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The Revolution of Every Day


The Revolution of Every Day Cover

ISBN13: 9781935639640
ISBN10: 1935639641
Condition: Standard
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Thirteen House groans and creaks, shifting her bones, old ship in a storm. Not that Amelias ever been on a ship in a storm. Not that Amelias ever been on anything bigger than a rowboat. Well, the Staten Island Ferry that one time, but that hardly seems to count.

“Winds picking up out there,” Steve says.

Amelia jams the chisel into the join where the stair tread and the riser meet and hits it with her hammer. The old wood gives a sigh, a puff of dust. She levers it up and Gerrit is there beside her with the crowbar to pry it out, the hundred-year-old nails giving the tread up easy.

“Wood rot,” he says, which is no surprise. She smells it every time she walks up the stairs; she feels it, the telltale bounce beneath her feet—signs of wood that wants to give way.

They work from the top stair down, tossing the loosed treads to Steve. Hes got the sawhorses set up in the vestibule below; hes got the orbital saw. He numbers the old treads with a grease pencil, measures them, cuts new ones from salvaged lumber.

Anne comes through the front door, bringing a cold blast of air and the smell of rain. Her rumpled work clothes make her look old, tired. A kiss to Steves cheek and she squints up the staircase. “Those risers need to go, too.” And shes right, Amelia knows. Thats the thing. Push or pull at any one part of the building and therell be six other things that want attention. And its not just the first flight of stairs that needs replacing—its all the stairs, from street level to the fifth floor.

“Not enough lumber,” Amelia says. Because its about compromise. Its about doing what they can, when they can.

“Ah,” Anne says. “Well, there you have it.”

Steve says, “Well make it work.” He seems careful with Anne these days.

Anne climbs the ladder theyve raised to the second floor, throws a leg over the banister, her skirt riding up, thick thighs in pantyhose. Steve looks away, out the door, and they hear her feet on the stairs, up to the fourth floor to her and Steves place. A door opens and closes.

“So well do as many flights as we can—treads and risers both—with the wood weve got. Then well head out tonight and get some more, finish the job tomorrow,” he says.

“Just like that,” Gerrit says.

“Well find more.” Steve switches the saw back on, the insistent hum of it kicking up sawdust as he goes hard against the wood. Amelia waits for him to look up at her, but he keeps his head down, his jaw set.

“Godverdomme,” Gerrit mutters, digging into the next tread harder than necessary.

“Grumpy old bastard,” she whispers, and he grins.

Soon enough she and Gerrit have the treads and risers all pulled off, the naked frame of the staircase rising up sad and open. Its like revealing the secrets of the house, uncovering some century-old shame, this undressing that they do. They are like doctors over a patients body; not judging, just seeing with clear eyes, fixing what can be fixed. She feels bad for the old girl. It seems theyll never reach the point where everythings done that needs doing. Moving from one repair to another, even after all these years.

Steve measures and cuts the last stair and riser. He and Gerrit take up their hammers, working together in that easy wordless way of theirs, the staircase coming back together just like that.


Gerrit leans into the worn couch, watching the girls cook dinner in the community-room kitchen. The community room takes up the street-side half of the unfinished basement: cast-off chairs and a musty couch, a board-and-cinder-block bookcase, an open kitchen with a hulking old fridge and scarred counters. Amelia and Kim and Suzie are at the stove, stirring pots and chopping vegetables. Kim ladles up a spoonful of something and offers it to Amelia for a taste.

He and Steve and Amelia finished three flights of stairs today, treads and risers, just like Anne wanted. Theyd been hoarding the wood for months. They brought it home piece by piece, board by board, until they had enough to replace the treads on all five flights. Today Steve wanted to please his wife, but now it falls to Gerrit to go out into the rain with him to try to find enough lumber to finish the job. For all Steves talk, theres no guarantee theyll find so much as a single board. This is Manhattan. Its not like they can go outside and cut down trees. Not like they can drive to a hardware store and lay a credit card down, either.

Theyve got the Velvet Underground playing. “Oh! Sweet Nuthin.” Its Amelias favorite song. He reaches over and turns it up and she favors him with a small, sweet smile.

Gideon hands Gerrit a beer and drops down next to him, the couch sighing with the weight. “Long day?” Gideon says.

“You wouldnt happen to have twelve two-by-fours to spare?” Gideon lives next door in Cat House. The two squats share tools and materials all the time, and Gerrit knows as well as Gideon they dont have that much lumber to spare. Twelve boards is a wealth of wood.

Gideon just laughs.

Rain beats against the metal hatch doors that lie flush with the sidewalk. Inside its warm and smells of curry and garlic. Gerrit has a beer in his hand; theres music playing and the high sweet chatter of the girls over by the stove. Steve comes down the basement stairs and past the kitchen. Amelia pulls at his wrist, leaning toward him to whisper into his ear. She's probably trying to get him to eat before he goes out. She's always pushing food on people, always worried they aren't eating enough. Echoes, no doubt, of her own hungry days. He feels that old familiar affection for her rise up, the waif she'd been when she first came to Thirteen House.

Gerrit doesnt want to leave this to go on a futile search for lumber, but here comes Steve now, red-faced and blustering across the community room toward Gerrit. He supposes there is something heroic about being the ones to head out into a storm to hunt for whats needed, and Steve rarely asks for much. Of course Gerrit is going.

“Lets go,” Steve says. “I borrowed Jeremys van. Bens coming, too. Hes bringing the van around front now.”

“Dont you want to eat first?”

He glances at the girls. “Anne and I ate already.”

“Its early to be heading out.”

“Rain like this? No ones gonna be watching to see whos climbing into any dumpsters. Were good.”

Gerrit walks into the kitchen and kisses the back of Amelias neck, goose bumps rising along her bare forearms as she ducks away with a smile. He follows Steve up the stairs, easing into his coat, and out into the rain to search for wood.


Amelia warms her hands on her bowl of curried lentils, leaning against the counter where Kim sits kicking her legs. The lentils smell good, earthy and familiar. She swirls her spoon in the bowl, watching the curry seep into the rice. She loves these Wednesday night dinners when they open up the community room and make food for anyone who's hungry. “We should cook together like this every night,” she says. “I don't know why we don't."

Its been quiet so far tonight, though. A couple of crusty punks came by a little while ago, ate their food, and left. Some guys stopped in on their way to trying to get beds for the night at the Bowery Mission. Now its just Kim and Gideon from Cat House, and Amelia and Suzie and Marlowe the only ones from Thirteen House. Well, and Gerrit was here and Steve came in for a minute, but he didnt stay to eat. He usually does.

Shed grabbed Steves hand, hoping to lead him out of sight, behind the kitchen wall into the storage area, the dark corner back by the tool cabinet. Shed wanted a kiss, or a touch, some acknowledgement. Anything. He shook off her hand. He moved right past her.

Tonight she wants the room to be full to overflowing. She wants there to be enough noise to drown out all the shit going on in her head. She wants to hear laughter; she wants the music blasting. She wants it so crowded people have no choice but to touch each other, even the ones they dont know.

She knows people have their own lives, their own things to do. Its a squat, not a commune. But still, some Wednesdays it seems theyre all down there together, everyone from Thirteen House and everyone from Cat House, squatters from Maus Haus and Utopia, kids from the park, and a steady stream of the homeless. In summer they all spill out onto the sidewalk like a party. Those nights are the best. Those nights she could believe lentils and rice are the best damn thing she ever ate.

“You think Annell come down?" Amelia says. "Maybe I should take a bowl up to her."

"She knows we're here," Suzie says.

Theres a fear rising in Amelia, something shes been swallowing down for days. She doesnt want to speak it, saying it giving it a power, making it true. She leans against Kims legs and Kim pets her hair while she talks to Suzie and has no idea of all the things Amelia isnt saying. My period is late, she would say. And Kim and Suzie would smile and say, Well thats no big thing. Itll come. But maybe it wont. And even so, thats only a part of it.

Denise comes down the stairs and into the kitchen, rain in her hair, rain on her glasses. She puts her arms around Suzies waist and kisses her softly.

Suzie rubs her cheek against Denises shoulder. “Are you hungry?” she asks, even as shes already turning to the stove to spoon out the lentils. She presses a bowl into Denises hands and stands close and watches her eat. They speak quietly about their day, leaning in to each other, the rest of the room fallen away.

The envy rising in Amelia is ugly and tired. She walks over to the couch, sinks down next to Gideon, and takes a long pull off his beer. She nestles in under his arm and closes her eyes. The voices and the music, Gideons warmth. She lets herself drift.


The wipers drag greasy smears across the windshield. The Con Ed clock tower could be a church spire; the Empire State building, lit up all green and gold, could be Oz. Steve swings the van onto Fourteenth Street, heading west. He spotted a dumpster on Fourteenth and Third yesterday—a gut renovation of an old tenement. Five stories worth of wood gotta come out of that place. Theres bound to be enough.

“Look at that fucking rain,” Ben says. He leans in from the backseat, his face hanging between Gerrit and Steve.

Steve loves a good hard rain at night. Its like the whole damn city gets washed clean. The people are hidden away and its quiet, quiet. The cars glide along, their taillights stretched out behind them, staining the streets red. They are anonymous and remote, unconcerned animals. Its people youve got to watch out for and the rain flushes them away.

“Rain is good,” Gerrit says. “Fewer witnesses.”

Steve says, “Im not expecting any trouble where were headed.”

Hes hoping to get this done quickly so they can get back home. Anne was quiet all through dinner, quiet as he left. “Im going to get that wood now,” hed said to her. “Well replace the risers. Youre right about those risers.”

“Dont forget youve got first watch tonight,” shed said.

“Thats all youve got to say?” Hed tried to say it with a smile. Hed tried to pull her in for a kiss but shed moved past him, gone into the bathroom, the shower

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sassy_spice1975, May 20, 2014 (view all comments by sassy_spice1975)
I've always been curious about squatting, especially after reading about Occupy Wall Street and The Tower of David in Venezuela. How do these people feel entitled to this space? What do they contribute? Cari Luna has shed light on these questions for me, while also exploring the interwoven lives of a group of people fighting to keep their home. Both arcs of the story are gripping, and told in a fresh way. Luna's unique voice gently pinpoints the most important bit of each page, like tiny spotlights. Highly recommended!
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Product Details

Luna, Cari
Tin House Books
Literature-A to Z
Edition Description:
Paperback, Deckle Edge
Publication Date:
7.75 x 5 in

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The Revolution of Every Day Used Trade Paper
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Product details 392 pages Tin House Books - English 9781935639640 Reviews:
"Publishers Weekly Review" by , "The appeal of squatters in lower Manhattan making their last stand against Giuliani will be apparent to anyone currently paying rent in New York County, but there's little more than '90s nostalgia at play in Luna's debut novel. Not that the residents of Thirteen House are models of DIY bliss: the tenement's heart and soul are the ex-junkie runaway, Amelia, and Gerrit, the partially deformed Dutch immigrant whose passion is rehabilitation — of electronics, old bikes and Amelia herself. With eviction imminent, Thirteen House's only ally is Cat House, named both for Cat, a faded scene queen, and the many felines she adopts. Other strays include Steve, the father of Amelia's baby, and his long-suffering wife, Anne. Not surprisingly, interpersonal politics are emphasized over the gentrification narrative, and a gloomy inevitability shadows the proceedings. 'A life without constraints — that had been the goal,' but these squatters' best days are clearly behind them. This novel gets points for not being Rent, but as a portrait of an era, it's still a romantic simplification populated by caricatures: the wasted punk-naïf, the disfigured father figure, the damaged matriarch. There's no revolution to be found in this novel, which feels far too prefab." Publishers Weekly Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
"Review" by , "Cari Luna's novel is as heroic as her until-now-unsung characters. Salvaging the abandoned and derelict, rooting life in what before was barren waste, Luna's urban homesteaders exhibit the same valiance as Luna the novelist: she has rescued recent, all-but-forgotten history from beneath the bulldozers of 'progress'; she has breathed new life into a lost world."
"Review" by , “Cari Luna shines a light in the dark corners of New York that most people don't see. Her vivid portrayal of the squatters of Thirteenth Street and their fierce struggle to keep their community alive is an elegy for a city that no longer exists.”
"Review" by , “Set in the dramatic world of the Lower East Side at the zenith of repeated waves of gentrification, The Revolution of Every Day manages to remain faithful to its own oceanic emotions. Much like the golden haze of an old photo, the novel evokes memory at its most transitory — inflected by hope, damaged by reality. Luna's love for the New York of this time and its complexities shows through on every page.”
"Review" by , “Cari Luna's The Revolution of Every Day is a bold, intrepid look into a world that when we are our lesser selves we would rather pass by than dwell in. But in this world, she finds devotion, loyalty, and, more eloquently, human relationships persisting in all their messiness, complexity, and glory. Like all great fiction, this novel will force us to reevaluate our perspective about the way things are and with more open hearts and minds consider how they ought to be; and by making us more tolerant, less provincial, and changing our mind-set, even if by degrees, it may make a difference when we reenter the vibrant but flawed society it portrays.”
"Review" by , "Cari Luna's beautiful, carefully rendered debut novel not only captures a specific moment in time in marvelous detail but also shows how our particular lives are moved by forces beyond us that we strive to understand and resist only at the greatest cost. A remarkable, unusual book."
"Review" by , "Cari Luna gets her hands dirty with her characters, digging deep and exposing vulnerable underbellies that some lesser writers might not dare explore. Masterful, precise, and utterly affecting, The Revolution of Every Day will change what you think about what makes a family, what makes a life, and how to love."
"Review" by , "Cari Luna's beautifully written novel packs an emotional wallop for lifetime New Yorkers like me. I knew precious little about the Lower East Side squatters' movement while it was happening — my mistake. Luna makes a compelling case that flawed, wounded souls are often political visionaries. A major achievement."
"Review" by , "Luna creates an array of complex characters caught up in emotions, relationships and situations far from the ordinary as they examine their commitment to their merged family and explore their own ideals and expectations. Enlightening and marked by inventive subject matter, intense reflection and stark eloquence."
"Review" by , "Luna portrays the thorny, complicated relationships among addicts and runaways in various stages of recovery with riveting passion and heartrending realism."
"Review" by , "Excellent debut novel....Her characters are deeply sympathetic and richly drawn, portrayed as struggling New Yorkers first, political outliers second."
"Review" by , "The characters are superbly flawed, and Luna expertly leads us through their vastly different psyches and makes us understand them, even if we don't always sympathize. But just as much as it is a novel of characters, The Revolution of Every Day is the story of a city that's struggling with gentrification, as Cat puts it, 'All the way back to the Dutch and the Indians, yeah?'"
"Review" by , "Luna shows how youthful dreams and a life lived just above the poverty line can ossify into something heart-breaking. 'They've been so busy surviving they haven't noticed their lives hardening around them, fixing them into place,' she writes about the oldest residents. 'They are now all they're ever going to be.' In the end, the novel examines how years of fighting for what you believe in both devastates and transforms, as each of these characters struggles to find a place to call home."
"Review" by , "[A] juicy read, filled with secret trysts, unexpected pregnancies and mysterious personal histories....Giuliani sent NYPD tanks (yes, they have tanks) into Alphabet City to oust the squatters who were responsible, at least in part, for making the neighborhood livable again, and while this is a fictional account, it truly takes you back to an earlier version of the same old New York struggle over class, space and the right to make a home for yourself in this city.
"Review" by , "Luna exposes us, with tenderness and eyes open wide, to the strange and vivid beauty of a time and place we may otherwise turn from. She provides us with a satisfying opportunity to explore a foreign world."
"Review" by , "Luna skillfully ties the plight of Thirteen House and its profoundly human residents to the gentrification of the city as a whole, illustrating how someone can feel at once completely part of a city, and powerless against it."
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