McGlue

The debut novella from one of contemporary fiction`s most exciting young voices, now in a new edition. Salem, Massachusetts, 1851: McGlue is in the hold, still too drunk to be sure of name or situation or orientation--he may have killed a man. That man may have been his best friend. Intolerable memory accompanies sobriety. A-sail on the high seas of literary tradition, Ottessa Moshfegh gives us a nasty heartless blackguard on a knife-sharp voyage through the fogs of recollection. They said I`ve done something wrong? . . . And they`ve just left me down here to starve. They`ll see this inanition and be so damned they`ll fall to my feet and pass up hot cross buns slathered in fresh butter and beg I forgive them. All of them . . . : the entire world one by one. Like a good priest I`ll pat their heads and nod. I`ll dunk my skull into a barrel of gin.