The Drowning House: A Novel

( 20 )

Overview

A gripping suspense story about a woman who returns to Galveston, Texas after a personal tragedy and is irresistibly drawn into the insular world she’s struggled to leave.

Photographer Clare Porterfield's once-happy marriage is coming apart, unraveling under the strain of a family tragedy. When she receives an invitation to direct an exhibition in her hometown of Galveston, Texas, she jumps at the chance to escape her grief and reconnect with ...
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The Drowning House: A Novel

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Overview

A gripping suspense story about a woman who returns to Galveston, Texas after a personal tragedy and is irresistibly drawn into the insular world she’s struggled to leave.

Photographer Clare Porterfield's once-happy marriage is coming apart, unraveling under the strain of a family tragedy. When she receives an invitation to direct an exhibition in her hometown of Galveston, Texas, she jumps at the chance to escape her grief and reconnect with the island she hasn't seen for ten years. There Clare will have the time and space to search for answers about her troubled past and her family's complicated relationship with the wealthy and influential Carraday family. 

Soon she finds herself drawn into a century-old mystery involving Stella Carraday. Local legend has it that Stella drowned in her family's house during the Great Hurricane of 1900, hanged by her long hair from the drawing room chandelier. Could Stella have been saved? What is the true nature of Clare's family's involvement? The questions grow like the wildflower vines that climb up the walls and fences of the island. And the closer Clare gets to the answers, the darker and more disturbing the truth becomes.

Steeped in the rich local history of Galveston, The Drowning House portrays two families, inextricably linked by tragedy and time.

"The Drowning House marks the emergence of an impressive new literary voice. Elizabeth Black's suspenseful inquiry into dark family secrets is enriched by a remarkable succession of images, often minutely observed, that bring characters, setting, and story sharply into focus." —John Berendt, author of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Galveston, Tex., a place indelibly marked by the hurricane of 1900, which took well over 6,000 lives, is the setting for Black’s fine debut. In present day, after the death of her six-year-old daughter and the collapse of her marriage, a broken Clare Porterfield returns to her island hometown after a decade away. She’s been invited to choose material for a photo exhibition funded by the prominent Carraday family, whose patriarch, the Jay Gatsbyesque Will, has deep ties to Clare’s mother, Eleanor. As children, Will’s son, Patrick, and Clare were inseparable, their youthful exploits in and around the Porterfield house gradually tending toward the illegal, but a tragedy involving Patrick sent Clare away from home. Although Clare returns to look at photos of the island’s history, what she really seeks is what remains of her wounded self. As Clare searches for the elusive Patrick, the true object of her desire, island characters divulge truths to which she was never privy. As Galveston’s past comes to light, so, too, does Clare’s—and it’s so full of woe it nearly drowns the story. Nevertheless, Black mythologizes this landscape, evoking its essence and that of its inhabitants, creating a novel that is far more than the sum of its parts. Agent: Mollie Glick, Foundry Literary + Media. (Jan.)
From the Publisher
"The Drowning House marks the emergence of an impressive new literary voice. Elizabeth Black's suspenseful inquiry into dark family secrets is enriched by a remarkable succession of images, often minutely observed, that bring characters, setting, and story sharply into focus." —John Berendt, New York Times bestselling author of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

"[Black] possesses elegant descriptive powers ... The honky-tonk allure of Glaveson's Strand district, in particular, comes alive in all its touched-up splendor." The New York Times Book Review

"A spellbinding debut novel, a story of secrets, loss and the redemptive power of truth ... Black’s luxurious prose makes Galveston into a dark, fading fairy-tale world, and her descriptions of Clare’s internal strife reveal a keen insight into the human condition that eludes many more seasoned novelists. A page-turning chronicle of grief and memory, The Drowning House is a remarkable blend of human drama and satisfyingly Southern Gothic mystery, propelled by Black’s lyrical, haunting narration." Bookpage

"A fine debut ... Black mythologizes this landscape, evoking its essence and that of its inhabitants, creating a novel that is far more than the sum of its parts." Publishers Weekly, starred review

"Engrossing ... A multigenerational, thrillingly evocative and witty novel ... Black excels at summoning the unique culture of Galveston, its tragic past and scruffy present." The Dallas Morning News

"Black does an excellent job of luring the reader on with hints here and little bits of information there ... An engrossing story of perception and context, with an appealing heroine and a fascinating setting." —Fredericksburg Free Lance-Star

"Prepare to be lost in Elizabeth Black's Galveston. Strange, mysterious, and utterly riveting, The Drowning House is a captivating mystery as well as a beautifully realized story about grief that skillfully evokes the heat, humidity, and languid desire that pervade Gulf Coast life." —Michelle Richmond, New York Times bestselling author of The Year of Fog

"As dark and gleaming as a ruby, Elizabeth Black’s suspenseful debut limns the slippery nature of truth surrounding a shocking tragedy, with language so exquisite you’ll be underlining phrases." —Caroline Leavitt, New York Times bestselling author of Pictures of You

"Black, a poet, takes great care to construct each paragraph to reflect the complicated physical and emotional landscape of Clare's hometown ... A novel that encapsulates the convoluted machinations of a powerful family within the larger context of a society that supports its own, no questions asked." —Minneapolis Star Tribune

"A dark, addictive and compelling tale of Galveston Island. It builds to a stunning climax that keeps you reading compulsively to the end." —Galveston Daily News

Library Journal
Photographer Clare Porterfield returns to her hometown of Galveston, TX, after a number of years. Her marriage crumbling in the wake of her daughter's tragic death, Clare is seeking something she is unable to define. She finds herself in thrall to wealthy banker Will Carraday, whose longtime impact on her own family she's just beginning to realize, while trying to find resolution with Will's son Patrick, who was involved in an incident when they were teens that led to her leaving Galveston. VERDICT While Black's depiction of the culture and history of Galveston can come only from deep personal knowledge, the novel's structure is somewhat problematic; the main story thread is set in 1990 for no apparent reason, with no real sense or flavor of the time period. This reviewer guessed the book's big secret a full 100 pages earlier than Clare did, and thus was impatient with her until she figured it out. And first-time novelist Black falls victim to a rookie mistake, imposing an abrupt, unnecessary, somewhat implausible dramatic ending.—Christine DeZelar-Tiedman, Univ. of Minnesota Libs., Minneapolis
Kirkus Reviews
In this contemporary Southern gothic, a young artist returns home to Galveston, Texas, and uncovers a century's worth of sordid secrets. Clare hasn't been back to Galveston since she was sent away at 14 to live with her grandmother. Now married (though she knows that won't last long) and mourning the accidental death of her daughter, Clare is on the island to organize a photo exhibit for the historical society. But the novel, like Clare, is consumed with the past. Growing up on Galveston, an old pirate island with a reputation for dangerous charm, Clare lived in the historic Porterfield House, lovingly maintained by her unlovable father. In front of this house sits the Carraday Mansion, still the residence of the powerful Carraday family. Patriarch Will Carraday gave Clare her first camera as a child and is sponsoring the exhibition, asking Clare to rummage through the family's personal archive. Clare splits her time between searching for Patrick Carraday, Will's son and once upon a time the person who made her world, and the truth about Stella Carraday, the mysterious ancestor who allegedly died during the great flood, found naked and hanging from the chandelier. The truth about Patrick proves more elusive. As children and teenagers, they were inseparable, she a willing accomplice to all of his delinquent inclinations. But even the heir to the Carraday fortune can't overcome some scandals, and after a suspicious fire kills a girl, Clare is sent to the Midwest and Patrick to Europe. Clare has nothing but questions: Why is Patrick avoiding her? How long have her mother and the married Will been having an affair? What really happened to Stella? For someone who prefers the distance of a camera to a conversation, Galveston may well keep her secrets. But then the atmospheric novel, framed by Clare's reticence, explodes in a thunderclap that exposes all the old wounds: incest, murder and the secret of Clare's paternity. Black's tempered pace and moody vulnerability creates a rich debut: both sensitive and sensational.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385535861
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 1/15/2013
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 1,293,856
  • Product dimensions: 6.70 (w) x 9.32 (h) x 1.10 (d)

Meet the Author

Elizabeth Black was born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island and now lives in Houston, Texas. The Drowning House is her first novel. 
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

If there was a sign, I missed it. But I knew I was in Texas when I swerved to avoid a shape by the side of the road. It must have been around six in the morning, the first thin light just visible through the pines, when I crossed over the state line.

I stopped and backed up to confirm that the shape was a chest of drawers. Or rather the skeleton of one, since the drawers them­selves were gone and the empty spaces where they should have been gaped open. I’d lived away long enough to find the sight incongruous. But it came back to me all at once, the things I’d seen abandoned at the side of the road in Texas. Not just on rural blacktops but along the busiest superhighways—gut-ripped mattresses, clothing, suitcases, and once, a velvet rocking chair.

It was what you might expect in a country at war—personal belongings strewn along the side of the road, as though their owners’ lives had exploded, sending them flying. Or on the frontier, when travelers came this way as a last resort. In the days when “Gone to Texas” meant you were desperate.

It was May 1990, and still cool enough at night to leave the car windows open. I heard a bobwhite whistle, and I whistled back, but the only response was a quick flurry of wings. Bobwhites have different calls—for assembly, for food sharing, calls of alarm and flight. Probably I had said the wrong thing.

I had been driving for several days. Early on, I’d left the route Michael had drawn for me on the map. It was a route as unlikely as the map itself, where the entire continent was an uninterrupted expanse of green. As I drove up the ramp onto my first stretch of freeway, the map blew into the backseat, and I let it lie there.

Before I left, Michael and I had argued. He couldn’t get away, he had a case coming up for trial. “I’ll put you on a plane if you want,” he said.

“You’ll put me?”

“Clare, it’s just a phrase.”

“You know I can’t fly.”

We’d had the same exchange before. What usually happened next was that Michael would shrug and go back to his desk, with its shifting piles of papers and stacks of books on torts and civil procedure, and I would wander the apartment, picking things up and replacing them like someone seeing it all for the first time.

Instead I said, “I’ll drive.” Saying it made it seem like something I could do.

“You’re going to drive to Texas from D.C.? By yourself?” Now I had his full attention. “You haven’t driven anywhere in months.”

I had tried. I’d gone out to the garage, keys in hand. I’d seen through the window Bailey’s blue parka lying on the backseat, one arm flung out in a gesture so vividly like her that for a moment I could almost believe she was alive. Then the truth washed over me. Bright spots swam up from the concrete floor and my legs began to shake. I went back into the house.

Michael had even suggested selling the station wagon, but I’d resisted.

“Well.” Michael is tall, and when he concentrates, he looks down and frowns. I had once found it attractive, the way he would focus his energy on a problem only to forget it completely a moment later, raising his head and gazing out again at his own serene world. That was before I’d ever supposed I could be the problem. “If it will make you happy.”

I didn’t tell him that happiness had always seemed to me to descend suddenly, when you least expected it, like a sun shower. That often it wasn’t until much later you could look back and say, then, on that ordinary morning, with a car full of six-year-olds squirming and kicking, as the station wagon flashed through the dappled light of the tree-lined streets, then I was truly happy.

“Michael, don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t deal with me. I’m not a client.” In the end, he tried to give me the keys to his car, the BMW. The offer was real. Still, he was visibly relieved when I declined. He did give me the map and a judicious kiss on the cheek. Our bodies didn’t touch. We had not been good together in bed for some time.

After about an hour, I exited the freeway, pulled over, and buried my face in my sleeve. There were so many trucks and trailers, and even the compact cars whizzed by so fast that the station wagon seemed to shift in their wake. I took a few deep breaths. There were other routes. I would find a secondary road and keep heading south, the way travelers did when America was truly new and green.

I slept in snatches. I showered twice—at a campground, where a raccoon watched from the edge of the wooden deck, and at a women’s shelter, where the sad-faced desk clerk asked no questions. I ate while I drove, littering the back of the station wagon with fast-food wrappers. I passed any number of motels and restaurants. But I was afraid to make a real stop, afraid that if I did, I might reconsider. Once I was in Texas, I knew the Gulf would draw me. Its pull was stronger than anything I’d left behind.

If I had been asked, I would have said that I’d lost my daughter a year ago—two months and three days after her sixth birthday. I lost Bailey. That was the way I thought of it, and the thought was both hopeful and damning. Lost suggested that she might someday be found, as if she had wandered into the next aisle at the grocery store or been forgotten by the car pool, that she might reappear, absently twirling a damp strand of hair around one finger. Still, anyone listening carefully would understand that it was an admission of guilt. I lost her.

I also lost the person I was then, the person I was becoming. The new Clare I saw reflected in Michael’s eyes—listless and unresponsive, she spent too many hours sleeping, too many hours in the twilight of the darkroom working from old negatives.

Of course, Michael’s was not the only perspective. Jules, my agent, would have said more positive things. That I was a young photographer whose star had risen suddenly. That I had been invited to Galveston to choose material for an exhibition. And it was true. In my camera bag I had the letter confirming everything.

It had arrived late one afternoon. I was lying on the bed, still wearing the leggings and frayed T-shirt I’d slept in. Soon Michael would call from his office and ask if I were dressed. I would say yes and he would pretend to believe me. Then he would remind me of the upcoming partners’ dinner. You should get out more, he would say. But when I thought of the hotel dining room where the dinners took place, of the bleak expanse of white linen, the tightly wired flower arrangements, the recirculated air that smelled faintly of cleaning fluid—all of it so like one of the nicer funeral homes—I knew it was impossible.

Then an image came to me. I was still holding the phone, answering Michael’s questions—Yes I remember, yes of course I have something that isn’t black—when it presented itself, a face in partial shadow. I hung up and went back to bed, pulling the covers over me, but the face followed. Finally I got up again and went to look for a book.

In a cardboard box, still unpacked, I found the Cartier-Bresson volume and turned the pages until I came to a photo showing the interior of a once grand Galveston hotel. A sign tacked to the wall reminded boarders to pay their rent in advance. On the landing was an elderly woman, her body shapeless in a flowered housecoat. Darkness poured out of the doorway behind her and rose up from the baseboards, so that her face and body were split into light and shadow.

It was one of several images of Galveston looking sad and shabby, images that had caused controversy when the book was first published. Others were different. Cartier-Bresson had also captured in his photographs the sensuality, the drowsy, self-indulgent beauty of the Island.

That was when I began to think about Patrick. And the Carradays. The big house where I’d spent so many hours. The questions I’d left unanswered.

I grew up watching the tides, and I know it’s only after change is under way that we recognize it, when the incoming rush catches us unaware, and we hurry to gather our things and move up the beach. Still I ask myself, when? When was there no longer any going back? Suppose I had stayed with Michael, attended the dinner. Could I have become again the woman he loved and married, the Clare who was Bailey’s mother? Could I have made myself give up those other thoughts? And if I had, would everything else have been different?

at a gas station next to a produce stand, I parked and waited for sleep, hoping I wouldn’t dream. My dreams were always about falling. Things dropped around me—branches snapped, walls and roofs collapsed, objects of all kinds plunged from the sky. Sometimes I fell—down stairs, off bridges.

When I woke I went to the restroom, splashed my arms and face with water, and drank from the faucet. I dried myself with brown paper towels. I realized I was hungry, and I bought a pint basket of blackberries and ate a few. I’d stashed a half-eaten package of crackers under the front seat, and as I drove south, I finished what was left, swallowing hard and coughing up crumbs.

Past Houston the landscape began to flatten and simplify. There were no more pipe yards or feed stores, no more roadside chapels or ice houses advertising beer and pool. I saw white smoke drifting from the Texas City refineries. An egret lifting itself on leisurely wings. I could feel the presence of the bay and the deeper water beyond.

I thought of Bailey and told myself that the pain of losing her would diminish. That someday I would have the memory without the hurt. And while the sun glinted off passing cars and the breeze whipped around my ears, it seemed possible. I drove faster. Soon I came to the shallow rise that offers the first glimpse of Galveston.

Below was the old causeway, a series of sand-colored arches that skimmed the water next to the higher, modern road. The approaches at either end had been washed away, so that only the middle stood, rising abruptly from the water, like the spine of some ancient animal whose submerged skeleton had unexpectedly shifted.

Probably there were practical reasons why the old causeway had never been torn down. To me it said something about the Island, marked it as a place where the ideal of progress was complicated by stubborn survivals. A place where you could sometimes see the past running alongside the present.

The surface of the bay was broken only by the creamy trails of pleasure boats. Overhead, clouds hung huge and motionless as mountains. I saw nothing that would have been out of place in a travel brochure. Nothing to explain the feeling I had, like the one you get when the roller coaster leaves the loading platform and starts to move slowly, inexorably, up the first incline. For this was the Texas Gulf coast, the soft, sinking-down edge of the continent, and there wasn’t a real hill for miles.

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Reading Group Guide

1. The Drowning House opens with two quotes, one from The Dallas Times Herald in 1966 and the other from famed American photographer Walker Evans. How do these quotes set the stage for what transpires in the novel? Why do you think the author chose them?

2. In Chapter 27, Clare states, “I had always believed that because I observed the world through the lens of my camera, because I looked at things in ways others didn’t, I saw more. Now I understood that I had failed to perceive what other(s) ... registered at once.” What did you make of this realization on Clare’s part? Is photography a way for her to remain detached from her life?

3. Talk about Clare and some of the other main characters. What were your impressions of her, or Eleanor, or Will? Did your feelings about these characters change over the course of the novel?

4. Grief and the different ways in which people deal with grief, is a major thread that runs throughout the novel.  What insights did you gain from the novel about this complicated process?

5. Consider the book’s setting of Galveston, Texas, and the author’s description of life on the island.  How important is the setting of Galveston to what happens in the book?

6. Why do you think Clare held onto her memories of Patrick so tightly? What fueled her desire to connect with him once more?

7. Consider the legend of Stella Carraday and the truth about her life.  Are there parallels to be drawn between Stella and any of the book’s modern-day characters?  If so, how do they enhance the reading experience?

8. Along the lines of the above question, what are the differences between history and legend? Does a little bit of history always exist in a legend, or vice-versa?

9. Did you know much about the Galveston Storm of 1900 before reading The Drowning House? Why do you think the author chose this event as a backdrop for her story?

10. Almost every character in the book has a secret. Talk about the role secrets and secrecy play in The Drowning House.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 20 )
Rating Distribution

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Sort by: Showing all of 20 Customer Reviews
  • Posted January 16, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Quickly go grab a copy of this book. It's hopping off the shelv

    Quickly go grab a copy of this book. It's hopping off the shelves. There were only two copies left at my local book store. Articulate and hypnotic, this is a novel that flows and speeds towards a conclusion and will hold you captive for hours. Elizabeth Black can't possibly be a debut author, I thought! Her book is so good, I was reminded of "Prince of Tides" from the get-go. I absolutely couldn't put it down.

    Told from the perspective of Clare, a young artistic photographer who has just experienced the death of her only child and who returns to her childhood home, it is a break-neck suspense novel and Southern Gothic. It takes place around Galveston Island with its own set of mysteries and island lore, town folk isms and traditions that kept me on the edge of my seat.

    Ms Black has a distinct voice that is seductive. She is a writer of the old school in that she knows how to tell a tale about the South with its idiosyncrasies and love of the strange and absurd, characters in particular, families that are eccentric and enduring. I could read her work all night long.

    Let me give you an example:

    "...Every instant of every day, life is streaming past, all experience--every action, word, or thought, every particle of intention--rushing toward some moment you can't foresee that is anything but safe. Toward, perhaps, one ordinary afternoon."

    and

    "...marriage is generally unfathomable..." She had no understanding even of her own.


    I resonated with this author from the moment I picked up her book. She was writing my story; in my head, speaking my thoughts. If there's one book you should read this year it's this one. I have a feeling it's going to be one of my favorites.

    5 shining stars for a debut author Deborah/TheBookishDame

    12 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 11, 2013

    Camt wait to read more by this author

    I loved this book and immediately looked to see if there were others by this author when I finished it. I was disapointed to find that there are no more at this time. The ending left me a little disapointed but I still loved it in general.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 10, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Author: Elizabeth Black Published By: Nan A. Talese Age Recomme

    Author: Elizabeth Black
    Published By: Nan A. Talese
    Age Recommended: Adult
    Reviewed By: Arlena Dean
    Book Blog For: GMTA
    Rating: 4
    Review:

    "The Drowning House" by Elizabeth Black was indeed a novel that will take you into a Gothic mystery, thriller, and suspenseful read all rolled up into one. This novel definitely kept me turning the pages to see where the author was taking me on this ride. The setting is from Galveston, Texas where we find Clare has come home to do some work as a archival photographer where she has been recruited to put together a show about Galveston... showing old photos from the families and library. However, Clare seems to be somewhat interested in 'Stella Tale.' Now what is that all about? We find that she is very unhappy due to the fact of her marriage has fallen apart and more so...the terrible accident that took her daughter's life. Now that Clare is back in Galveston she finds that there is not much change in her relationship with her mother and sister....you taking about a dysfunctional family! Clare seems to find this "a place filled with corrosive relationships and family secrets" dealing with the Carraday and Porterfield families. Now what is this all about? Will Clare find any peace here? I found some of the characters were not very likable and I will only say you will have to pick up "The Drowning House" to see who they may be, however I still enjoyed the read.

    Ms. Black does a wonderful job in the excellent descriptions that are given on the Galveston area...making you feel as you are there, especially if you have been there you will be able to identify it. Also, the history of Galveston was simply well written. From the read I could see that really Clare is drowning from her memories of Galveston, along with a bad marriage, the death of her child along with a few other things... Now, with all that being said you will have to pick up the this good read and if you are like me ... you may get a suprise ending. So, would I recommend "The Drowning House" to you? YES!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 18, 2013

    Highly recommended

    Good read. Hard to put down. Gave thoughts of ones own life experiences.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 9, 2013

    Surprisingly good

    When i read the preview i expected more of a "chick book" which is not realy my thing. Good story interspersed with local interest.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 8, 2013

    Excellent first novel by a promising author

    After suffering a devastating loss, Clare Porterfield returns to Galveston Island where she grew up. The author's evocative prose and knowledge of the island's history sets a moody backdrop for the unfolding of family secrets and the resolution of mysteries that will keep the reader engaged to the end. Book clubs will find many points for discussion in this finely written first effort by a keenly observant new author.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 27, 2014

    Appealed to my OCD

    Sentence structure is great. Story line...eh, not so much...the twists and turns are pretty obvious...there was missing closure on a couple characters...

    If you always side with professional critics, you'll love it...if you can think for yourself, you may wanna skip this one.

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  • Posted February 15, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Probably would have loved it

    I probably would have loved this book because Elizabeth Black is terrific; however, Barnes and Noble sent me the wrong book and seem unable to send me the right one.

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 8, 2013

    Hi

    Hi Hunter it is me Lexi.

    0 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 21, 2013

    Hunter

    Could you stop that? You are kind of RPing me in a way.

    0 out of 13 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 15, 2013

      

      

    0 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

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    Posted February 2, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted November 25, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 25, 2014

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  • Anonymous

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