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    The Powell's Playlist | February 27, 2015

    Kazuo Ishiguro: IMG Kazuo Ishiguro's Playlist for The Buried Giant

    The eight songs on this playlist didn't "inspire" The Buried Giant, nor did I play them out loud while writing. And with the notable exception of... Continue »
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      The Buried Giant

      Kazuo Ishiguro 9780307271037

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1 Burnside Horror- General

Midnight Voices


Midnight Voices Cover




Caroline evanss dream was not a nightmare, and as it began evaporating into the morning light, she tried to cling to it, wanting nothing more than to retreat into the warm, sweet bliss of sleep where the joy and rapture of the dream and the reality of her life were one and the same.

Even now she could feel Brads arms around her, feel his warm breath on her cheek, feel his gentle fingers caressing her skin. But none of the sensations were as sharp and perfect as they had been a few moments ago, and her moan—a moan that had begun in anticipation of ecstasy but which had already devolved into nothing more than an expression of pain and frustration—drove the last vestiges of the dream from her consciousness.

The arms that a moment ago had held her in comfort were suddenly a constricting tangle of sheets, and the heat of his breath on her cheek faded into nothing more than the weak warmth of a few rays of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the blinds covering the bedroom window.

Only the fingers touching her back were real, but they were not those of her husband leading her into a morning of slow lovemaking, but of her eleven-year-old son prodding her to get out of bed.

“Its almost nine,” Ryan complained. “Im gonna be late for practice!”

Caroline rolled over, the image of her husband rising in her memory as she gazed at her son.

So alike.

The same soft brown eyes, the same unruly shock of brown hair, the same perfectly chiseled features, though Ryans had not yet quite emerged from the softness of boyhood into the perfectly defined angles and planes that had always made everyone—men and women alike—look twice whenever Brad entered a room.

Had the person who killed him looked twice? Had he looked even once? Had he even cared? Probably not—all hed wanted was Brads wallet and watch, and hed gone about it in the most efficient method possible, coming up behind Brad, slipping an arm around his neck, and then using his other hand to shove Brads head hard to the left, ripping vertebrae apart and crushing his spinal cord.

Maybe she shouldnt have gone to the morgue that day, shouldnt have looked at Brads body lying on the cold metal of the drawer, shouldnt have let herself see death in his face.

Caroline shuddered at the memory, struggling to banish it. But she could never rid herself of that last image she had of her husband, an image that would remain seared in her memory until the day she died.

There were plenty of other people who could have identified him at the morgue. Any one of the partners in his law firm could have done it, or any of their friends. But she had insisted on going herself, certain that it was a mistake, that it hadnt been Brad at all whod been mugged in the park.

A terrible cold seized her as the memory of that evening last fall came over her. When Brad had gone out for his run around part of the lake and through the Ramble shed worried that it was too dark. But hed insisted that a good run might help him get over the jumpiness that had come over him the last couple of weeks. Shed been helping Laurie with her math homework and barely responded to Brads quick kiss before hed headed out.

Hardly even nodded an acknowledgment of what turned out to be his last words: “Love you.”

Love you.

The words kept echoing through her mind six hours later when shed gazed numbly down at the face that was so utterly expressionless as to be almost unrecognizable. Love you . . . love you . . . love you . . . “I love you, too,” shed whispered, her vision mercifully blurred by the tears in her eyes. But in the months that had passed since that night more than half a year ago, her tears had all but dried up. Sometimes they still came, sneaking up on her late at night when she was alone in bed, trying to fall asleep, trying to escape into the dream in which Brad was still alive, and neither the tears nor the anger were a part of her life.

Caroline wasnt quite sure when the anger had begun to creep up on her.

Not at the funeral, where shed sat with her arms holding her children close. Maybe at the burial, where shed stood clutching their hands in the fading afternoon light as if they, too, might disappear into the grave that had swallowed up her husband.

That was when shed first realized that Brad must have known hed be alone in total darkness by the time he finished his run around the lake. And both of them knew how dangerous the park was after dark. Why had he gone? Why had he risked it? But she knew the answer to those questions, too. Even if hed thought about it, hed have finished his run. That was one of the things she loved about him, that he always finished whatever he started.

Books he didnt like, but finished anyway.

Rocks that looked easy to climb, but turned out to be almost impossible to scale. Almost, but not quite.

“Well, why couldnt you have quit just once?” shed whispered as she peered out into the darkness of that evening four days after hed died. “Why couldnt you just once have said, ‘This is really stupid, and turned around and come home?” But he hadnt, and she knew that even if the thought had occurred to him, he still would have finished what he set out to do. That was when anger had first begun to temper her grief, and though the anger brought guilt along with it, she also knew that it was the anger rather than the grief that had let her keep functioning during those first terrible weeks after her life had been torn apart. Now, more than half a year later, the anger was finally beginning to give way to something else, something she couldnt yet quite identify. The first shock of Brads death was over. The turmoil of emotions—the first numbness brought on by the shock of his death, followed by the grief, then the anger—was finally starting to settle down. As each day had crept inexorably by, she had slowly begun to deal with the new reality of her life. She was by herself now, with two children to raise, and no matter how much she might sometimes wish she could just disappear into the same grave in which Brad now lay, she also knew she loved her children every bit as much as she had loved their father.

No matter how she felt, their lives would go on, and so would hers. So shed gone back to work at the antique shop, and done her best to help her children begin healing from wounds the loss of their father had caused. There had been just enough money in their savings account to keep them afloat for a few months, but last week she had withdrawn the last of it, and next week the rent was due. Her financial resources had sunk even lower than those of her emotions.

“Mom?” she heard Laurie calling from the kitchen. “Is there any more maple syrup?”

Sitting up and untangling herself from the sheets—and the turmoil of her own emotions as well—Caroline shooed her son out of the room. “Go tell your sister to look on the second shelf in the pantry. There should be one more bottle. And youre not going to be late for baseball practice. I promise.”

As Ryan skittered out of the room, already yelling to his sister, Caroline got out of bed, opened the blinds, and looked out at the day. As the smell of Lauries waffles filled her nostrils and the brilliant light of a spring Saturday flooded the room, Caroline shook off the vestiges of the previous nights dream.

“Were going to be all right,” she told herself.

She only wished she felt as certain as the words sounded.

caroline could feel the tension as soon as she walked into the kitchen. Ryan was at the kitchen table, a deep scowl furrowing his brow as he glowered at his sister. Laurie, still three months shy of her thirteenth birthday, hadnt yet outgrown her delight in stirring up her younger brother, and this morning she was employing a tactic that never failed: she was simply acting as if she didnt know he was mad at her. Now she offered her mother a transparently bright smile that Caroline knew was intended to win her alliance in whatever quarrel had developed during the ten minutes since Ryan had left her bedroom. Shaking her head at the syrup-drenched waffle Laurie put at her place, she poured a cup of coffee, sat down, glanced at Ryan, then fixed her gaze on Laurie. “Okay, what did you do to him?” she asked.

Lauries smile weakened slightly, but she did her best not to let it fail altogether. “Nothing!” she insisted, shrugging with exaggerated innocence. “I dont know why hes mad!”

Ryans scowl deepened. “She says were going to the zoo. But you said I could play baseball this morning. Dad and I always played baseball on Saturday, and this afternoon Im supposed to meet some of the guys from school for soccer—”

“Why do you have to play baseball and soccer?” Laurie broke in. “Why cant you do something different? Why cant you do something Mom and I want to do?”

“I dont have to!” Ryan flared. “If Dad were—”

This time it was Caroline who interrupted the boy. “But hes not here.” Though her voice caught, she managed to control the tears that suddenly blurred her eyes. Saturdays—especially perfect Saturdays like this one—had always been their favorite day. Before the children were born, when theyd still lived in the little apartment up near Columbia University, she and Brad had wandered endlessly, exploring the city, searching for the perfect neighborhood in which to raise their children. Just before Laurie was born, theyd found the apartment where she and the kids still lived, just a block from the park, on a street that, though not as quiet as some of those on the other side of the park, wasnt nearly as noisy as some of the West Side blocks. After Ryan was born, their Saturdays had begun focusing on the park, where theyd quickly met other young couples raising families in the city. Since Brad had died, Caroline had done her best to keep up the family activities, but everything, of course, had changed. Though last fall Brad had begun letting Ryan go to the park by himself to play baseball or soccer after school, Caroline could no longer bear the thought of either of her children being alone there. Ryan hadnt liked the new restriction, but hed gone along with it, as long as she took him on Saturdays. But Laurie, having forgotten that up until last summer shed enjoyed baseball as much as her brother, was now at the age where she wanted as little to do with her brother as possible. So Saturdays had become a tug-o-war between her two children, with Caroline put in the position of being unable to satisfy either of them. Still, she had to try. “How about if we compromise?” she suggested. “Well watch Ryan play ball this morning, and walk over to the zoo this afternoon. And after we see the zoo, maybe Ryan can still get to soccer with his friends.”

The last of Lauries smile faded away. “The zoo in the park? I hate that place. The cages are awful, and all the animals look like theyd be better off dead!” Too late, Laurie heard her own words and saw the flash of pain in her mothers eyes. “I—Im sorry—” she began, but Caroline quickly shook her head.

“Its okay,” she said. “Youre not even wrong. But for us all to go up to the Bronx . . .” Her voice trailed off as she silently calculated how much it would cost: including the subway, nearly thirty dollars, even if they spent nothing on snacks or even just Cokes.

Thirty dollars that a year ago would have been nothing.

Thirty dollars that now she simply didnt have.

Not with the rent unpaid, and all the credit cards maxed out.

Laurie read her mothers expression perfectly. “I have some money,” she said. “Ive got more than a hundred dollars in my baby-sitting account. Why cant I take us?”

“Because youre going to need that money for college,” Caroline replied. “And just because things are a little tight for me right now, were not going to raid your baby-sitting account.”

“Ive got some money in my piggy bank,” Ryan offered, his scowl giving way to a worried frown. “We could use that.”

The phone rescued Caroline from having to figure out a way to reject Ryans offer without hurting his feelings, but as soon as she heard Claire Robinsons voice, she suspected that whatever plans she and the kids might have had for the day were about to be ruined. Her employer was using the extra cheerful tone that Caroline and the two other people who worked at Antiques By Claire had learned to recognize as the precursor to words that were going to be nowhere near as pleasant as the voice that uttered them.

“Caroline, darling?” she trilled, and Caroline could picture her sitting behind her Louis XIV desk, a cigarette between the first two fingers of her right hand as she cradled the phone on her left shoulder, flipping through the pages of an auction catalog even as she spoke. “I have the most enormous favor to ask you. And I know its a terrible imposition, but I simply dont know where else to turn!”

Caroline translated the words in her mind: Kevin and Elise either hadnt answered their phones, or had been un-swayed by Claires entreaties. But neither Kevin nor Elise needed their jobs as badly as did Caroline. Kevin had his partner, Mark, and Elise had her alimony payments. “What is it, Claire?”

“I know you always spend Saturdays with the children, and I know I have simply no right at all to ask, but is there any chance you could sit in the shop for a few hours? I hope it wont be more than two, and I cant imagine it will be more than four or five.”

“I promised Ryan wed go to the park this morning, and then—”

“Then it will be perfect! Theres a Queen Anne demilune table going down at Sothebys this afternoon that I simply cant let go to anyone else. Its an exact match for the one in Estelle Hollinans foyer, and Estelle will kill us all if I dont get it for her. So if youll just be here at one, Ill duck out for no more than an hour or two.”

Seeing the disappointment in both her childrens eyes as they began to suspect that they might not be going anywhere at all—park or zoo—Caroline made one last attempt at escaping from Claire. “Cant you call Kevin or Elise? The children and I always—”

The mask of cheeriness in Claires voice fell away. “No, Caro- line, I cant. Kevin and Mark went to Provincetown, and Elise has commitments.”

As if I dont, Caroline thought silently.

“And, frankly, Id think youd welcome the chance to make a few dollars. Your sales havent been as good as they might be.”

Though the threat wasnt made directly, Caroline could feel it as keenly as if it were a knife pressed against her throat. “Of course I can help out, Claire,” she said, trying to make her defeat sound as much like a gracious gesture as she could. “Ill be there at one.”

She hung up the phone, but her hand lingered on the receiver. What else? she thought.

What else can go wrong?

It was as if the thought itself had cued the phone to ring, and she jerked her fingers away from the receiver as if theyd been burned. The phone rang a second time, then a third, but Caroline simply stood there, staring mutely at it. I dont care who you are, she thought. I dont care what you want. I cant deal with it. I just cant deal with any more. But even as the thoughts formed in her mind, she rejected them. Ill get through, she decided. Whatever it is, Ill deal with it. Steeling herself, she picked up the receiver once again. “Hello?”


She instantly relaxed as she recognized Andrea Costanzas voice at the other end. Caroline had known Andrea since theyd met at Hunter College almost fifteen years before, and even though Andrea hadnt approved when Caroline had dropped out to marry Brad Evans, theyd stayed friends, and become even closer in the last five years, after Andrea had taken an apartment only two blocks from her own. “Thank God,” she breathed now. “You have no idea how much I need to hear a friendly voice.”

“Well, how about three friendly voices, for lunch on Tuesday?”


“I just got a call from Bev. She and Rochelle are worried about you.”

Beverly Amondson and Rochelle Newman were the other two women Caroline considered her best friends—or at least she had until recently, when it seemed like she hardly heard from them anymore. “Theyre scared,” Andrea had explained a month ago. “Youre single now. That makes you a threat.” Shed laughed at the look of shock on Carolines face. “Oh, grow up, Caroline! Why do you think I was never invited when Rochelle threw one of her cozy little dinner parties? They were couple deals, and Im not part of a couple. Now you arent either. End of invitations.”

“But that doesnt make any sense! Why would I be a threat?”

“All single women are a threat to all married women,” Andrea pronounced. “You were the only exception—you never worried about me at all. And dont get me wrong. I love Bev and Rochelle. But havent you noticed they never invite single women to anything if their husbands are there? Im fine for lunch and girl talk, but thats it. And now youre part of that group. You watch.”

Andrea, it turned out, had been right: Within a few weeks after Brad died, the invitations from the Amondsons and the Newmans had begun to taper off.

“Well, you can tell them Im alive, if not exactly kicking,” Caroline said now, and immediately wished shed managed to sound a little more cheerful, no matter how she felt.

“Then this should make you feel better. Bev says we should all meet at Ciprianis.”

Caroline burst out laughing. “Harry Ciprianis?” she repeated. “In the Sherry Netherland? You must be crazy—you could never afford it, and I sure cant anymore!”

“Ah, but Bev and Rochelle can,” Andrea replied. “And they might live in their own little world of money, but they know we dont. Theyre footing the bill!”

“So Im not only off the dinner list, but now Im on the charity list?” Caroline asked, regretting the words the instant she uttered them. “Oh, God, Andrea. Im sorry—I didnt mean that the way it sounded.”

“Who cares? Its true—at Ciprianis, were both charity cases. So what do you say? You sure sound like you could use a good lunch, and by ‘good I mean ‘expensive. Get away from your problems and let your hair down for a couple of hours.”

Caroline hesitated, but not for long; suddenly the idea of sitting in the sumptuous room with her three best friends was irresistible. “Ill be there,” she promised. “Hey, Im taking the kids to the park this morning. Want to meet us there?”

“God, how I wish I could,” Andrea sighed. “But Ive got three kids in shelters that need foster homes, and four families to do background checks on before I can even think about matching the kids to the families.”

“Why do I suspect the city isnt paying you to work on weekends?” Caroline asked.

Andrea uttered a darkly hollow chuckle. “Because youre a reasonably intelligent human being. But the kids still need homes, so hi-ho, hi-ho, its off to work I go. And if I dont get to it, Im not going to get done until dinner. See you Tuesday.”

As she hung up the phone and turned back to Laurie and Ryan, Caroline felt a little better, cheered by the prospect of seeing her old friends again on Tuesday. Unless, of course, the lunch turned into nothing more than a bitter taste of what life would be like if Brad hadnt gone running in the park that night.

From the Hardcover edition.

Product Details

Blades, Joe
Blades, Joe
Saul, John
Ballantine Books
New York
Apartment houses
Suspense fiction
Psychological fiction
Remarried people.
Upper West Side
Horror - General
New york (n.y.)
General Fiction
Edition Number:
1st Mass Market ed.
Edition Description:
Mass market paperback
Series Volume:
Publication Date:
Grade Level:
7.06x4.18x1.06 in. .41 lbs.

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Midnight Voices Used Mass Market
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Product details 384 pages Ballantine Books - English 9780449006535 Reviews:
"Synopsis" by , After a widow remarries and moves with her two children into her new husband's apartment, her son's misgivings about the building and her daughter's nightmares soon make her realize her new home masks a secret of unimaginable horror.
"Synopsis" by , The sudden, tragic death of her husband leaves Caroline Evans alone in New York City to raise her children with little money and even less hope. When she meets and marries handsome, successful Anthony Fleming, the charismatic man of her dreams, she believes her life is destined for happiness. She and her children move into her new husbands spacious apartment in the legendary Rockwell on Central Park West. Despite her sons instinctive misgivings about the building and its residents, Caroline dismisses the odd behavior of her neighbors as pleasant eccentricities. But after her daughter begins to experience horrifying nightmares and a startling secret emerges, Caroline realizes that the magnificence of her new home masks a secret of unimaginable horror. . . .
"Synopsis" by , Widowed Cheryl Evans marries Anthony Fleming, so she and her two children move into his apartment in the legendary Rockwell on Central Park West. Her son's misgivings about the building and her daughter's nightmares soon make Caroline realize her new home masks a secret of unimaginable horror.
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