After Claude (New York Review Books Classics) by Iris Owens

By Iris Owens

Harriet is leaving her boyfriend Claude, “the French rat.” That not less than is how Harriet sees issues, no matter if it’s Claude who has simply requested Harriet to depart his Greenwich Village house. good, a technique or one other she has no goal of leaving. on the contrary, she is going to remain and special revenge—or may have if Claude had now not had her unceremoniously evicted. nonetheless, notwithstanding moved out, Harriet isn't really approximately to maneuver on. no longer whatsoever. Girlfriends circle round to patronize and suggest, yet Harriet merely takes offense, and it’s effortless to appreciate why. simply because mad and maddening as she can be, Harriet sees prior the well mannered platitudes that everybody else is content material to spout and stay through. She is an unblinkered, unbuttoned, unrelenting, and notably bitingly humorous prophetess of all that's improper with women’s lives and hearts—until, in a shock twist, she reveals a savior in a dismal room on the Chelsea inn.

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Sample text

He might have answered me, but all human exchange was drowned in a clout of heavenly thunder that simultaneously wiped out Christ and the critical faculties of the stunned audience. The houselights went up, and I found myself in this ward of catatonics. “Thank God,” I said, as we staggered toward the aisle. ” You can’t imagine the looks I got from the shell-shock victims. Claude, who wasn’t in such great shape himself, made a dazed push for the door. We left the theater with the rest of the zombies and filed out into the hell of Manhattan’s Upper West Side, me wondering how I had allowed Claude to con me into penetrating enemy territory for the privilege of undergoing that exquisite torture.

There weren’t even any lions in the picture. They were too damn cheap to throw in a few hungry lions. What about the countless Jews who were consumed by lions? ” “You’re not going to pull your banana act on me, sweetheart. No matter how nuts you get, we’re going to have this settled. I want you out of this apartment. It’s my apartment. I took you in because I felt sorry for you. I found you wrecked on the stoop and brought you up here out of kindness. ” “Well, how do you think people get together in New York?

God knows you’re not allowed to smoke in a hearse. At the first hint of smoke, the driver whirled around and fixed his mean, crazy little eyes on me. ” The fact is I can’t, but even if I could, it would have taken an Indian scout to spot a sign in his jungle of relics. He helped me out by pointing to a small printed announcement stapled to his sunvisor which dealt, in essence, with the driver’s medical condition and the diagnosis that he would die from the cigarette you smoked. However, what really influenced me was a tattoo on his thick, hairy forearm that I had somehow overlooked.

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