By Richard Hughes, Francine Prose
Richard Hughes's celebrated brief novel is a masterpiece of centred narrative. Its dreamlike motion starts one of the decayed plantation homes and overwhelming usual abundance of overdue nineteenth-century Jamaica, sooner than relocating out onto the excessive seas, as Hughes tells the tale of a bunch of youngsters thrown upon the mercy of a group of down-at-the-heel pirates. A story of seduction and betrayal, of lodging and manipulation, of strange humor and unexpected violence, this vintage of twentieth-century literature is certainly a unprecedented reckoning with the key purposes and otherworldly realities of early life.
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Extra resources for A High Wind in Jamaica
He only had one question to ask LuAnn Tyler, one simple question that carried the potential for very complex repercussions. Based upon his experience, he was reasonably certain of her answer, but one just never knew. He dearly hoped, for her sake, that she would give the right one. For there was only one “right” answer. If she said no? Well, the baby would never have the opportunity to know its mother, because the baby would be an orphan. He smacked the desktop with the palm of his hand. She would say yes.
And her body. Her father had often commented on that attribute too. Voluptuous, full-figured, he had described it, as though it were an entity distinct from her. Weak mind, dazzling body. Thankfully, he had never gone beyond those verbalizations. Late at night she sometimes wondered if he had ever wanted to but simply lacked the courage or the opportunity. Sometimes the way he would look at her. On rare occasions, she would venture into the deepest parts of her subconscious and sense, like the sudden, scary prick of a needle, the disjointed pieces of a memory that made her wonder if the opportunity maybe had presented itself.
Come in,” he said, his voice firm and clear. The door opened and LuAnn stepped into the room and looked around. Her left hand clutched the handle of the baby carrier where Lisa lay, her eyes looking around the room with obvious curiosity. Over LuAnn's right shoulder hung a large bag. The man observed the vein plunging down LuAnn's long, sinewy biceps until it connected with a maze of others in her muscular forearm. The woman was obviously strong, physically. What about her character? Was it as strong?
A High Wind in Jamaica by Richard Hughes, Francine Prose