, would you

pounding and my head was heavy. I wanted Meredith in the worst way. “Prepare to dive!” the voice of the anthropology professor commanded. Followed by: “Find your animal!” What happened after that is something I’d rather not go into. Not right now at any rate. It’s too painful, too embarrassing. Anyway, I have town meeting minutes to type. I believe I mentioned these earlier—all that business of voluntary mine sweeps of Turtle Pond Park, funding for the library, etc. It’s my duty as Town

shuffling feet. And there are gray smudges on her box-pleated tennis skirt, clay scuffed from the playing surface by impacting tennis balls, sweatily transferred to her hand, wiped absently, wetly away in the radiant summer heat ushering ozone’s traces sweetly beneath advancing clouds. Afternoon rain, here it comes out of the west. The woman serves, the rain approaches; and now the school cafeteria door—newly painted a rich midnight blue, which may or may not be significant—opens; a man peers up

mess. Fish bones and seashells lay in piles on the coffee table; more shells were scattered across the floor. There were so many shells. The rug was transformed—it was like a scaled-down seabed environment, a clutter of cowries and oysters and cockles and scallops that glowed liquid pink on the inside; and zebra-striped star shells, spiny-edged and no bigger than coat buttons; and top-shaped shells like iridescent children’s toys, their nautiloid exteriors gaudy with spots, speckles, and

do that.” She did. She retreated to a quiet corner and knelt bare-kneed on the floor and raised her hands in the customary palms-together-before-the-breast posture of pious devotion. “Dear Lord, I am praying for the soul of our classmate Sarah who isn’t the nicest person in the world. In fact she’s stuck up. But she’s still a person.” Back at the trunk/rack the Harrises had arranged themselves at either end of Sarah. One Harris struggled with Sarah’s bicycle-kicking feet, while the other, the

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