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A novel about two teenage misfits who spectacularly collide one fateful summer, and the art they make that changes their lives forever. Sixteen-year-old Frankie Budge, aspiring writer, indifferent student, offbeat loner, is determined to make it through yet another sad summer in Coalfield, Tennessee, when she meets Zeke, a talented artist who has just moved into his grandmother's unhappy house and who is as lonely and awkward as Frankie is. Romantic and creative sparks begin to fly, and when the two jointly make an unsigned poster, shot through with an enigmatic phrase, it becomes unforgettable to anyone who sees it. The edge is a shantytown filled with gold seekers. We are fugitives, and the law is skinny with hunger for us. The posters begin appearing everywhere, and people wonder who is behind them. Satanists, kidnappers, the rumors won't stop, and soon the mystery has dangerous repercussions that spread far beyond the town. The art that brought Frankie and Zeke together now threatens to tear them apart. Twenty years later, Frances Eleanor Budge, famous author, mom to a wonderful daughter, wife to a loving husband, gets a call that threatens to upend everything: a journalist named Mazzy Brower is writing a story about the Coalfield Panic of 1996. Might Frances know something about that? And will what she knows destroy the life she's so carefully built?… (altro)
I enjoyed Nothing to See Here and warm fuzzies I got from it. I think this book lacked that emotional connection for me. I did like the story line and how one moment in time can be a lifetime of memories. I noticed other reviews mentioned an authors note at the beginning. Was this only in the audiobook? I went back and looked for it, to no avail. I think if I had read that it might have set a better tone for the book. ( )
A great audio! A-short, intense, and strange book but really enjoyable. A fever dream of a teenage summer and the repercussions of it revisited 20 years later. ( )
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In memory of Eric Matthew Hailey (1973-2020)
Incipit
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I ANSWERED THE PHONE, AND THERE WAS A WOMAN'S VOICE on the other end, a voice that I didn't recognize.
Citazioni
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"I think maybe art is supposed to make your family uncomfortable," he offered.
"Are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend?" Andrew interrupted, pointing the tip of his slice of pizza at Zeke in a way that only my brothers could make look threatening.
"We're friends," I finally said. "We're FRIENDS." "Good friends," Zeke offered, and I nodded to him like, Yeah, duh, but also like, Shut up, my brothers will try to ruin me. "Well, I for one think it's great that Frankie has found such a good friend for the summer." "Frankie has no friends," Brian told Zeke, like maybe he was stupid and didn't understand how weird I was.
The edge is a shantytown filled with gold seekers. We are fugitives, and the law is skinny with hunger for us.
He took the map out of his backpack and searched until he found the geographic location of this abandoned house and made a star with his pen. He held it open and we looked at the stars on the map. Even though Coalfield seemed like the dinkiest place on earth, when we counted the stars, all the open space that was still unmarked, I felt a little overwhelmed. I felt like maybe I wouldn't be able to sleep until the whole map was a single constellation.
At that moment, I could feel something opening up in me and I realize how hard it was to walk through the day when you had an obsession and you couldn't say a word about it.
This was the beauty of obsession, I realized. It never waned.
"Are you okay?" I asked him. He had this faraway look in his eyes, like he was running simulations of how his life was going to turn out. "Yeah, I mean, of course," he finally replied. "It's just . . . well, I don't like the fact that the police are involved." "Okay, you're from Memphis, so I get it, but this is Coalfield and the cops are idiots, okay?"
And that hour in the room, the two of us almost touching, the thing we made beginning to fully assemble itself, to spread out into the world, was the happiest I have maybe ever been in my entire life.
I knew he was doing this for himself, that he wanted to know that he wasn't a bad person. And it made me love him, even as it made me feel a little bit worse about myself. Because I didn't care if I was a bad person anymore. I just . . . I just didn't.
it takes very little to think that someone else might actually know who you are, even as you spend all your time thinking that no one understands you. It's such a lovely feeling.
Why did everyone want things to move forward, and why did I want to be frozen in a block of ice?
I knew the world was going on outside, that things were happening, that large forces were now having to contend with this thing that I had started, but it felt so disconnected from reality.
When I was done making copies, I put my hand on the glass and made a single copy of my palm. I looked at the lines, wished I knew how to read them. I wanted to know what my future was, because in that moment, I could not imagine a future at all. I could not imagine how in the world I would keep this secret for the rest of my life. But I knew I would. And even then, sixteen years old, I knew that I would hate every person in my life who loved me, who took care of me, who helped me find a way to whatever life I would have, because I could never tell them who I was, what I'd done.
I CAME HOME AND MY ARM HEALED. MY BROTHERS WERE TENTATIVE around me, kind even. I think they were a little shocked that I had survived something worse than anything they'd lived through. They had not realized that I was also invincible, I guess, and it made them wary of my power, of what I could do to them.
"I hated being a teenager." "I don't hate it," I said, feeling a little affronted. "Well, I did," he told me, looking a sad. "Not because I thought something better was coming. I just never felt right inside my own body." "I feel that sometimes," I admitted. "And then I got older, and, guess what? I still never felt right inside my body. I don't think I ever will. I kind of flamed out everywhere I went, always got a little less than what I thought I'd get. But I guess that's okay. I think maybe it's necessary to feel like you're not quite settled, or maybe for some people it's necessary."
"But I also think it's not so bad if you never quite feel right in this world. It's still worth hanging around. You just have to look harder to find the things you love."
She showed it to Hobart, who also loved it, and it made me feel, for the first time, that maybe it was dumb to be embarrassed about weird things if you were really good at them. Or not good. If they made you happy.
"I wish you hadn't gone away," I told him. "I wish that summer had never ended." When I said it out loud, I realized how childish it sounded, how self-absorbed.
Ultime parole
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I said the line. Nothing had changed. I said it, and every single word was exactly the same, just as I had made it that summer. It would never change. So I said it again. And again. And again.
A novel about two teenage misfits who spectacularly collide one fateful summer, and the art they make that changes their lives forever. Sixteen-year-old Frankie Budge, aspiring writer, indifferent student, offbeat loner, is determined to make it through yet another sad summer in Coalfield, Tennessee, when she meets Zeke, a talented artist who has just moved into his grandmother's unhappy house and who is as lonely and awkward as Frankie is. Romantic and creative sparks begin to fly, and when the two jointly make an unsigned poster, shot through with an enigmatic phrase, it becomes unforgettable to anyone who sees it. The edge is a shantytown filled with gold seekers. We are fugitives, and the law is skinny with hunger for us. The posters begin appearing everywhere, and people wonder who is behind them. Satanists, kidnappers, the rumors won't stop, and soon the mystery has dangerous repercussions that spread far beyond the town. The art that brought Frankie and Zeke together now threatens to tear them apart. Twenty years later, Frances Eleanor Budge, famous author, mom to a wonderful daughter, wife to a loving husband, gets a call that threatens to upend everything: a journalist named Mazzy Brower is writing a story about the Coalfield Panic of 1996. Might Frances know something about that? And will what she knows destroy the life she's so carefully built?
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