Leslie in California / by Andre Dubus. Dubus, Andre, (Author). General Note: “This copy of Leslie in California is number 87 in an edition limited to. mar Leslie in California Introduction The short story “Leslie in California”, is written by Andre Dubus in The short story “Leslie in California” is. ANDRE DUBUS’S fourth collection of short stories derives its title from a In ” Leslie in California” a young wife broods over the fact that her.
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The Art of Reading Andre Dubus: We Don’t Have to Live Great Lives | Poets & Writers
I light the gas lantern and set it near the stove, and remember New England mornings with the lights on and a warm kitchen and catching the school bus.
Dubus describes in visceral language how LuAnn savagely defends herself against what is surely an attempted rape.
I put water on the stove and get bacon and eggs and milk from the ice chest. His arm is over mine, and I bump it as I work the spatula.
The first time I met Dubus III in person, he told me about the unexpected way his father had influenced his art. Drawing conclusions is up to the jury, that is, the readers. Andre Dubus was enamored with the human condition. My first words of the day, and my voice sounds like dry crying. The house has a shadow now, on the grass and dew. Dubus treated his characters with such empathy that he could humanize even his darkest creations. I hold my hand up at the car as they back into the road, then are gone downhill past the house.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: I turn around and look up at him, and he steps back. Then I go to the stove and heat the beans on a high flame, watching them, drinking coffee and smoking. Let me do something for that eye. The young man, only twenty-three, was killed instantly.
Birds are singing, or whatever it is they do. The artist is not meant to be a judge of his characters and what they say; his only job is to be an impartial witness.
Soon the road will warm, and I think of rattlesnakes sleeping on it, and I shut the screen and look around the lawn where nothing moves. Jump to navigation Skip to content. Joshua Bodwell is a Maine-based journalist and fiction writer.
I could count them, know how many it takes. January 10, Categories: His blond beard is damp, his eyes are bloodshot, and his mouth opens as he looks. Page 1 Page 2. He did some under-the-table work: He had written to say he had found my letter, and then he did a beautiful thing: The bacon is curling brown.
I nadre the bacon on the paper towel and open the door to pour out some of the grease; I look at the steps before I go out.
There is no better evidence than the words he put to paper. Each of his women is particular and unexpected, her moral and physical nature without a shadow of male fantasy or condescension.
I go to his plate and scoop all the beans on his egg yellow. I put my arms around him, xalifornia just touching his back.
The Art of Reading Andre Dubus: We Don’t Have to Live Great Lives
I break them into the skillet and he stands behind me, holding the ice on my eye. You are commenting using your Twitter account. Blue is spreading across the sky. He comes to me and hugs me from behind, rubbing my hips through the robe, his breath sour beer with mint.
He thanked me for thanking his dad. The coffee makes me pee, and I leave the flashlight and walk through the living room that smells of lesle and ashtrays and is grey now, so I can see a beer can on the arm of a chair.
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I turn the eggs and count to four, then put them on a plate with bacon. I get up shivering in my nightgown and put on my robe and go by flashlight to the kitchen, where there is some light from the sky.
There are moments when his generosity and tenderness can nearly overwhelm the reader, and it is capifornia testament to his narrative skill that the stories never collapse into sentimentality.