But this whole “settling down thing” that Louis has going for her just isn’t working out. She lives on Long Beach Island all year around. Her home is a run-down double-wide trailer. She works at a grocery store as a check-out girl. And her relationship with Louis–who’s on the road half the time in his truck–is subject to the piss and vinegar Miriam brings to everything she does.
It just isn’t going well. Still, she’s keeping her psychic ability–to see when and how someone is going to die just by touching them–in check. But even that feels wrong somehow. Like she’s keeping a tornado stoppered up in a tiny bottle.
Then comes one bad day that turns it all on her ear.
This was a great improvement on the first book in the Miriam black experience. This time round the great writing ability of chuck wendig is displayed with his humour and great dialogue.
There is less profanity than the first and the writing is presented in an original short sharp no wasted words sentences.
This was a great adventure into the Miriam black world.
“This might be your last chance to get off the ride. The Miriam Black Experience is about to depart the gate, and you’re either strapped in or left behind. Time to commit”
Loved the reference to some great reads and writers in this excerpt..
“Miriam spies the bindings of paperback books she nabbed from the used bookstore done in Sunbury: Poppy Brite, Stephen King, Robert McCammon, Catcher in the Rye, Slaughterhouse Five.”
Wonderful except on the joys of reading..
“Miriam wants to stand up and say none of its hurting her, none of it calls her stupid or fat or questions whether or not she’s going to go to Heaven. Each song of an album, each page of a book, every panel of every comic, they’re all doorways, little escape hatches where Miriam can flee the sad shadows of this life.”
“Peggy has taken over from Miriam at the second checkout counter in from the end, and Miriam marches right up to her, taps her on the shoulder, and offers her a hand-ah, the fake handshake, that old trick to get people to touch her, to get one tiny moment of that skin-to-skin contact necessary to get the psychic death-visions a-flowing. She’s itching to see how this woman bites it. Hungry for it. Desperate like a junkie.
Miriam’s hoping for some kind of ass cancer.”
“To the left and right, trees. Mostly pine. Thin, wispy-needled. Stuck up out of the sand, sometimes whispering in the wind. Power lines overhead like strings of black liquorice. Sometimes a house – a mini-mansion here, a rat-hole there. Then back to the pines and their slanting shadows.”
“I discovered that night that I could touch people and see not only who they’d become but also the chain of consequence and casualty cascading outwards – as though each person’s life was a stone thrown into a pond. I could see the ripples. For every choice, a new ripple, a new disturbance of the water. It was fascinating. And horrible. All at the same time.”