Fates and Furies: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
A FINALIST FOR THE 2015 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD
NPR MORNING EDITION BOOK CLUB PICK
NAMED A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR BY: THE WASHINGTON POST, NPR, TIME, THE SEATTLE TIMES, MINNEAPOLIS STAR-TRIBUNE, SLATE, LIBRARY JOURNAL, KIRKUS, AND MANY MORE
“Lauren Groff is a writer of rare gifts, and Fates and Furies is an unabashedly ambitious novel that delivers – with comedy, tragedy, well-deployed erudition and unmistakable glimmers of brilliance throughout.” —The New York Times Book Review (cover review)
“Elaborate, sensual...a writer whose books are too exotic and unusual to be missed."—The New York Times
“Fates and Furies is a clear-the-ground triumph.” —Ron Charles, The Washington Post
From the award-winning, New York Times- bestselling author of The Monsters of Templeton and Arcadia, one of the most anticipated books of the fall: an exhilarating novel about marriage, creativity, art, and perception.
Fates and Furies is a literary masterpiece that defies expectation. A dazzling examination of a marriage, it is also a portrait of creative partnership written by one of the best writers of her generation.
Every story has two sides. Every relationship has two perspectives. And sometimes, it turns out, the key to a great marriage is not its truths but its secrets. At the core of this rich, expansive, layered novel, Lauren Groff presents the story of one such marriage over the course of twenty-four years.
At age twenty-two, Lotto and Mathilde are tall, glamorous, madly in love, and destined for greatness. A decade later, their marriage is still the envy of their friends, but with an electric thrill we understand that things are even more complicated and remarkable than they have seemed. With stunning revelations and multiple threads, and in prose that is vibrantly alive and original, Groff delivers a deeply satisfying novel about love, art, creativity, and power that is unlike anything that has come before it. Profound, surprising, propulsive, and emotionally riveting, it stirs both the mind and the heart.
orange. She was repositioning a painting on the wall that she’d salvaged from the dumpster at the gallery; a moving blue that she’d hold on to for the rest of her life, long past the loves, the bodily hungers. She looked at Lotto, and said, “But I’m not so sure she’d want to meet me, love. She’s still so mad you married me that she hasn’t come to visit us once.” He picked her up and leaned her against the door. She put her legs around his waist. “She’ll relent. Give it time.” So transparent,
steps, wobbly, his hands reaching for hers, sure she would help him. He pressed up against her. But instead of taking his hand in hers, she moved her leg where it was touching him. She didn’t mean to, not really, well, maybe some of her meant it, perhaps she did. He tottered. And then she watched the baby tumble slowly down the stairs, his head like a coconut, thump-a-bump all the way down. The still knot of him at the bottom. Thrown laundry. When she looked up, she saw the ten-year-old
She was just embarrassing to look at next to Mathilde’s tall bony blond. Natalie frowned at herself in the cracked mirror, seeing only a fractured girl with a bitter mouth. Lotto was floating. Someone had put En Vogue on the CD player, ironically, for sure, but he loved those girls’ voices. The apartment was hot as hell, the late-afternoon sun shining in like a voyeur. Nothing mattered: all his college friends were together again. He took a moment to watch, standing with a beer in the
slowly. “Was hiding.” “Your genius. Your new life,” she said. “You were meant to be a playwright, my love. Thank fucking god we figured that out.” “We figured that out,” he said. As if stepping out of a fog: a little boy, a grown man. Characters who were him but also not, Lotto transformed by the omniscient view. A shock of energy as he looked on them in the morning. There was life in these figures. He was suddenly hungry to return to that world, to live in it for a while longer. But
answers. The man was gone.] The flight attendant’s face came into view, soft cheeks and horse nostrils blowing, and he closed his eyes as she touched his neck and someone somewhere began to shout. — BACKLIT, the fracture was tectonic, the plates of him overlapping. He was given two casts, a sling, a crown of gauze, pills that made his body feel as if it were encased in three inches of rubber. As if, had he been on the same drugs when he fell, he would have hit asphalt only to bounce