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passionate, life-changing love affair, wrapped up in what might be the greatest romance of all: our eternal human longing for art and beauty.Livia Cable has made her peace with her marriage and modest livelihood in the farm country where she grew up, until a shocking phone call from an old lover shakes her to the core. Decades earlier, this man knew her as Livia Bohusz, a music conservatory student estranged from her home and family, uncertain of anything except her passion for music and promise as an extraordinary pianist. His request, now, to see her again stirs up ghosts she's kept at bay for a lifetime.Shifting between past and present, Livia's decision to meet or reject the reunion means confronting step by step, in memories framed as musical dances, the experiences of childhood loss, abandonment, self-immolating passion, and perilous attachment to a man who broke her belief in love and ruptured the course of her life.With razor-sharp acuity and deep affection, Pulitzer Prize winner Barbara Kingsolver's unforgettable new novel reflects on class barriers, the risks of ambition, and the timeless, life-changing power of art.","descriptionHtml","

The story of a brief, passionate, life-changing love affair, wrapped up in what might be the greatest romance of all: our eternal human longing for art and beauty.

Livia Cable has made her peace with her marriage and modest livelihood in the farm country where she grew up, until a shocking phone call from an old lover shakes her to the core. Decades earlier, this man knew her as Livia Bohusz, a music conservatory student estranged from her home and family, uncertain of anything except her passion for music and promise as an extraordinary pianist. His request, now, to see her again stirs up ghosts she's kept at bay for a lifetime.

Shifting between past and present, Livia's decision to meet or reject the reunion means confronting step by step, in memories framed as musical dances, the experiences of childhood loss, abandonment, self-immolating passion, and perilous attachment to a man who broke her belief in love and ruptured the course of her life.

With razor-sharp acuity and deep affection, Pulitzer Prize winner Barbara Kingsolver's unforgettable new novel reflects on class barriers, the risks of ambition, and the timeless, life-changing power of art.

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Pulitzer Prize winner Barbara Kingsolver returns for an unforgettable story of resilience, possibility and the transformative power of music. Melodies shape memories of heartbreak and loss in this expansive novel that follows a pianist who confronts unexpected ghosts from her past.

\"},{\"id\":\"123767616T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Barbara Kingsolver is the author of ten bestselling works of fiction, including the novels Unsheltered, The Bean Trees, and The Poisonwood Bible, as well as books of poetry, essays, creative nonfiction, and Coyote's Wild Home, a children's book co-authored with Lily Kingsolver. She also collaborated with family members on the influential Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. Kingsolver's work has been translated into more than thirty languages and has earned a devoted readership at home and abroad. She is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and has received numerous awards and honors including the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for her novel, Demon Copperhead, the National Humanities Medal, and most recently, the National Book Foundation's Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. She lives with her husband on a farm in southern Appalachia.

\"},{\"id\":\"124995779T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Barbara Kingsolver is the author of ten bestselling works of fiction, including the novels Unsheltered, The Bean Trees, and The Poisonwood Bible, as well as books of poetry, essays, creative nonfiction, and Coyote’s Wild Home, a children’s book co-authored with Lily Kingsolver. She also collaborated with family members on the influential Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. Kingsolver’s work has been translated into more than thirty languages and has earned a devoted readership at home and abroad. She is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and has received numerous awards and honors including the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for her novel, Demon Copperhead, the National Humanities Medal, and most recently, the National Book Foundation's Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters and its Lifetime Achievement Award. She lives with her husband on a farm in southern Appalachia.

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This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition includes bonus content, designed endpapers, deckled edges, and is signed by the author.

The #1 New York Times bestselling author of Lessons in Chemistry returns with an irresistible, delightful, and tender story about a young man whose life turns upside down when he is hired by the most prestigious, secretive, and dysfunctional poetry journal in the world: the renowned Peck & Peck of New York City.

Batter Gray is worried about his future. Even when he was eleven, his classmates seemed to have settled on a goal: doctor, lawyer, broker, engineer. Good jobs that automatically command respect, security, 401Ks. Now Batter is in his early 20s, living in New York City, and he wants something different; something that alienates some readers and bores most. Poetry. And yet—to him and exactly thirty-nine editors at a company called Peck & Peck—poetry not only represents the power of humanity but holds the key to its survival.

Batter is named after his mother's heroic dog. An identical twin who lost his brother at birth, he finds himself confronted by the everyday dualities that make up life: right vs. wrong, truth vs. lies, rejection vs. acceptance. It's almost as if his dead brother is a reminder: there are always two sides to every story.

No, wait. Make that three.

",{"_41":2041,"_54":2042,"_56":2043,"_50":2044,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48787875922161","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781668260425_p0.jpg?v=1773783050",1321,1996,{"_1943":2046},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},"30.0",{"_1943":2049,"_1954":2051},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},"0.0",{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2053},[2054],{"_41":2055,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":-5,"_711":2056,"_1966":2057,"_1968":2058,"_1970":2059,"_1976":2037,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47827267780849",{"_41":2041,"_54":2042,"_1940":-5,"_56":2043,"_50":2044},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2035,"_831":2037},[2060],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2062},"[\"Barnes & Noble Exclusives (p6314)\",\"B|Signed Edition|#956F2D|#4C3E1B (p7859)\",\"Special Editions (p10264)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Signed Books at BN.com (p311)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Mental Health Awareness (p9392)\"]",{"_1974":2037},{"_1974":2036},{"_1974":2066},"[{\"Key\":\"formatChicletOverlay\",\"Value\":\"Signed Exclusive\"}]",[2068,-5,-5,2071,2073,-5,2075,2077,2080,2083,2086,-5,2088,2090,-5,2092,-5,-5],{"_41":2069,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2070},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941592232177","[{\"contributorId\":23591023,\"fullName\":\"Bonnie Garmus\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2072,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941592592625",{"_41":2074,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2036},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941591904497",{"_41":2076,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941592658161",{"_41":2078,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2079},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941593313521","[{\"id\":\"124942636T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

After the global sensation Lessons in Chemistry, Bonnie Garmus delivers a charming and funny novel about a young man searching for his place in the world. When he stumbles into a job at an unconventional New York City poetry journal, Batter Gray discovers the transformative power of language and a community he never knew he needed.

\"},{\"id\":\"124180205T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"124942640T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Bonnie Garmus is a coffee-dependent American novelist. Her debut novel, Lessons in Chemistry, was a Good Morning America Book Club Pick, a Goodreads Choice Best Book of the Year, spent nearly two years on the New York Times bestseller list and was named by Times readers as one of the top 100 books of the 21st Century. Translated into forty-four languages, Lessons in Chemistry was honored with sixteen international literary awards and made into an Apple TV limited series. Peck & Peck is her second novel.

\"},{\"id\":\"124942639T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":2081,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2082},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941593051377","Peck-Peck/Bonnie-Garmus",{"_41":2084,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2085},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941591773425","1149552676",{"_41":2087,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941592527089",{"_41":2089,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2062},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76942000193777",{"_41":2091,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2037},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941590823153",{"_41":2093,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76941592723697",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2095,"_72":2096,"_1927":2097,"_831":2098,"_1930":2099,"_1932":2100,"_1934":2101,"_1941":2104,"_1949":59,"_1950":2106,"_1956":2109,"_1978":2119,"_1981":2121,"_1983":2122,"_1985":2123,"_1986":2125},"gid://shopify/Product/9519870738673","Hollywood, Ending (Signed Edition)","Signed Book","9780525556657","#1 bestselling author John Green makes his much-anticipated return to fiction with a behind-the-scenes Hollywood love story about finding someone to trust in an untrustworthy world. Signed edition\"Green's novel of betrayal and survival, trust and love is a fluent condemnation of the machine of commercialization and a paean to art.... A spellbinding, tender, incisive, funny, and compassionate story of love and creativity.\" -Booklist, starred reviewFor rising talents Kai Laramie and Juniper Castillo, being cast in the buzzy biopic Andy Warhol Never Gets Old is the opportunity they've both been waiting for. They're on the verge of breaking out, and maybe even falling in love. Soon, the movie is blowing up, and so are their lives-in exciting, but also terrifying, ways.John Green artfully blends a behind-the-scenes Hollywood love story with an unflinching examination of the insatiable attention economy. Told through dual points of view, the novel brilliantly juxtaposes the on-screen study of Warhol's life at the dawn of celebrity culture with the intimate struggles of two young people figuring out who they are, both together and alone.Tender, heartbreaking, and shrewdly funny, this is a story as only Green can tell it. Hollywood, Ending is a deeply observed novel about the tension between a public and a private life, and the audacity to pursue the kind of love we all deserve.","#1 bestselling author John Green makes his much-anticipated return to fiction with a behind-the-scenes Hollywood love story about finding someone to trust in an untrustworthy world. Signed edition

\"Green's novel of betrayal and survival, trust and love is a fluent condemnation of the machine of commercialization and a paean to art.... A spellbinding, tender, incisive, funny, and compassionate story of love and creativity.\" -Booklist, starred review

For rising talents Kai Laramie and Juniper Castillo, being cast in the buzzy biopic Andy Warhol Never Gets Old is the opportunity they've both been waiting for. They're on the verge of breaking out, and maybe even falling in love. Soon, the movie is blowing up, and so are their lives-in exciting, but also terrifying, ways.

John Green artfully blends a behind-the-scenes Hollywood love story with an unflinching examination of the insatiable attention economy. Told through dual points of view, the novel brilliantly juxtaposes the on-screen study of Warhol's life at the dawn of celebrity culture with the intimate struggles of two young people figuring out who they are, both together and alone.

Tender, heartbreaking, and shrewdly funny, this is a story as only Green can tell it. Hollywood, Ending is a deeply observed novel about the tension between a public and a private life, and the audacity to pursue the kind of love we all deserve.",{"_41":2102,"_54":2103,"_56":1938,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/49103605760241","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780525556657_p0.jpg?v=1781578900",{"_1943":2105},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":2107,"_1954":2108},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2110},[2111],{"_41":2112,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2113,"_711":2114,"_1966":2115,"_1968":2116,"_1970":2117,"_1976":2098,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47933620355313",{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2102,"_54":2103,"_1940":-5,"_56":1938,"_50":1939},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2096,"_831":2098},[2118],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2120},"[\"Sweepstakes (p8811)\",\"B|Signed Edition|#956F2D|#4C3E1B (p7859)\",\"Special Editions (p10264)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Signed Books at BN.com (p311)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]",{"_1974":2098},{"_1974":2097},{"_1974":2124},"[{\"Key\":\"formatChicletOverlay\",\"Value\":\"Signed Book\"}]",[2126,-5,-5,2129,2131,-5,2133,2135,2138,2141,2144,-5,2146,2148,-5,2150,-5,-5],{"_41":2127,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2128},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476524273","[{\"contributorId\":18264484,\"fullName\":\"John Green\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2130,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476819185",{"_41":2132,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2097},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476196593",{"_41":2134,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476884721",{"_41":2136,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2137},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877478031601","[{\"id\":\"130199284T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Critical acclaim for John Green

#1 New York Times Bestseller * #1 Indie Bestseller * #1 USA Today Bestseller * #1 Wall Street Journal Bestseller * #1 Washington Post Bestseller * #1 International Bestseller

\\\"John Green is one of the best writers alive.\\\" -E. Lockhart, #1 bestselling author of We Were Liars

\\\"In his novels, John Green conjures richly imagined, heartfelt drama that lovingly explores the human condition.\\\" -Roman Mars, creator and host of 99% Invisible

\\\"The real magic of Green's writing is the deeply considerate, human touch that goes into every word.\\\" -The Associated Press, on Everything Is Tuberculosis

\\\"Absolutely fascinating and told masterfully.\\\" -Rebecca Yarros, Vulture, on Everything Is Tuberculosis

\\\"Essential to the human conversation.\\\" -Library Journal, starred review, on The Anthropocene Reviewed

\\\"Gloriously personal and life-affirming.\\\" -People, on The Anthropocene Reviewed

\\\"Wrenching and revelatory.\\\" -The New York Times, on Turtles all the Way Down

\\\"Green does more than write about; he endeavors to write inside.\\\" -The Globe and Mail, on Turtles all the Way Down

\\\"Damn near genius.\\\" -Lev Grossman, TIME Magazine, on The Fault in Our Stars

\\\"Green's voice is so compulsively readable that it defies categorization.\\\" -NPR, on The Fault in Our Stars

\\\"A gem of modern literature.\\\" -Guardian, on Looking for Alaska\"},{\"id\":\"130260484T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Critical acclaim for John Green

#1 New York Times Bestseller - #1 Indie Bestseller - #1 USA Today Bestseller - #1 Wall Street Journal Bestseller - #1 Washington Post Bestseller - #1 International Bestseller

\\\"John Green is one of the best writers alive.\\\" --E. Lockhart, #1 bestselling author of We Were Liars

\\\"In his novels, John Green conjures richly imagined, heartfelt drama that lovingly explores the human condition.\\\" --Roman Mars, creator and host of 99% Invisible

\\\"The real magic of Green's writing is the deeply considerate, human touch that goes into every word.\\\" --The Associated Press, on Everything Is Tuberculosis

\\\"Absolutely fascinating and told masterfully.\\\" --Rebecca Yarros, Vulture, on Everything Is Tuberculosis

\\\"Essential to the human conversation.\\\" --Library Journal, starred review, on The Anthropocene Reviewed

\\\"Gloriously personal and life-affirming.\\\" --People, on The Anthropocene Reviewed

\\\"Wrenching and revelatory.\\\" --The New York Times, on Turtles all the Way Down

\\\"Green does more than write about; he endeavors to write inside.\\\" --The Globe and Mail, on Turtles all the Way Down

\\\"Damn near genius.\\\" --Lev Grossman, TIME Magazine, on The Fault in Our Stars

\\\"Green's voice is so compulsively readable that it defies categorization.\\\" --NPR, on The Fault in Our Stars

\\\"A gem of modern literature.\\\" --Guardian, on Looking for Alaska\"},{\"id\":\"125384068T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The beloved storyteller who gave us heartfelt novels like The Fault in Our Stars and Turtles All the Way Down returns with a new tender love story set against the underbelly of the entertainment industry. As Kai and Juniper star in the highly anticipated film Andy Warhol Never Gets Old, the two actors balance their rising fame with their complicated feelings in Hollywood, Ending.

\"},{\"id\":\"125375167T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

John Green is the award-winning, #1 bestselling author of books including Looking for Alaska, The Fault in Our Stars, Turtles All the Way Down, The Anthropocene Reviewed, and Everything is Tuberculosis. With his brother, Hank, John has co-created many online video projects, including Vlogbrothers and the educational channel Crash Course. John's books have won many prizes, including an Audie Award, an Edgar Award, the Michael L. Printz Medal, and a Los Angeles Times Book Prize. John lives with his family in Indianapolis. You can visit him online at johngreenbooks.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"125374986T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Dutton Books is an imprint of Penguin Random House.

\"}]",{"_41":2139,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2140},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877477441777","Hollywood-Ending/John-Green",{"_41":2142,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2143},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476065521","1149802863",{"_41":2145,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476753649",{"_41":2147,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2120},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78428318728433",{"_41":2149,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2098},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877475148017",{"_41":2151,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77877476950257",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2153,"_72":2154,"_1927":2155,"_831":2156,"_1930":2157,"_1932":2158,"_1934":2159,"_1941":2163,"_1949":59,"_1950":2165,"_1956":2168,"_1978":2178,"_1981":2180,"_1983":2181,"_1985":2182,"_1986":2184},"gid://shopify/Product/9474025816305","Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel: The New Miss Marple Mystery (B&N Exclusive Edition)","BN Exclusive","9780063578074","This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition features a Q&A between Lucy Foley and the host of the popular All About Agatha podcast, Kemper Donovan.The brand-new Miss Marple novel from Lucy Foley, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Guest List and The Midnight Feast.High in the Swiss Alps, accessible only by a single, winding railway, stands the luxurious Grand Alpine Hotel. With glorious mountain views and exclusive access to powdery slopes, it draws guests from far and wide.The notorious actress.The high-flying politician.The society wife.The reckless friend.The shrewd doctor.But not everyone is here for a winter holiday.Beneath the champagne and furs, dark histories simmer; old grudges emerge like cracks in the ice.And someone is watching from the shadows. A polite, unassuming woman with an extraordinary mind: Miss Marple.When a body is found and a blizzard cuts off all escape, only Miss Marple can connect the clues before the killer strikes again. Because it isn't a question of who has a motive, but who's next...","

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition features a Q&A between Lucy Foley and the host of the popular All About Agatha podcast, Kemper Donovan.

The brand-new Miss Marple novel from Lucy Foley, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Guest List and The Midnight Feast.

High in the Swiss Alps, accessible only by a single, winding railway, stands the luxurious Grand Alpine Hotel. With glorious mountain views and exclusive access to powdery slopes, it draws guests from far and wide.

The notorious actress.

The high-flying politician.

The society wife.

The reckless friend.

The shrewd doctor.

But not everyone is here for a winter holiday.

Beneath the champagne and furs, dark histories simmer; old grudges emerge like cracks in the ice.

And someone is watching from the shadows. A polite, unassuming woman with an extraordinary mind: Miss Marple.

When a body is found and a blizzard cuts off all escape, only Miss Marple can connect the clues before the killer strikes again. Because it isn't a question of who has a motive, but who's next...

",{"_41":2160,"_54":2161,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48744563310833","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780063578074_p0.jpg?v=1772553623",1324,{"_1943":2164},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":2166,"_1954":2167},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2169},[2170],{"_41":2171,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2172,"_711":2173,"_1966":2174,"_1968":2175,"_1970":2176,"_1976":2156,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47801987793137",{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2160,"_54":2161,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2154,"_831":2156},[2177],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2179},"[\"Barnes & Noble Exclusives (p6314)\",\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"Special Editions (p10264)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"B|B&N Exclusive|#956F2D|#4C3E1B (p7920)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2156},{"_1974":2155},{"_1974":2183},"[{\"Key\":\"formatChicletOverlay\",\"Value\":\"BN Exclusive\"}]",[2185,2188,-5,2192,2194,-5,2196,2198,2201,2204,2207,-5,2209,2211,-5,2213,2215,2219],{"_41":2186,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2187},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815434993","[{\"contributorId\":499981,\"fullName\":\"Lucy Foley\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":170686,\"fullName\":\"Agatha Christie\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":2189,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":2191},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76916593361137","seriesTitle","Miss Marple Series",{"_41":2193,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815631601",{"_41":2195,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2155},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815271153",{"_41":2197,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815664369",{"_41":2199,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2200},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466816188657","[{\"id\":\"123722512T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“Rarely has murder been so much wicked fun.” - Alex Michaelides, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Silent Patient
\\\"Evoking the great Agatha Christie classics… Lucy Foley’s clever, taut new novel, The Guest List, takes us to a creepy island off the coast of Ireland…Foley builds her suspense slowly and creepily, deploying an array of narrators bristling with personal secrets.” - New York Times Book Review
\\\"A modern-day Agatha Christie.\\\" - Entertainment Weekly
\\\"An atmospheric, tantalizing thriller peopled with utterly recognizable characters, all of them hiding something about themselves and their connection to the eerie Manor hotel in Dorset.\\\" - Nita Prose, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Maid on The Midnight Feast
“A sharp, stylish and stunning murder mystery. Darkly funny, with trademark twists and unforgettable characters.” - Chris Whitaker, New York Times bestselling author on The Midnight Feast
“Delicious and darkly glamorous, and full of brilliant twists.\\\" - #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jewell on The Midnight Feast
\\\"Everyone's favorite thriller author.\\\" - theSkimm
“This Tilt-A-Whirl of a novel brims with jangly tension – an undeniably engrossing guessing game.” - Vogue on The Paris Apartment
\"},{\"id\":\"124415036T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Miss Marple is back! Agatha Christie’s iconic sleuth returns in a new mystery from Lucy Foley, author of The Paris Apartment and The Hunting Party. After a body is discovered at a luxurious mountaintop resort, there is only one woman who can connect the clues before the killer strikes again.

\"},{\"id\":\"123722525T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Lucy Foley studied English literature at Durham University and University College London and worked for several years as a fiction editor in the publishing industry. She is the author of six novels including The Paris Apartment and The Guest List. She lives in London.

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

\"},{\"id\":\"123722524T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Lucy Foley is a No.1 Sunday Times, Irish Times and New York Times bestselling author. Her contemporary murder mystery thrillers have sold over five million copies worldwide, and several are currently being adapted for the screen. She is a Waterstones Thriller of the Month author, a three-time nominee at the British Book Awards, and The Guest List was a Reese’s Book Club selection and winner of the Goodreads Choice Award for Mystery Thriller. As a life-long Agatha Christie fan, Lucy has drawn immeasurable inspiration from the Queen of Crime. She was one of 12 writers to contribute to Marple, a collection of short stories featuring the beloved detective. And in Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel, she was inspired to transport Miss Marple – her favorite Christie creation – to the glamorous post-war setting of the Swiss Alps, in a mystery that feels gloriously escapist yet utterly relevant to our times.

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

\"},{\"id\":\"123722523T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"123722522T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

Lucy Foley studied English literature at Durham University and University College London and worked for several years as a fiction editor in the publishing industry. She is the author of six novels including The Paris Apartment and The Guest List. She lives in London.

\"}]",{"_41":2202,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2203},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815926513","Murder-at-the-Grand-Alpine-Hotel/Lucy-Foley",{"_41":2205,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2206},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815205617","1148769663",{"_41":2208,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815598833",{"_41":2210,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2179},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466816221425",{"_41":2212,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2156},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466814714097",{"_41":2214,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76466815697137",{"_41":2216,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2218},"gid://shopify/Metafield/82235475722481","rating","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"5.0\"}",{"_41":2220,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/82235475689713",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2222,"_72":2223,"_1927":1928,"_831":2224,"_1930":2225,"_1932":2226,"_1934":2227,"_1941":2230,"_1949":59,"_1950":2233,"_1956":2237,"_1978":2247,"_1981":2249,"_1983":2250,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2251},"gid://shopify/Product/9422743240945","American Hagwon","9781538752036","The National Book Award finalist and New York Times bestselling author of Pachinko returns with a breathtaking contemporary epic: a masterpiece by turns sweeping and intimate, that reckons with ambition and moderation, lust and loyalty, personal dreams and familial duty.Min Jin Lee brings grand ambition, fierce heart, and the tenderest hope to a novel I didn't want to end.\" -Roxane Gay, bestselling author of Bad Feminist and HungerIn schools and churches, hotel rooms and nail salons, law firms and fried-fish shops; in cramped, dingy apartments and luxury, gated communities, the men, women, and children in American Hagwon struggle to find satisfaction and meaning in a world that seems to grow less forgiving with each passing year. Once comfortably middle class in Korea, John and Helen Koh and their three children-Bo, DH, and Mido-find their lives upended, first by a shocking betrayal by John's oldest friend, then by the 1997 Asian financial crisis.Desperately striving to regain their footing, they leave Seoul for Sydney and eventually settle in Southern California-where new vistas of opportunity open up for the children as their parents, strangers in a strange land, must adjust to a new life in which their experience and education mean little, and they set their sights on whatever it takes to provide for their children's futures. The Kohs, their friends, relatives, and even their foes move in and out of each other's lives as they navigate new courses across the years, always nursing the almost all-consuming faith that education will lead the next generation to success and security.In American Hagwon, Min Jin Lee has crafted an unforgettable, panoramic novel where the smallest of gestures can have enormous repercussions, where the bonds of family and of memory twist and fray but rarely break, and where willful self-sacrifice-for the benefit of loved ones and even strangers-is a kind of prayer.An immersive, engrossing novel ... this is panorama told in brilliant detail.\"-Colm Tóibín, bestselling author ofLong IslandandBrooklyn","The National Book Award finalist and New York Times bestselling author of Pachinko returns with a breathtaking contemporary epic: a masterpiece by turns sweeping and intimate, that reckons with ambition and moderation, lust and loyalty, personal dreams and familial duty.

Min Jin Lee brings grand ambition, fierce heart, and the tenderest hope to a novel I didn't want to end.\" -Roxane Gay, bestselling author of Bad Feminist and Hunger

In schools and churches, hotel rooms and nail salons, law firms and fried-fish shops; in cramped, dingy apartments and luxury, gated communities, the men, women, and children in American Hagwon struggle to find satisfaction and meaning in a world that seems to grow less forgiving with each passing year. Once comfortably middle class in Korea, John and Helen Koh and their three children-Bo, DH, and Mido-find their lives upended, first by a shocking betrayal by John's oldest friend, then by the 1997 Asian financial crisis.

Desperately striving to regain their footing, they leave Seoul for Sydney and eventually settle in Southern California-where new vistas of opportunity open up for the children as their parents, strangers in a strange land, must adjust to a new life in which their experience and education mean little, and they set their sights on whatever it takes to provide for their children's futures. The Kohs, their friends, relatives, and even their foes move in and out of each other's lives as they navigate new courses across the years, always nursing the almost all-consuming faith that education will lead the next generation to success and security.

In American Hagwon, Min Jin Lee has crafted an unforgettable, panoramic novel where the smallest of gestures can have enormous repercussions, where the bonds of family and of memory twist and fray but rarely break, and where willful self-sacrifice-for the benefit of loved ones and even strangers-is a kind of prayer.

An immersive, engrossing novel ... this is panorama told in brilliant detail.\"-Colm Tóibín, bestselling author ofLong IslandandBrooklyn",{"_41":2228,"_54":2229,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48337659396337","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781538752036_p0.jpg?v=1771594547",{"_1943":2231},{"_1945":2232,"_1947":1948},"31.0",{"_1943":2234,"_1954":2236},{"_1945":2235,"_1947":1948},"36.0",{"_1945":2235,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2238},[2239],{"_41":2240,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2241,"_711":2242,"_1966":2243,"_1968":2244,"_1970":2245,"_1976":2224,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47621455249649",{"_1945":2235,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2228,"_54":2229,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2232,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2223,"_831":2224},[2246],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2248},"[\"B|$5 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7848)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Mental Health Awareness (p9392)\"]",{"_1974":2224},{"_1974":1928},[2252,-5,-5,2255,2257,-5,2259,2261,2264,2267,2270,-5,2272,2274,-5,2276,-5,2278],{"_41":2253,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2254},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812784369","[{\"contributorId\":5241143,\"fullName\":\"Min Jin Lee\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2256,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812915441",{"_41":2258,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812620529",{"_41":2260,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812948209",{"_41":2262,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2263},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74872136892657","[{\"id\":\"130259445T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"American Hagwon is astonishing in its ability to do so many things at once. It is an enthralling family saga rich with intrigue, secrets, and betrayal. It is a literary triumph written in the most exquisite prose. It is a profound and moving meditation on the question of what it means to live a meaningful life. This book, this story, and these characters will remain with me forever. American Hagwon confirms what has long been true: Min Jin Lee is one of the best writers of our time.\\\"--Clint Smith, author of Above Ground and How the Word Is Passed

\\\"After 600 pages, how could I want more? And yet I did, and that is the magic of Min Jin Lee.\\\"--Tahmima Anam, author of Uprising

\\\"An absolutely propulsive read. If your faith in either humanity or storytelling has dimmed, American Hagwon will make it blaze again.\\\"--Kamila Shamsie, author of Best of Friends and Home Fire

\\\"Enchanting and elegant, American Hagwon had me completely absorbed. A novel as subtle as it is sweeping, as dazzlingly intelligent as it is emotionally breathtaking. I adored it.\\\"--Elif Shafak, author of There Are Rivers in the Sky

\\\"In this immersive masterpiece, Lee takes on Korea's all-consuming obsession with education...Beyond irresistible storytelling, Lee expertly confronts broken systems, familial expectations, and peripatetic identities with empathy and brilliance.\\\"--Booklist (starred)

\\\"Min Jin Lee delivers a masterpiece of contemporary intergenerational storytelling...From Seoul to Sydney to Southern California, the storyline explores the intimate, familial, and cultural changes that affect a family and its communities...Intensely compelling with lovingly crafted character arcs, Lee's latest cements her place in the literary pantheon.\\\"--Library Journal (starred)

\\\"Min Jin Lee's intimate epic of family, sacrifice, and fortune creates a world that will become as real to you as your own. It's about education and the rice-cooker pressure families face when opportunities run scarce. It's about capitalism, globalization, and human disposability. It's about family and the strange forms love takes when the abyss of insecurity nears. It's about immigrant pain and the truth beneath facile narratives of uplift. In our age of affordability crises, immigration rages, downward mobility, and anxiety about our children's inheritance, there couldn't be a more relevant novel--nor one that so movingly captures what it feels like to be a person today and to struggle.\\\"--Anand Giridharadas, author of Man in the Mirror and Winners Take All

\\\"Readers of American Hagwon will feel as though they know the vibrant and irrepressible Kohs, whose interwoven journeys invite us to reconsider and reflect on the meaning of home, labor, achievement, and belonging across generations and continents. Their challenges are great and their successes hard-earned, yet it is their deep love and ultimate acceptance of one another that makes Lee's characters unforgettable. Their story beautifully captures what it means to find both meaning and refuge in community; to be humbled at times, but never defeated; to make choices that reflect who we truly are; to find good in the unexpected. It shows us that to believe in the next generation is to possess an unquenchable hope for the future. This book is a gift for students of all ages, for those who care for and hope alongside them, and for all of us who are blessed to read and learn from Min Jin Lee.\\\"--Nicole Chung, author of A Living Remedy and All You Can Ever Know

\\\"Readers of Min Jin Lee's Pachinko won't be disappointed by the compulsively readable American Hagwon. American Hagwon follows the lives of the Koh family from Korea, Australia, and America, with the breadth and urgency of a saga and the intimacy of a short story. Lee explores essential questions such as the role of education, the nature of love, and the conditions of immigrant life, but to appreciate American Hagwon by its themes alone is to limit what it really is. It is, ultimately, a fully realized vision of compassion, passion, and wisdom.\\\"--Krys Lee, author of Drifting House and How I Became a North Korean

\\\"Through masterfully controlled storytelling, Lee patiently explores how her large group of characters' fortunes are shaped by forces from without and within: the powerful lure of sex, the sucking vacuum of greed, the insidiousness of racism, the obligations between parents and children. What makes a good life? The author's wisdom is a gift to her readers.\\\"--Kirkus Reviews (starred)

\\\"American Hagwon is a compelling, moving epic of family life across continents and generations. It asks how we learn--and how we learn who we are or who we can be--by drawing us close to heart-warming, heart-breaking characters who will stay with us long after the last page is turned.\\\"--Erica Wagner, author of Gravity and Wash

\\\"With her gift for wonderfully empathetic storytelling, this is a profoundly generous and humane novel about duty, family, and the dream of a better life. In this multi-layered portrait of immigrants and expatriates, Min Jin Lee conveys so much human warmth while capturing the stifling pressures of the Korean educational system. I was fully absorbed by the fates of the Koh family and, as the novel worked its cumulative magic, deeply moved by this masterful tale of sacrifice, familial devotion, and, ultimately, acceptance.\\\"--Douglas Stuart, author of John of John and Shuggie Bain, winner of the Booker Prize

\\\"American Hagwon is an immersive, engrossing novel. As the Koh family, brilliantly imagined by Min Jin Lee, moves between South Korea, Australia and California, they each have a fierce and fascinating individuality. This is panorama told in brilliant detail.\\\"--Colm Toibin, author of The Master and Brooklyn

\\\"I love American Hagwon so much. Min Jin Lee is phenomenally the real thing. I was completely not ready for the brilliance of this book and the way she captured the essence of so many of our lived experiences through the members of the Koh family. I read huge swaths of this book with my heart in my throat and found myself cheering. This book is brilliant.\\\"--Jacqueline Woodson, author of Red at the Bone and Brown Girl Dreaming, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"What can I say? American Hagwon is all of the things. A masterful social novel sweeping in scope and at the same time nuanced and devastating in its precision. An incisive examination of what we value as individuals, as parents, as a society. A book that crosses oceans and cultures and generations to tell an intricate and compulsively entertaining tale of class, ambition, friendship, family, love, sex and, of course, education. Min Jin Lee is a writer in full command of her craft and what she has crafted is a timeless and universal story of people dreaming and striving for a better life, a story of greed and betrayal, grief and heartbreak but also sacrifice and kindness and grace. These characters live and breathe and will stay with me. A vital and important work.\\\"--Charles Yu, author of Interior Chinatown, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"American Hagwon is a stunning novel, following three generations of families of the Korean diaspora across four continents. Lee's explorations of education, class and gender are finely wrought as each character must find his or her sense of purpose--and anchor that purpose in love as well as labor--notwithstanding the cruelties of economic crises and the disorientations of displacement. Bound together by faith, tradition, and origin, the moral universe of the novel's characters is brilliant with Lee's ever present ethical clarity and deep sensitivity. Yearning and forbearance, grace and devastation, course through these pages, in a story that is both epic and intimate. Yet again, Lee has written a novel that both speaks to the world and illuminates Korean history and culture. Indeed, she makes clear that it is a history we all would do well to learn and heed.\\\"--Imani Perry, author of Black In Blues and South to America, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"Min Jin Lee has written another masterpiece. American Hagwon is, at once, an intimate story that spans three continents of the Koh family's love, loss, and disappointments. It is also a story of how the ongoing demand for success can distort how we live and love. In this sense, the novel relentlessly criticizes a world defined by material gain, consumption, and status. The Koh family finds itself caught up in the whirlwind of it all. Despite the devastation wrought by the burden of achievement, faith and a gentle and unshakable love remain. Something we all need to remember and feel in these dark days.\\\"--Eddie S. Glaude Jr., author of America, U.S.A.

\\\"A novel of extraordinary ambition. Min Jin Lee has constructed a world so rich and intricate that you forget you're reading--you're simply living alongside the Kohs as they navigate betrayal, displacement, and the shifting promises of a better future. A stunning achievement.\\\"--Tara Westover, author of Educated

\\\"Magnificent--a deep education from a master storyteller. Surfacing stirring questions about diaspora and striving and the burdens we place on the shoulders of parents and children alike, American Hagwon is among the very best novels of immigration. A work of grace and beauty that unspools one thread at a time, much like life itself.\\\"--Matthew Desmond, author of Poverty, by America and Evicted, winner of the Pulitzer Prize

\\\"There are meticulous, beautifully crafted layers to Min Jin Lee's latest novel, American Hagwon. It is, on the surface, an engrossing story about a Korean family and their resilience as forces beyond the control alter the trajectory of their lives. But it is, at its core, a story about striving, the complexities of the hagwon system, and a cultural pressure to succeed at any cost. As Lee's story unfolds, and we get to know a sprawling cast of characters across three continents, the impressive scope and scale of this new epic reveals itself in astonishing ways. She brings grand ambition, fierce heart, and the tenderest hope to a novel I didn't want to end.\\\"--Roxane Gay, author of Bad Feminist\"},{\"id\":\"124006290T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"After 600 pages, how could I want more? And yet I did, and that is the magic of Min Jin Lee.\\\"-Tahmima Anam, author of Uprising

\\\"Readers of American Hagwon will feel as though they know the vibrant and irrepressible Kohs, whose interwoven journeys invite us to reconsider and reflect on the meaning of home, labor, achievement, and belonging across generations and continents. Their challenges are great and their successes hard-earned, yet it is their deep love and ultimate acceptance of one another that makes Lee's characters unforgettable. Their story beautifully captures what it means to find both meaning and refuge in community; to be humbled at times, but never defeated; to make choices that reflect who we truly are; to find good in the unexpected. It shows us that to believe in the next generation is to possess an unquenchable hope for the future. This book is a gift for students of all ages, for those who care for and hope alongside them, and for all of us who are blessed to read and learn from Min Jin Lee.\\\"-Nicole Chung, author of A Living Remedy and All You Can Ever Know

\\\"Magnificent-a deep education from a master storyteller. Surfacing stirring questions about diaspora and striving and the burdens we place on the shoulders of parents and children alike, American Hagwon is among the very best novels of immigration. A work of grace and beauty that unspools one thread at a time, much like life itself.\\\"-Matthew Desmond, author of Poverty, by America and Evicted, winner of the Pulitzer Prize

\\\"There are meticulous, beautifully crafted layers to Min Jin Lee's latest novel, American Hagwon. It is, on the surface, an engrossing story about a Korean family and their resilience as forces beyond the control alter the trajectory of their lives. But it is, at its core, a story about striving, the complexities of the hagwon system, and a cultural pressure to succeed at any cost. As Lee's story unfolds, and we get to know a sprawling cast of characters across three continents, the impressive scope and scale of this new epic reveals itself in astonishing ways. She brings grand ambition, fierce heart, and the tenderest hope to a novel I didn't want to end.\\\"-Roxane Gay, author of Bad Feminist

\\\"Min Jin Lee's intimate epic of family, sacrifice, and fortune creates a world that will become as real to you as your own. It's about education and the rice-cooker pressure families face when opportunities run scarce. It's about capitalism, globalization, and human disposability. It's about family and the strange forms love takes when the abyss of insecurity nears. It's about immigrant pain and the truth beneath facile narratives of uplift. In our age of affordability crises, immigration rages, downward mobility, and anxiety about our children's inheritance, there couldn't be a more relevant novel-nor one that so movingly captures what it feels like to be a person today and to struggle.\\\"-Anand Giridharadas, author of Man in the Mirror and Winners Take All

\\\"Min Jin Lee has written another masterpiece. American Hagwon is, at once, an intimate story that spans three continents of the Koh family's love, loss, and disappointments. It is also a story of how the ongoing demand for success can distort how we live and love. In this sense, the novel relentlessly criticizes a world defined by material gain, consumption, and status. The Koh family finds itself caught up in the whirlwind of it all. Despite the devastation wrought by the burden of achievement, faith and a gentle and unshakable love remain. Something we all need to remember and feel in these dark days.\\\"-Eddie S. Glaude Jr., author of America, U.S.A.

\\\"Readers of Min Jin Lee's Pachinko won't be disappointed by the compulsively readable American Hagwon. American Hagwon follows the lives of the Koh family from Korea, Australia, and America, with the breadth and urgency of a saga and the intimacy of a short story. Lee explores essential questions such as the role of education, the nature of love, and the conditions of immigrant life, but to appreciate American Hagwon by its themes alone is to limit what it really is. It is, ultimately, a fully realized vision of compassion, passion, and wisdom.\\\"-Krys Lee, author of Drifting House and How I Became a North Korean

\\\"American Hagwon is a stunning novel, following three generations of families of the Korean diaspora across four continents. Lee's explorations of education, class and gender are finely wrought as each character must find his or her sense of purpose-and anchor that purpose in love as well as labor-notwithstanding the cruelties of economic crises and the disorientations of displacement. Bound together by faith, tradition, and origin, the moral universe of the novel's characters is brilliant with Lee's ever present ethical clarity and deep sensitivity. Yearning and forbearance, grace and devastation, course through these pages, in a story that is both epic and intimate. Yet again, Lee has written a novel that both speaks to the world and illuminates Korean history and culture. Indeed, she makes clear that it is a history we all would do well to learn and heed.\\\"-Imani Perry, author of Black In Blues and South to America, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"Enchanting and elegant, American Hagwon had me completely absorbed. A novel as subtle as it is sweeping, as dazzlingly intelligent as it is emotionally breathtaking. I adored it.\\\"-Elif Shafak, author of There Are Rivers in the Sky

\\\"An absolutely propulsive read. If your faith in either humanity or storytelling has dimmed, American Hagwon will make it blaze again.\\\"-Kamila Shamsie, author of Best of Friends and Home Fire

\\\"American Hagwon is astonishing in its ability to do so many things at once. It is an enthralling family saga rich with intrigue, secrets, and betrayal. It is a literary triumph written in the most exquisite prose. It is a profound and moving meditation on the question of what it means to live a meaningful life. This book, this story, and these characters will remain with me forever. American Hagwon confirms what has long been true: Min Jin Lee is one of the best writers of our time.\\\"-Clint Smith, author of Above Ground and How the Word Is Passed

\\\"With her gift for wonderfully empathetic storytelling, this is a profoundly generous and humane novel about duty, family, and the dream of a better life. In this multi-layered portrait of immigrants and expatriates, Min Jin Lee conveys so much human warmth while capturing the stifling pressures of the Korean educational system. I was fully absorbed by the fates of the Koh family and, as the novel worked its cumulative magic, deeply moved by this masterful tale of sacrifice, familial devotion, and, ultimately, acceptance.\\\"-Douglas Stuart, author of John of John and Shuggie Bain, winner of the Booker Prize

\\\"American Hagwon is an immersive, engrossing novel. As the Koh family, brilliantly imagined by Min Jin Lee, moves between South Korea, Australia and California, they each have a fierce and fascinating individuality. This is panorama told in brilliant detail.\\\"-Colm Toibin, author of The Master and Brooklyn

\\\"American Hagwon is a compelling, moving epic of family life across continents and generations. It asks how we learn-and how we learn who we are or who we can be-by drawing us close to heart-warming, heart-breaking characters who will stay with us long after the last page is turned.\\\"-Erica Wagner, author of Gravity and Wash

\\\"A novel of extraordinary ambition. Min Jin Lee has constructed a world so rich and intricate that you forget you're reading-you're simply living alongside the Kohs as they navigate betrayal, displacement, and the shifting promises of a better future. A stunning achievement.\\\"-Tara Westover, author of Educated

\\\"I love American Hagwon so much. Min Jin Lee is phenomenally the real thing. I was completely not ready for the brilliance of this book and the way she captured the essence of so many of our lived experiences through the members of the Koh family. I read huge swaths of this book with my heart in my throat and found myself cheering. This book is brilliant.\\\"-Jacqueline Woodson, author of Red at the Bone and Brown Girl Dreaming, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"What can I say? American Hagwon is all of the things. A masterful social novel sweeping in scope and at the same time nuanced and devastating in its precision. An incisive examination of what we value as individuals, as parents, as a society. A book that crosses oceans and cultures and generations to tell an intricate and compulsively entertaining tale of class, ambition, friendship, family, love, sex and, of course, education. Min Jin Lee is a writer in full command of her craft and what she has crafted is a timeless and universal story of people dreaming and striving for a better life, a story of greed and betrayal, grief and heartbreak but also sacrifice and kindness and grace. These characters live and breathe and will stay with me. A vital and important work.\\\"-Charles Yu, author of Interior Chinatown, winner of the National Book Award

\\\"In this immersive masterpiece, Lee takes on Korea's all-consuming obsession with education...Beyond irresistible storytelling, Lee expertly confronts broken systems, familial expectations, and peripatetic identities with empathy and brilliance.\\\"-Booklist (starred)

\\\"Through masterfully controlled storytelling, Lee patiently explores how her large group of characters' fortunes are shaped by forces from without and within: the powerful lure of sex, the sucking vacuum of greed, the insidiousness of racism, the obligations between parents and children. What makes a good life? The author's wisdom is a gift to her readers.\\\"-Kirkus Reviews (starred)

\\\"Min Jin Lee delivers a masterpiece of contemporary intergenerational storytelling...From Seoul to Sydney to Southern California, the storyline explores the intimate, familial, and cultural changes that affect a family and its communities...Intensely compelling with lovingly crafted character arcs, Lee's latest cements her place in the literary pantheon.\\\"-Library Journal (starred)\"},{\"id\":\"132808740T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The acclaimed, bestselling author of Pachinko returns with a modern classic about ambition and love, family and finding home. Spanning decades and continents, Lee’s latest is at once epic and intimate; a story of who we are and who we’re becoming.

\"},{\"id\":\"124181186T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

From the master storyteller behind Pachinko comes a moving, multi-generational tale of one Korean family with a dream. Min Jin Lee’s layered story follows the Kohs as they navigate love, ambition, obligation and betrayal across continents, all while striving to secure a better life for future generations.

\"},{\"id\":\"131642257T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"121572892T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Min Jin Lee is the author of the novels Free Food for Millionaires and Pachinko, a finalist for the National Book Award, runner-up for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and a New York Times \\\"100 Best Books of the Century.\\\" She serves as the New York State Author Laureate from 2025 through 2027. She is the 2024 recipient of The Fitzgerald Prize for Literary Excellence. Lee has received the Manhae Grand Prize for Literature, the Bucheon Diaspora Literary Award, and the Samsung Happiness for Tomorrow Award for Creativity from South Korea. She is the recipient of fellowships in Fiction from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Harvard Radcliffe Institute, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Lee is an inductee of the New York Foundation for the Arts Hall of Fame and the New York State Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in Harlem with her family.

\"},{\"id\":\"131642263T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Min Jin Lee is the author of the novels Free Food for Millionaires and Pachinko, a finalist for the National Book Award, runner-up for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and a New York Times “100 Best Books of the Century.” She serves as the New York State Author Laureate from 2025 through 2027. She is the 2024 recipient of The Fitzgerald Prize for Literary Excellence. Lee has received the Manhae Grand Prize for Literature, the Bucheon Diaspora Literary Award, and the Samsung Happiness for Tomorrow Award for Creativity from South Korea. She is the recipient of fellowships in Fiction from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Harvard Radcliffe Institute, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Lee is an inductee of the New York Foundation for the Arts Hall of Fame and the New York State Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in Harlem with her family.

\"},{\"id\":\"121955112T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Min Jin Lee is the author of the novels Free Food for Millionaires and Pachinko, a finalist for the National Book Award, runner-up for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and a New York Times “100 Best Books of the Century.” She serves as the New York State Author Laureate from 2025 through 2027. She is the 2024 recipient of The Fitzgerald Prize for Literary Excellence. Lee has received the Manhae Grand Prize for Literature, the Bucheon Diaspora Literary Award, and the Samsung Happiness for Tomorrow Award for Creativity from South Korea. She is the recipient of fellowships in Fiction from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Harvard Radcliffe Institute, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Lee is an inductee of the New York Foundation for the Arts Hall of Fame and the New York State Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in Harlem with her family.\"},{\"id\":\"123344231T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"123852869T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"Min Jin Lee is the author of the novels Free Food for Millionaires and Pachinko, a finalist for the National Book Award, runner-up for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and a New York Times “100 Best Books of the Century.” She serves as the New York State Author Laureate from 2025 through 2027. She is the 2024 recipient of The Fitzgerald Prize for Literary Excellence. Lee has received the Manhae Grand Prize for Literature, the Bucheon Diaspora Literary Award, and the Samsung Happiness for Tomorrow Award for Creativity from South Korea. She is the recipient of fellowships in Fiction from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Harvard Radcliffe Institute, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Lee is an inductee of the New York Foundation for the Arts Hall of Fame and the New York State Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in Harlem with her family.\"}]",{"_41":2265,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2266},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871813210353","American-Hagwon/Min-Jin-Lee",{"_41":2268,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2269},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812554993","1149052260",{"_41":2271,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812882673",{"_41":2273,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2248},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75058542575857",{"_41":2275,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2224},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812063473",{"_41":2277,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74871812980977",{"_41":2279,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":2032},"gid://shopify/Metafield/94089637626097",{"_26":75,"_76":10,"_54":2281},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-biggest-books-of-fall-2026-fiction-edition","The Biggest Books of Fall 2026: Fiction Edition",{"_33":2284,"_26":1068,"_1058":2285,"_72":2576},"cc4f1890f988",{"_1061":2286,"_1070":220,"_1447":1448,"_1449":1450,"_103":-5,"_54":2574},[2287,2344,2401,2463,2518],{"_1923":1924,"_41":2288,"_72":2289,"_1927":1928,"_831":2290,"_1930":2291,"_1932":2292,"_1934":2293,"_1941":2296,"_1949":59,"_1950":2299,"_1956":2303,"_1978":2313,"_1981":2315,"_1983":2316,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2317},"gid://shopify/Product/8833970045169","The Steps: A Memoir","9780063443914","A gritty, inspiring, heart-wrenching memoir by the Academy Award-winning legend and icon Sylvester Stallone, about his unlikely path to stardom and the creation of the greatest underdog story ever told. In the fifty years since Sylvester Stallone ran up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, he and those steps have become symbols of resilience and determination, and have inspired millions from all over the world to pursue their dreams. In The Steps, Stallone recounts how he pursued his own dreams. A culmination of decades of reflection, Stallone shares where he came from-a difficult birth, an even more difficult childhood, years of struggle in school being misunderstood-and he explains how the real story of a successful life is built by facing, embracing, and ultimately overcoming our challenges. It's found in the distances we are willing to go and the steps we must take to get from where we are to where we want to go. In a narrative framed between his arrival in New York City in 1969 and the triumph of Rocky at the 1977 Academy Awards, Stallone weaves a vivid and propulsive portrait of struggle, subsistence, and ultimately success. He writes of his early days and later years, too, and the persistence, creativity, and resilience that led not only to the creation of Rocky but to a career filled with remarkably iconic roles. The Steps is a testament to Stallone's extraordinary life and a profound meditation on the importance of vision and willpower and hard work.","

A gritty, inspiring, heart-wrenching memoir by the Academy Award-winning legend and icon Sylvester Stallone, about his unlikely path to stardom and the creation of the greatest underdog story ever told.

In the fifty years since Sylvester Stallone ran up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, he and those steps have become symbols of resilience and determination, and have inspired millions from all over the world to pursue their dreams. In The Steps, Stallone recounts how he pursued his own dreams. A culmination of decades of reflection, Stallone shares where he came from-a difficult birth, an even more difficult childhood, years of struggle in school being misunderstood-and he explains how the real story of a successful life is built by facing, embracing, and ultimately overcoming our challenges. It's found in the distances we are willing to go and the steps we must take to get from where we are to where we want to go.

In a narrative framed between his arrival in New York City in 1969 and the triumph of Rocky at the 1977 Academy Awards, Stallone weaves a vivid and propulsive portrait of struggle, subsistence, and ultimately success. He writes of his early days and later years, too, and the persistence, creativity, and resilience that led not only to the creation of Rocky but to a career filled with remarkably iconic roles. The Steps is a testament to Stallone's extraordinary life and a profound meditation on the importance of vision and willpower and hard work.

",{"_41":2294,"_54":2295,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47637521465585","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780063443914_p0.jpg?v=1768988713",{"_1943":2297},{"_1945":2298,"_1947":1948},"27.5",{"_1943":2300,"_1954":2302},{"_1945":2301,"_1947":1948},"32.5",{"_1945":2301,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2304},[2305],{"_41":2306,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2307,"_711":2308,"_1966":2309,"_1968":2310,"_1970":2311,"_1976":2290,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46229940338929",{"_1945":2301,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2294,"_54":2295,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2298,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2289,"_831":2290},[2312],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2314},"[\"B|$5 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7848)\",\"The Most Anticipated Books of 2026 (p10335)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"BADGE - 15% OFF (p7872)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2290},{"_1974":1928},[2318,-5,-5,2321,2323,-5,2325,2327,2330,2333,2336,-5,2338,2340,-5,2342,-5,-5],{"_41":2319,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2320},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044557275377","[{\"contributorId\":303924,\"fullName\":\"Sylvester Stallone\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2322,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044557865201",{"_41":2324,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044556620017",{"_41":2326,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044557963505",{"_41":2328,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2329},"gid://shopify/Metafield/67529648242929","[{\"id\":\"128276535T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Actor, award-winner, and icon Sylvester Stallone brings his story to life in this powerful memoir, chronicling his tumultuous early life, his rise to fame and the struggles of stardom that followed.

\"},{\"id\":\"115311547T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Actor, award-winner, and icon Sylvester Stallone brings his story to life in this powerful memoir, chronicling his tumultuous early life, his rise to fame and the struggles of stardom that followed.

\"},{\"id\":\"128276541T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

SYLVESTER STALLONE is the creative force behind some of the most lasting and iconic characters in film, including Rocky Balboa in the Academy Award-winning Rocky, and John Rambo in First Blood as well as the blockbuster franchise The Expendables. In addition to being a prolific writer and director, he is the only actor to open a number one film across six decades. He currently stars in the critically acclaimed hit TV series Tulsa King, where he also acts as executive producer and writer. He and his wife Jennifer share three beautiful daughters, Sophia, Sistine, and Scarlet.

\"},{\"id\":\"128276543T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"SYLVESTER STALLONE is the creative force behind some of the most lasting and iconic characters in film, including Rocky Balboa in the Academy Award—winning Rocky, and John Rambo in First Blood as well as the blockbuster franchise The Expendables. In addition to being a prolific writer and director, he is the only actor to open a number one film across six decades. He currently stars in the critically acclaimed hit TV series Tulsa King, where he also acts as executive producer and writer. He and his wife Jennifer share three beautiful daughters, Sophia, Sistine, and Scarlet.

\"},{\"id\":\"128276542T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"128276546T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"SYLVESTER STALLONE is the creative force behind some of the most lasting and iconic characters in film, including Rocky Balboa in the Academy Award—winning Rocky, and John Rambo in First Blood as well as the blockbuster franchise The Expendables. In addition to being a prolific writer and director, he is the only actor to open a number one film across six decades. He currently stars in the critically acclaimed hit TV series Tulsa King, where he also acts as executive producer and writer. He and his wife Jennifer share three beautiful daughters, Sophia, Sistine, and Scarlet.

\"}]",{"_41":2331,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2332},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044558553329","The-Steps/Sylvester-Stallone",{"_41":2334,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2335},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044556194033","1148277546",{"_41":2337,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044557766897",{"_41":2339,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2314},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044558946545",{"_41":2341,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2290},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044553834737",{"_41":2343,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39044558061809",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2345,"_72":2346,"_1927":1928,"_831":2347,"_1930":2348,"_1932":2349,"_1934":2350,"_1941":2354,"_1949":59,"_1950":2356,"_1956":2360,"_1978":2370,"_1981":2372,"_1983":2373,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2374},"gid://shopify/Product/9412282974449","Redwood: The Untold Story of the Cold War's Most Extraordinary Spy","9780593728123","From the bestselling author of The Spy and the Traitor comes the ultimate true-life Cold War thriller: the untold story of a Russian double agent with a desperate secret-and the key to stopping a nuclear apocalypse.\"Ben Macintyre has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best.\"-John GrishamIn 1981, KGB Major Vladimir Kuzichkin, codenamed \"Redwood,\" was the best Soviet officer in Iran, running spies in the wake of the Islamic revolution and working with a hidden network of Iranian communists to undermine the new regime. But Kuzichkin had a problem, a sexual secret that, if revealed, would humiliate him with his colleagues, cost him his job, and send him into exile. Desperate for a solution, he reached out to the only place he believed could help: Britain's MI6.So begins one of the most astounding true spy stories of the Cold War, set against the terrifying prospect of nuclear armageddon. Taking readers through shadowy back alleys of Tehran, across bloody streets and into cloistered intelligence offices, Ben Macintyre unfolds a world in turmoil, where no one's motive is what it seems, and exposure means death. As Kuzichkin helps the Soviet leadership plot an overthrow of the Ayatollah's fledgling regime-and the American government secretly contemplates a nuclear response if they do-it falls on MI6's resourceful young undercover officer Ian McCredie to spirit Kuzichkin's vital information back to the West. But when both Iranian intelligence and the KGB close in on the Russian double-agent, McCredie must design an improbable high-stakes escape plan for Kuzichkin, in which failure is almost certain and the direction of the Cold War hangs in the balance.This is the gripping tale of one man's courage, and its extraordinary unintended consequences that still shape our world today. It's about a moving friendship between spies on opposite sides of the global conflict; about marriage, loyalty, and betrayal. Drawing on never-before-seen archival material and revealing interviews with the participants, Redwood plunges readers back into the world of The Spy and the Traitor, where the fate of millions turns on the split-second decisions of spies under pressure.","From the bestselling author of The Spy and the Traitor comes the ultimate true-life Cold War thriller: the untold story of a Russian double agent with a desperate secret-and the key to stopping a nuclear apocalypse.

\"Ben Macintyre has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best.\"-John Grisham

In 1981, KGB Major Vladimir Kuzichkin, codenamed \"Redwood,\" was the best Soviet officer in Iran, running spies in the wake of the Islamic revolution and working with a hidden network of Iranian communists to undermine the new regime. But Kuzichkin had a problem, a sexual secret that, if revealed, would humiliate him with his colleagues, cost him his job, and send him into exile. Desperate for a solution, he reached out to the only place he believed could help: Britain's MI6.

So begins one of the most astounding true spy stories of the Cold War, set against the terrifying prospect of nuclear armageddon. Taking readers through shadowy back alleys of Tehran, across bloody streets and into cloistered intelligence offices, Ben Macintyre unfolds a world in turmoil, where no one's motive is what it seems, and exposure means death. As Kuzichkin helps the Soviet leadership plot an overthrow of the Ayatollah's fledgling regime-and the American government secretly contemplates a nuclear response if they do-it falls on MI6's resourceful young undercover officer Ian McCredie to spirit Kuzichkin's vital information back to the West. But when both Iranian intelligence and the KGB close in on the Russian double-agent, McCredie must design an improbable high-stakes escape plan for Kuzichkin, in which failure is almost certain and the direction of the Cold War hangs in the balance.

This is the gripping tale of one man's courage, and its extraordinary unintended consequences that still shape our world today. It's about a moving friendship between spies on opposite sides of the global conflict; about marriage, loyalty, and betrayal. Drawing on never-before-seen archival material and revealing interviews with the participants, Redwood plunges readers back into the world of The Spy and the Traitor, where the fate of millions turns on the split-second decisions of spies under pressure.",{"_41":2351,"_54":2352,"_56":2353,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/49384249131249","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593728123_p0.jpg?v=1783566741",1315,{"_1943":2355},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":2357,"_1954":2359},{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},"35.0",{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2361},[2362],{"_41":2363,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2364,"_711":2365,"_1966":2366,"_1968":2367,"_1970":2368,"_1976":2347,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47588913676529",{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2351,"_54":2352,"_1940":-5,"_56":2353,"_50":1939},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2346,"_831":2347},[2369],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2371},"[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2347},{"_1974":1928},[2375,-5,-5,2378,2380,-5,2382,2384,2387,2390,2393,-5,2395,2397,-5,2399,-5,-5],{"_41":2376,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2377},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979855089","[{\"contributorId\":170136,\"fullName\":\"Ben Macintyre\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2379,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980182769",{"_41":2381,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979625713",{"_41":2383,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980248305",{"_41":2385,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2386},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74634584326385","[{\"id\":\"132431612T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"1

Elite Forces

At the age of twenty-two, Vladimir Andreevich Kuzichkin discovered he was not who he thought he was.

Kuzichkin's childhood was privileged, by Moscow standards. His father Andrei was a KGB officer, undistinguished and disgruntled, but enjoying the benefits that came from membership in the Soviet Union's all-powerful intelligence and security service. His mother, Elisabeta, was an office typist. Born in 1947, Vladimir was principally raised by his maternal grandmother, who spoiled him. Despite the privations of postwar Russia, the family had enough to eat, clothing coupons, and holidays in a state dacha. When Vladimir was seven, they moved into a three-room apartment in a cooperative block in the Leningrad District, surrounded by a high fence to keep out the poor from the slums. An only child, little Volodya considered this a life of \\\"luxury.\\\"

But the family had a streak of violent unhappiness running through it, fueled by vodka. Andrei Kuzichkin was a vicious alcoholic. He beat Elisabeta on the weekend and whenever he drank during the week, which was usually. She suffered repeated miscarriages. This added to Andrei's fury. He hit his son, too, until the boy grew big enough to defend himself. By the age of fourteen, Vladimir was already over six feet tall.

Intelligent and sensitive, Vladimir had hated his father for as long as he could remember. One summer in the dacha, he befriended a domesticated pig named Vasili, feeding the animal leftovers and teaching it to come when he whistled. At the end of the holiday Andrei sternly summoned Vladimir to the barn and insisted the boy watch as he killed his pet with a hatchet. Ten-year-old Volodya wept for a week, but not in front of his father. Like many abused children, fear and hatred brought complex secret feelings of guilt and self-loathing. \\\"What kind of a person am I that I detest the man I came from?\\\" he wondered. Sometimes he imagined killing his father, with an axe.

The boy rebelled, insofar as that was possible in Soviet Russia of the 1960s. He ran with a gang of street toughs and got into fights. His height made him a target. To defy his father, he refused to join Komsomol, the communist youth league. He listened to bootleg pop music from Britain and America and aped the forbidden fashions of the capitalist West. He also discovered the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky, an unruly star of the new Moscow folk underground. With a cousin and two friends, he formed a rock band called The Brothers. At the age of eighteen, wearing flares and two-inch home-adapted Cuban heels, Vladimir Kuzichkin imagined himself as a gigantic Russian version of Cliff Richard or Paul McCartney. \\\"We are going to be the Russian Beatles,\\\" he declared. Andrei Kuzichkin said his son's music was rubbish and that The Brothers would never amount to anything. He was right.

Vladimir Kuzichkin finished school with good grades, a reputation for fistfights, a taste for Western pop, a damaged soul, and no ambition. Called up for three years' military service, he was sent to Hagenow in East Germany as a radio operator in a nuclear missile launching unit, the front line of the Cold War. \\\"In the event of war,\\\" he recalled, \\\"the division's task was to annihilate Hamburg with six tactical nuclear missiles\\\" and then be obliterated in turn, in accordance with the logic of mutually assured destruction (MAD). The naïve young conscript was not overly concerned by his assigned role in nuclear Armageddon. He was very bored.

One morning, Kuzichkin was summoned to the commander's office to take an urgent telephone call from his mother. \\\"Your father is dead,\\\" Elisabeta Kuzichkina said, her voice hoarse. \\\"You must come home.\\\" Granted two days' compassionate leave, on the train to Moscow he wondered at his own lack of grief. He was unable to cry. His overwhelming feeling was not grief, but relief. \\\"Now I don't have to hate myself so much,\\\" he reflected.

Opening the apartment front door, he found Andrei Kuzichkin seated at the table, very much alive, and drunk. The older man picked up his bottle without a word and retreated to the bedroom. Between sobs, Elisabeta confessed her lie.

Vladimir's father was not Andrei Kuzichkin, but Georgi Alexandreevich Larkin, a tall, good-looking construction engineer of Irish ancestry, hence his unusual surname. Elisabeta and Georgi met after the war, and she had become pregnant. They intended to marry. But then he was sent to Siberia to build a steel factory. Georgi urged her to come too. She refused. What would she do there? Moscow was the only world she knew. Larkin never returned from the east. For a few years Elisabeta struggled on as an unmarried working mother, while her mother cared for the child. Her sister was married to a KGB officer, who introduced her to his brother, also in the KGB. Andrei Kuzichkin was boozy and rough, but he had a good job. Andrei offered a future. He even reluctantly agreed to adopt her child.

And now Georgi Larkin, the only man she had ever loved, was dead from a heart attack on a bear-hunting expedition in the Siberian wilderness. It was four hours before they discovered his body in the snow.

Vladimir Kuzichkin was baffled and furious. \\\"How could she deceive me all these years?\\\" he wondered. He ignored Andrei from that day on. And yet the discovery explained everything: the dislocation he had always felt; his hatred for the man who had pretended to be his father and beaten that untruth into him. More prosaically, it explained his height and coloring. To his friends, bandmates, and army comrades, he was still Kuzichkin, the lanky would-be pop star, but inside, secretly, he was Larkin. The discovery of a real father, now invested with imaginary qualities Georgi had never possessed in life, awoke the possibility of making himself into someone else. So that is what he did.

To begin that transformation, he decided, he would need some higher education. Back at the Hagenow base, he plunged into the officers' library and began reading ravenously. He joined the Communist Party (an unshakable requirement for anyone with ambition in Soviet Russia), but without much conviction. He had recited the mantras of Marxism from his earliest childhood, and believed them, along with everyone else. The discovery of his real father made him question everything he had grown up with, including communism. He did not share these heretical thoughts with anyone else. He barely admitted them to himself.

After three years in uniform, Kuzichkin applied to study at the Institute of Asian and African Countries in Moscow, a specialist university teaching Oriental and African languages. Mastery of a foreign tongue \\\"raised the probability of future work abroad.\\\" Reading down the list of language options, from Arabic to Zulu, he settled on Persian (or Farsi), the language of Iran. It sounded intriguing, and the course was undersubscribed. A model Soviet citizen with good academic grades and a clean military record, Kuzichkin was told to report to the Institute on September 1, 1970.

In addition to Iran's language, culture, and history, the six-year course included a substantial ideological component: Communist Party history, dialectical materialism, Marxism-Leninism, philosophy, and political economy. Each student was required to learn an additional Western language: he chose English. If he was deemed suitable, the fourth year (1973-1974) would be spent in Iran.

Located on Karl Marx Prospekt opposite the Kremlin, the Institute was controlled by the International Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). Like every other organ of state, its primary function was to bolster communism and spread the doctrine of revolution worldwide. Kuzichkin was now \\\"in the fast lane of Soviet society,\\\" he reflected, a student at a top university with a bright future: \\\"There was nothing to bar my progress.\\\"

Kuzichkin was a shy, awkward young man, as tall people sometimes are. Except when drunk. Alcohol brought out the extrovert in him. In social situations he tended to drink fast and deeply, before seizing a guitar and bursting into song. Women were drawn to this gentle, melodious giant with bright blue eyes and a shock of fair hair. In October, at a party thrown by a friend of his flatmate, Kuzichkin plucked up and soaked up enough Dutch courage to ask a girl to dance. Her name was Galina Lvovna Kokosova, a petite, pale, sweet-faced woman two years his junior. They swayed to bootlegged Rolling Stones records, her head on his chest, tiny in his arms.

Galina, known as Galya to friends and family, could not understand how such a handsome man could be attracted to her. \\\"I was a very sad and lonely 22-year-old girl: I wasn't in love with anyone; I didn't have any particularly close friends; and, after my dad departed, everything in my life went almost catastrophically wrong. The period from 1965, when my father passed away, until I met Volodya, were the saddest years of my existence.\\\" He gave her a confidence she had never felt before.\"},{\"id\":\"132431422T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"1

Elite Forces

At the age of twenty-two, Vladimir Andreevich Kuzichkin discovered he was not who he thought he was.

Kuzichkin's childhood was privileged, by Moscow standards. His father Andrei was a KGB officer, undistinguished and disgruntled, but enjoying the benefits that came from membership in the Soviet Union's all-powerful intelligence and security service. His mother, Elisabeta, was an office typist. Born in 1947, Vladimir was principally raised by his maternal grandmother, who spoiled him. Despite the privations of postwar Russia, the family had enough to eat, clothing coupons, and holidays in a state dacha. When Vladimir was seven, they moved into a three-room apartment in a cooperative block in the Leningrad District, surrounded by a high fence to keep out the poor from the slums. An only child, little Volodya considered this a life of \\\"luxury.\\\"

But the family had a streak of violent unhappiness running through it, fueled by vodka. Andrei Kuzichkin was a vicious alcoholic. He beat Elisabeta on the weekend and whenever he drank during the week, which was usually. She suffered repeated miscarriages. This added to Andrei's fury. He hit his son, too, until the boy grew big enough to defend himself. By the age of fourteen, Vladimir was already over six feet tall.

Intelligent and sensitive, Vladimir had hated his father for as long as he could remember. One summer in the dacha, he befriended a domesticated pig named Vasili, feeding the animal leftovers and teaching it to come when he whistled. At the end of the holiday Andrei sternly summoned Vladimir to the barn and insisted the boy watch as he killed his pet with a hatchet. Ten-year-old Volodya wept for a week, but not in front of his father. Like many abused children, fear and hatred brought complex secret feelings of guilt and self-loathing. \\\"What kind of a person am I that I detest the man I came from?\\\" he wondered. Sometimes he imagined killing his father, with an axe.

The boy rebelled, insofar as that was possible in Soviet Russia of the 1960s. He ran with a gang of street toughs and got into fights. His height made him a target. To defy his father, he refused to join Komsomol, the communist youth league. He listened to bootleg pop music from Britain and America and aped the forbidden fashions of the capitalist West. He also discovered the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky, an unruly star of the new Moscow folk underground. With a cousin and two friends, he formed a rock band called The Brothers. At the age of eighteen, wearing flares and two-inch home-adapted Cuban heels, Vladimir Kuzichkin imagined himself as a gigantic Russian version of Cliff Richard or Paul McCartney. \\\"We are going to be the Russian Beatles,\\\" he declared. Andrei Kuzichkin said his son's music was rubbish and that The Brothers would never amount to anything. He was right.

Vladimir Kuzichkin finished school with good grades, a reputation for fistfights, a taste for Western pop, a damaged soul, and no ambition. Called up for three years' military service, he was sent to Hagenow in East Germany as a radio operator in a nuclear missile launching unit, the front line of the Cold War. \\\"In the event of war,\\\" he recalled, \\\"the division's task was to annihilate Hamburg with six tactical nuclear missiles\\\" and then be obliterated in turn, in accordance with the logic of mutually assured destruction (MAD). The naïve young conscript was not overly concerned by his assigned role in nuclear Armageddon. He was very bored.

One morning, Kuzichkin was summoned to the commander's office to take an urgent telephone call from his mother. \\\"Your father is dead,\\\" Elisabeta Kuzichkina said, her voice hoarse. \\\"You must come home.\\\" Granted two days' compassionate leave, on the train to Moscow he wondered at his own lack of grief. He was unable to cry. His overwhelming feeling was not grief, but relief. \\\"Now I don't have to hate myself so much,\\\" he reflected.

Opening the apartment front door, he found Andrei Kuzichkin seated at the table, very much alive, and drunk. The older man picked up his bottle without a word and retreated to the bedroom. Between sobs, Elisabeta confessed her lie.

Vladimir's father was not Andrei Kuzichkin, but Georgi Alexandreevich Larkin, a tall, good-looking construction engineer of Irish ancestry, hence his unusual surname. Elisabeta and Georgi met after the war, and she had become pregnant. They intended to marry. But then he was sent to Siberia to build a steel factory. Georgi urged her to come too. She refused. What would she do there? Moscow was the only world she knew. Larkin never returned from the east. For a few years Elisabeta struggled on as an unmarried working mother, while her mother cared for the child. Her sister was married to a KGB officer, who introduced her to his brother, also in the KGB. Andrei Kuzichkin was boozy and rough, but he had a good job. Andrei offered a future. He even reluctantly agreed to adopt her child.

And now Georgi Larkin, the only man she had ever loved, was dead from a heart attack on a bear-hunting expedition in the Siberian wilderness. It was four hours before they discovered his body in the snow.

Vladimir Kuzichkin was baffled and furious. \\\"How could she deceive me all these years?\\\" he wondered. He ignored Andrei from that day on. And yet the discovery explained everything: the dislocation he had always felt; his hatred for the man who had pretended to be his father and beaten that untruth into him. More prosaically, it explained his height and coloring. To his friends, bandmates, and army comrades, he was still Kuzichkin, the lanky would-be pop star, but inside, secretly, he was Larkin. The discovery of a real father, now invested with imaginary qualities Georgi had never possessed in life, awoke the possibility of making himself into someone else. So that is what he did.

To begin that transformation, he decided, he would need some higher education. Back at the Hagenow base, he plunged into the officers' library and began reading ravenously. He joined the Communist Party (an unshakable requirement for anyone with ambition in Soviet Russia), but without much conviction. He had recited the mantras of Marxism from his earliest childhood, and believed them, along with everyone else. The discovery of his real father made him question everything he had grown up with, including communism. He did not share these heretical thoughts with anyone else. He barely admitted them to himself.

After three years in uniform, Kuzichkin applied to study at the Institute of Asian and African Countries in Moscow, a specialist university teaching Oriental and African languages. Mastery of a foreign tongue \\\"raised the probability of future work abroad.\\\" Reading down the list of language options, from Arabic to Zulu, he settled on Persian (or Farsi), the language of Iran. It sounded intriguing, and the course was undersubscribed. A model Soviet citizen with good academic grades and a clean military record, Kuzichkin was told to report to the Institute on September 1, 1970.

In addition to Iran's language, culture, and history, the six-year course included a substantial ideological component: Communist Party history, dialectical materialism, Marxism-Leninism, philosophy, and political economy. Each student was required to learn an additional Western language: he chose English. If he was deemed suitable, the fourth year (1973-1974) would be spent in Iran.

Located on Karl Marx Prospekt opposite the Kremlin, the Institute was controlled by the International Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). Like every other organ of state, its primary function was to bolster communism and spread the doctrine of revolution worldwide. Kuzichkin was now \\\"in the fast lane of Soviet society,\\\" he reflected, a student at a top university with a bright future: \\\"There was nothing to bar my progress.\\\"

Kuzichkin was a shy, awkward young man, as tall people sometimes are. Except when drunk. Alcohol brought out the extrovert in him. In social situations he tended to drink fast and deeply, before seizing a guitar and bursting into song. Women were drawn to this gentle, melodious giant with bright blue eyes and a shock of fair hair. In October, at a party thrown by a friend of his flatmate, Kuzichkin plucked up and soaked up enough Dutch courage to ask a girl to dance. Her name was Galina Lvovna Kokosova, a petite, pale, sweet-faced woman two years his junior. They swayed to bootlegged Rolling Stones records, her head on his chest, tiny in his arms.

Galina, known as Galya to friends and family, could not understand how such a handsome man could be attracted to her. \\\"I was a very sad and lonely 22-year-old girl: I wasn't in love with anyone; I didn't have any particularly close friends; and, after my dad departed, everything in my life went almost catastrophically wrong. The period from 1965, when my father passed away, until I met Volodya, were the saddest years of my existence.\\\" He gave her a confidence she had never felt before.\"},{\"id\":\"127897052T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"I grab each new book by Ben Macintyre and read it as fast as possible. He has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best. Given the current war in Iran, it is certainly his most timely.\\\"-John Grisham

\\\"A crackerjack spy story that only Ben Macintyre could tell so well. He seems to have talked to everyone, and cracked every file, that might shed new light on this remarkable tale. But a word of advice: before starting to read, settle into a comfortable chair and have snacks close to hand, because you won't be going anywhere for a while.\\\"-Scott Anderson, author of King of Kings: The Iranian Revolution: A Story of Hubris, Delusion and Catastrophic Miscalculation

\\\"A tangled tale of spy versus spy . . . As ever, Macintyre delivers an improbable but impeccable tale of true espionage.\\\"-Kirkus Reviews

\"},{\"id\":\"128651742T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

He revealed the Kremlin’s secret plot and prevented Armageddon. This gripping account of an unsung hero brings the hidden world of Cold War espionage to life.

\"},{\"id\":\"121116298T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Ben Macintyre is a writer-at-large for The Times (UK) and the bestselling author of Agent Sonya, The Spy and the Traitor, A Spy Among Friends, Double Cross, Operation Mincemeat, Agent Zigzag, Rogue Heroes, Prisoners of the Castle, and The Siege, among other books. Macintyre has also written and presented BBC documentaries of his work.

\"},{\"id\":\"122263818T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":2388,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2389},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980707057","Redwood/Ben-Macintyre",{"_41":2391,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2392},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979494641","1148963735",{"_41":2394,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980084465",{"_41":2396,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2371},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78682087293169",{"_41":2398,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2347},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633978642673",{"_41":2400,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980313841",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2402,"_72":2403,"_1927":1928,"_831":2404,"_1930":2405,"_1932":2406,"_1934":2407,"_1941":2411,"_1949":59,"_1950":2414,"_1956":2417,"_1978":2427,"_1981":2429,"_1983":2430,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2431},"gid://shopify/Product/9484011438321","The Castle: Adventures in a World of Unraveling Men","9781594634208","\"Fantastic and intensely of-the-moment... It's a dogged feat of investigation from one of our greatest non-fiction storytellers.\" -Patrick Radden Keefe \"Brilliant... A blockbuster portrait of men gone mad.\" -Publishers Weekly, starred reviewFrom the bestselling author of The Psychopath Test and So You've Been Publicly Shamed comes a darkly comic trip to the furthest reaches of the masculinity crisisHis only child is lured to a mysterious castle in the forests of New England late one night, sending Jon Ronson on an extraordinary adventure into a dark world of unmoored men desperately searching for purpose and control-whatever the cost. With zero warning, the crisis of masculinity and its bizarre, wrecking-ball manifestations had crashed into Jon's life. As his investigation deepens, urgent questions come to light: What exactly is \"Princessing\"? Why did a lawn care influencer dress as a baby in front of billions of online viewers? How did a paid-up member of the Skeptic Society derail his life in the name of a warped vision of chivalry? And, more pressingly, why are two recently released murderers on their way to pay Jon a visit? In our rapidly changing society, many men have become detached from reality; some are behaving like separatists, while others have fallen deep down ideological rabbit holes. Is this a complete fracturing of society, a new era of disinhibition where anything goes? Drawing on his trademark brand of humor, psychological insight, and unrivaled prescience, The Castle marks Jon Ronson's long-awaited return to the written page in his darkest and most insightful book yet-one where he throws open the doors to the Castle and reveals a new lost generation of men.","\"Fantastic and intensely of-the-moment... It's a dogged feat of investigation from one of our greatest non-fiction storytellers.\" -Patrick Radden Keefe

\"Brilliant... A blockbuster portrait of men gone mad.\" -Publishers Weekly, starred review

From the bestselling author of The Psychopath Test and So You've Been Publicly Shamed comes a darkly comic trip to the furthest reaches of the masculinity crisis

His only child is lured to a mysterious castle in the forests of New England late one night, sending Jon Ronson on an extraordinary adventure into a dark world of unmoored men desperately searching for purpose and control-whatever the cost.

With zero warning, the crisis of masculinity and its bizarre, wrecking-ball manifestations had crashed into Jon's life. As his investigation deepens, urgent questions come to light: What exactly is \"Princessing\"? Why did a lawn care influencer dress as a baby in front of billions of online viewers? How did a paid-up member of the Skeptic Society derail his life in the name of a warped vision of chivalry? And, more pressingly, why are two recently released murderers on their way to pay Jon a visit?

In our rapidly changing society, many men have become detached from reality; some are behaving like separatists, while others have fallen deep down ideological rabbit holes. Is this a complete fracturing of society, a new era of disinhibition where anything goes?

Drawing on his trademark brand of humor, psychological insight, and unrivaled prescience, The Castle marks Jon Ronson's long-awaited return to the written page in his darkest and most insightful book yet-one where he throws open the doors to the Castle and reveals a new lost generation of men.",{"_41":2408,"_54":2409,"_56":2410,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48885996126449","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781594634208_p0.jpg?v=1777343651",1323,{"_1943":2412},{"_1945":2413,"_1947":1948},"29.0",{"_1943":2415,"_1954":2416},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2418},[2419],{"_41":2420,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2421,"_711":2422,"_1966":2423,"_1968":2424,"_1970":2425,"_1976":2404,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47819820761329",{"_1945":1953,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2408,"_54":2409,"_1940":-5,"_56":2410,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2413,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2403,"_831":2404},[2426],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2428},"[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2404},{"_1974":1928},[2432,-5,-5,2435,2437,-5,2439,2441,2444,2447,2450,-5,2452,2454,-5,2456,2458,2461],{"_41":2433,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2434},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812541886705","[{\"contributorId\":1057956,\"fullName\":\"Jon Ronson\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2436,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812542083313",{"_41":2438,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812541755633",{"_41":2440,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812542116081",{"_41":2442,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2443},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812915900657","[{\"id\":\"130618355T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Fantastic and intensely of-the-moment, The Castle explores the nature of male anxiety, the spiralling delusions of the internet, the destructive allure of anti-woke defiance, the obsequious flattery of AI chatbots, the impunity of the mega-rich and so many other currents that are currently roiling our existence. The genuine horrors of contemporary life are rendered in a way that manages to be so antic and perversely fun, without whitewashing any of the horror itself . . . It's a dogged feat of investigation from one of our greatest non-fiction storytellers.\\\" -Patrick Radden Keefe, author of London Falling

\\\"Ridiculously compelling and wonderfully weird, this is a book that helps us understand why so many men seem to be unraveling, filling their lives with ill-conceived dreams and self-performance. The Castle is vintage Ronson: wise, timely and extremely funny.\\\" -Louis Theroux

\\\"Addictively readable, I loved The Castle. This is a much-needed book - an anti-sensationalist yet utterly compelling investigation into the masculinity crisis.\\\" -Dolly Alderton, author of Good Material

\\\"The Castle is by turns funny and frightening, dark and disarming. It's a cautionary tale of our times that deserves to be on the shelf of any reader who seeks to make sense of the perplexing, and sometimes toxic, manosphere.\\\" -BookPage, starred review

\\\"Brilliant...A blockbuster portrait of men gone mad.\\\" -Publishers Weekly, starred review

\\\"Jon Ronson is an essential guide in these disorienting times. I love everything that Ronson writes but The Castle is a particular gem, a story of his own making in the collapsing world of twenty-first century masculinity. Wonderfully breathless and weird and open, it feels hallucinatory and all too real at the same time.\\\" -Sam Knight, author of The Premonitions Bureau

\\\"The Castle is an investigation into one man that broadens into an enquiry into the state of all men. Jon Ronson is such a companiable narrator, and this book is by turns horrifying, hilarious, bizarre and gripping\\\" -Ed Caesar, author of Moth and the Mountain

\\\"Every Jon Ronson book has made me see the world differently. Nobody tells an unbelievable-but-true story like him. He's done it again with The Castle: I was utterly gripped from page one. If you want a totally compelling live mystery that will make you burn for justice, READ THIS BOOK URGENTLY.\\\" -Marina Hyde\"},{\"id\":\"130704411T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"Fantastic and intensely of-the-moment, The Castle explores the nature of male anxiety, the spiralling delusions of the internet, the destructive allure of anti-woke defiance, the obsequious flattery of AI chatbots, the impunity of the mega-rich and so many other currents that are currently roiling our existence. The genuine horrors of contemporary life are rendered in a way that manages to be so antic and perversely fun, without whitewashing any of the horror itself . . . It's a dogged feat of investigation from one of our greatest non-fiction storytellers.\\\" --Patrick Radden Keefe, author of London Falling

\\\"Ridiculously compelling and wonderfully weird, this is a book that helps us understand why so many men seem to be unraveling, filling their lives with ill-conceived dreams and self-performance. The Castle is vintage Ronson: wise, timely and extremely funny.\\\" --Louis Theroux

\\\"Addictively readable, I loved The Castle. This is a much-needed book -- an anti-sensationalist yet utterly compelling investigation into the masculinity crisis.\\\" --Dolly Alderton, author of Good Material

\\\"The Castle is by turns funny and frightening, dark and disarming. It's a cautionary tale of our times that deserves to be on the shelf of any reader who seeks to make sense of the perplexing, and sometimes toxic, manosphere.\\\" --BookPage, starred review

\\\"Brilliant...A blockbuster portrait of men gone mad.\\\" --Publishers Weekly, starred review

\\\"Jon Ronson is an essential guide in these disorienting times. I love everything that Ronson writes but The Castle is a particular gem, a story of his own making in the collapsing world of twenty-first century masculinity. Wonderfully breathless and weird and open, it feels hallucinatory and all too real at the same time.\\\" --Sam Knight, author of The Premonitions Bureau

\\\"The Castle is an investigation into one man that broadens into an enquiry into the state of all men. Jon Ronson is such a companiable narrator, and this book is by turns horrifying, hilarious, bizarre and gripping\\\" --Ed Caesar, author of Moth and the Mountain

\\\"Every Jon Ronson book has made me see the world differently. Nobody tells an unbelievable-but-true story like him. He's done it again with The Castle I was utterly gripped from page one. If you want a totally compelling live mystery that will make you burn for justice, READ THIS BOOK URGENTLY.\\\" --Marina Hyde\"},{\"id\":\"130277863T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

With humor and curiosity, Jon Ronson unpacks modern masculinity, delving into the pressures and expectations placed on men as well as the loneliness, shame and loss of purpose many experience.

\"},{\"id\":\"124037624T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jon Ronson is an internationally bestselling author, journalist, and filmmaker whose books have been translated into more than thirty languages. His nonfiction titles include So You've Been Publicly Shamed, The Psychopath Test, and Them: Adventures with Extremists. Two of his books, The Men Who Stare at Goats and Frank, have been adapted into feature-length films, and his TED talks have amassed more than thirty million views. Ronson is also the host and producer of multiple radio programs and chart-topping podcasts. He is a regular contributor to This American Life and lives in New York.

\"},{\"id\":\"132070175T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":2445,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2446},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812542378225","The-Castle/Jon-Ronson",{"_41":2448,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2449},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812541690097","1149525288",{"_41":2451,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812542050545",{"_41":2453,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2428},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78682482245873",{"_41":2455,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2404},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812540936433",{"_41":2457,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812542148849",{"_41":2459,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2460},"gid://shopify/Metafield/93915932819697","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"3.0\"}",{"_41":2462,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/93915932786929",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2464,"_72":2465,"_1927":1928,"_831":2466,"_1930":2467,"_1932":2468,"_1934":2469,"_1941":2472,"_1949":59,"_1950":2474,"_1956":2478,"_1978":2488,"_1981":2489,"_1983":2490,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2491},"gid://shopify/Product/9484011602161","Vibe: The Secrets of Strong Connections in a Lonely World","9798217059706","#1 New York Times bestselling author Adam Grant illuminates the surprising science of chemistry and closenessWhen we vibe with other people, it fuels our happiness and success. Yet building meaningful ties is one of the most pressing problems of our time. As face-to-face interaction gives way to digital screens, communication gets outsourced to AI, and the world becomes more polarized, our loneliness crisis shows no signs of slowing.To reveal how we can forge faster, stronger, and longer bonds, Adam Grant offers groundbreaking studies, expert insights, and myth-busting stories. Filled with the eye-opening takeaways that have brought millions of readers to his books, Vibe teaches us that similarity is not necessary for solidarity, chemistry doesn't always happen quickly, and closeness doesn't always take time.Along the way, Grant introduces us to a crew of astronauts who learned to trust people they don't like, a comedy troupe that swears by taking time apart as a key to staying together, a band that grew closer by learning to fight more, and a journalist who designed a gathering that led to seventy-eight marriages. He also opens up about his personal struggles to find his place as a shy introvert and the lessons that propelled his transformation into an enthusiastic convener. Through these examples and more, Grant uncovers the keys to creating deeper relationships and tighter communities.Vibe will change how you interact with people. No matter how good you are at connecting, you can always get better-and help others get better too.","#1 New York Times bestselling author Adam Grant illuminates the surprising science of chemistry and closeness

When we vibe with other people, it fuels our happiness and success. Yet building meaningful ties is one of the most pressing problems of our time. As face-to-face interaction gives way to digital screens, communication gets outsourced to AI, and the world becomes more polarized, our loneliness crisis shows no signs of slowing.

To reveal how we can forge faster, stronger, and longer bonds, Adam Grant offers groundbreaking studies, expert insights, and myth-busting stories. Filled with the eye-opening takeaways that have brought millions of readers to his books, Vibe teaches us that similarity is not necessary for solidarity, chemistry doesn't always happen quickly, and closeness doesn't always take time.

Along the way, Grant introduces us to a crew of astronauts who learned to trust people they don't like, a comedy troupe that swears by taking time apart as a key to staying together, a band that grew closer by learning to fight more, and a journalist who designed a gathering that led to seventy-eight marriages. He also opens up about his personal struggles to find his place as a shy introvert and the lessons that propelled his transformation into an enthusiastic convener. Through these examples and more, Grant uncovers the keys to creating deeper relationships and tighter communities.

Vibe will change how you interact with people. No matter how good you are at connecting, you can always get better-and help others get better too.",{"_41":2470,"_54":2471,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48762598359281","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217059706_p0.jpg?v=1785381129",{"_1943":2473},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":2475,"_1954":2477},{"_1945":2476,"_1947":1948},"33.0",{"_1945":2476,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2479},[2480],{"_41":2481,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2482,"_711":2483,"_1966":2484,"_1968":2485,"_1970":2486,"_1976":2466,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47819821023473",{"_1945":2476,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2470,"_54":2471,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2465,"_831":2466},[2487],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2371},{"_1974":2466},{"_1974":1928},[2492,-5,-5,2495,2497,-5,2499,2501,2504,2507,2510,-5,2512,2514,-5,2516,-5,-5],{"_41":2493,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2494},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812550701297","[{\"contributorId\":3612652,\"fullName\":\"Adam Grant\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2496,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812551389425",{"_41":2498,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812550177009",{"_41":2500,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812551520497",{"_41":2502,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2503},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812923502833","[{\"id\":\"131047017T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"A deep dive into the science of friendship, companionship, and love. Every page is an illumination! The world needs this book now more than ever.\\\"
-Reese Witherspoon

\\\"Adam Grant has focused his enormous brain and loads of research on how we connect to our fellow humans and the result is informative and compulsively readable. Simply put, the Vibe is immaculate.\\\"
-Lin-Manuel Miranda and Luis Miranda

\\\"Vibe is a brilliant book about how to create great connections. Reading it is pure joy, and it will bring more joy into your life. If everyone reads it, the world will be a more magical place.\\\"
-Bob Iger

\\\"This book is the antidote for an increasingly lonely and disconnected world. It will make you feel truly hopeful about the power of human connection. I can't imagine a time in our history when we've needed Adam Grant's insights more.\\\"
-Jacinda Ardern

\\\"A master class in building winning teams and lasting bonds. In Vibe, Adam Grant presents an ingenious new approach to being better together. This book is a must-read.\\\"
-Steve Kerr

\\\"Vibe is an indispensable guide for enriching your interactions with loved ones, extended family, coworkers, difficult people, and even strangers. It's so potent, it might even work for your first encounter with a space alien.\\\"
-Neil deGrasse Tyson

\\\"Vibe explores one of the most important lessons I learned during my year in space: Human connection is not something you find, it's something you build. It's a superb book, with compelling insights that are especially relevant in a world where genuine connection is increasingly rare.\\\"
-Scott Kelly\"},{\"id\":\"131072511T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"A deep dive into the science of friendship, companionship, and love. Every page is an illumination! The world needs this book now more than ever.\\\"
--Reese Witherspoon

\\\"Adam Grant has focused his enormous brain and loads of research on how we connect to our fellow humans and the result is informative and compulsively readable. Simply put, the Vibe is immaculate.\\\"
--Lin-Manuel Miranda and Luis Miranda

\\\"Vibe is a brilliant book about how to create great connections. Reading it is pure joy, and it will bring more joy into your life. If everyone reads it, the world will be a more magical place.\\\"
--Bob Iger

\\\"This book is the antidote for an increasingly lonely and disconnected world. It will make you feel truly hopeful about the power of human connection. I can't imagine a time in our history when we've needed Adam Grant's insights more.\\\"
--Jacinda Ardern

\\\"A master class in building winning teams and lasting bonds. In Vibe, Adam Grant presents an ingenious new approach to being better together. This book is a must-read.\\\"
--Steve Kerr

\\\"Vibe is an indispensable guide for enriching your interactions with loved ones, extended family, coworkers, difficult people, and even strangers. It's so potent, it might even work for your first encounter with a space alien.\\\"
--Neil deGrasse Tyson

\\\"Vibe explores one of the most important lessons I learned during my year in space: Human connection is not something you find, it's something you build. It's a superb book, with compelling insights that are especially relevant in a world where genuine connection is increasingly rare.\\\"
--Scott Kelly\"},{\"id\":\"129789034T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

In a world increasingly dependent on technologies like social media and AI, human connection can seem less attainable than ever. Adam Grant shares his personal struggles alongside expert insights for overcoming loneliness and cultivating belonging.

\"},{\"id\":\"132696648T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"124037524T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Adam Grant is an organizational psychologist at Wharton, where he has been the top-rated professor for seven straight years. His books have sold millions of copies, he is one of TED's most popular speakers, and his podcasts have over 100 million downloads; he hosts Re:Thinking. Adam has been recognized as the world's second-most influential management thinker and one of Fortune's 40 Under 40. Grant received his BA from Harvard University and his PhD from the University of Michigan, and he is a former Junior Olympic springboard diver and magician. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison Sweet Grant, a novelist and poet; their two cats (who don't get along); and their three children (who mostly do).

\"},{\"id\":\"124114690T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Adam Grant is an organizational psychologist at The Wharton School, where he has been the top-rated professor for seven straight years. His books have sold millions of copies, his TED talks have been viewed more than thirty-five million times, and he hosts the hit podcast Re:Thinking. His pioneering research has challenged widespread assumptions about motivation, success, character, and change, and his viral piece on languishing was the most-read New York Times article of 2021 and the most-saved article across platforms. He has been recognized as the world’s number-two most influential management thinker and one of Fortune’s 40 Under 40, and he has received distinguished scientific achievement awards from the American Psychological Association and the National Science Foundation. Grant received his B.A. from Harvard University and his Ph.D. from the University of Michigan, and he is a former Junior Olympic springboard diver and magician. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison Sweet Grant, a novelist and poet; their two cats (who don’t get along); and their three children (who mostly do).

\"},{\"id\":\"132492492T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Adam Grant is an organizational psychologist at Wharton, where he has been the top-rated professor for seven straight years. His books have sold millions of copies, he is one of TED's most popular speakers, and his podcasts have over 100 million downloads; he hosts Re: Thinking. Adam has been recognized as the world's second-most influential management thinker and one of Fortune's 40 Under 40. Grant received his BA from Harvard University and his PhD from the University of Michigan, and he is a former Junior Olympic springboard diver and magician. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison Sweet Grant, a novelist and poet; their two cats (who don't get along); and their three children (who mostly do).

\"},{\"id\":\"124240444T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

Adam Grant is an organizational psychologist at The Wharton School, where he has been the top-rated professor for seven straight years. His books have sold millions of copies, his TED talks have been viewed more than thirty-five million times, and he hosts the hit podcast Re:Thinking. His pioneering research has challenged widespread assumptions about motivation, success, character, and change, and his viral piece on languishing was the most-read New York Times article of 2021 and the most-saved article across platforms. He has been recognized as the world's number-two most influential management thinker and one of Fortune's 40 Under 40, and he has received distinguished scientific achievement awards from the American Psychological Association and the National Science Foundation. Grant received his BA from Harvard University and his PhD from the University of Michigan, and he is a former Junior Olympic springboard diver and magician. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison Sweet Grant, a novelist and poet; their two cats (who don't get along); and their three children (who mostly do).

\"},{\"id\":\"132492252T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

Adam Grant is an organizational psychologist at The Wharton School, where he has been the top-rated professor for seven straight years. His books have sold millions of copies, his TED talks have been viewed more than thirty-five million times, and he hosts the hit podcast Re: Thinking. His pioneering research has challenged widespread assumptions about motivation, success, character, and change, and his viral piece on languishing was the most-read New York Times article of 2021 and the most-saved article across platforms. He has been recognized as the world's number-two most influential management thinker and one of Fortune's 40 Under 40, and he has received distinguished scientific achievement awards from the American Psychological Association and the National Science Foundation. Grant received his BA from Harvard University and his PhD from the University of Michigan, and he is a former Junior Olympic springboard diver and magician. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison Sweet Grant, a novelist and poet; their two cats (who don't get along); and their three children (who mostly do).

\"}]",{"_41":2505,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2506},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812552667377","Vibe/Adam-Grant",{"_41":2508,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2509},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812549914865","1149158802",{"_41":2511,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812551225585",{"_41":2513,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2371},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78682520584433",{"_41":2515,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2466},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812548342001",{"_41":2517,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76812551651569",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2519,"_72":2520,"_1927":1928,"_831":2521,"_1930":2522,"_1932":2523,"_1934":2524,"_1941":2527,"_1949":59,"_1950":2530,"_1956":2533,"_1978":2543,"_1981":2545,"_1983":2546,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2547},"gid://shopify/Product/9524501872881","Secrets: A Reporter's Memoir","9781668008232","From two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist Bob Woodward comes the definitive memoir of the man with more #1 bestsellers than any journalist of our time, offering an unprecedented inside look at some of the most newsworthy stories ever.Bob Woodward has reported on every American president from Richard Nixon to Donald Trump. His books have penetrated government institutions, informed the national conversation and shaped our culture. In Secrets, Woodward tells his story-from his Illinois youth to his Navy service during the Vietnam War to his tenure at The Washington Post, where his reporting with Carl Bernstein on Watergate captivated the world and became the book All the President's Men. Like never before, Woodward takes readers inside his reporting on the White House, Supreme Court, CIA operations, and the Pentagon. Woodward's one-of-a-kind reporter's memoir lifts the lid on his historic reporting relationships and secret sources, and he explains why he can reveal some of those long-time sources now. The New York Times said of Woodward, \"The scope and depth of his work have earned him a unique place in politics and journalism as perhaps the most enduring chronicler of American presidents.\" Robert Gates, former Defense Secretary and CIA Director said, \"He has an extraordinary ability to get otherwise responsible adults to spill [their] guts.\"","From two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist Bob Woodward comes the definitive memoir of the man with more #1 bestsellers than any journalist of our time, offering an unprecedented inside look at some of the most newsworthy stories ever.

Bob Woodward has reported on every American president from Richard Nixon to Donald Trump. His books have penetrated government institutions, informed the national conversation and shaped our culture.

In Secrets, Woodward tells his story-from his Illinois youth to his Navy service during the Vietnam War to his tenure at The Washington Post, where his reporting with Carl Bernstein on Watergate captivated the world and became the book All the President's Men. Like never before, Woodward takes readers inside his reporting on the White House, Supreme Court, CIA operations, and the Pentagon.

Woodward's one-of-a-kind reporter's memoir lifts the lid on his historic reporting relationships and secret sources, and he explains why he can reveal some of those long-time sources now.

The New York Times said of Woodward, \"The scope and depth of his work have earned him a unique place in politics and journalism as perhaps the most enduring chronicler of American presidents.\"

Robert Gates, former Defense Secretary and CIA Director said, \"He has an extraordinary ability to get otherwise responsible adults to spill [their] guts.\"",{"_41":2525,"_54":2526,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/49031571112177","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781668008232_p0.jpg?v=1774236175",{"_1943":2528},{"_1945":2529,"_1947":1948},"24.5",{"_1943":2531,"_1954":2532},{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2534},[2535],{"_41":2536,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2537,"_711":2538,"_1966":2539,"_1968":2540,"_1970":2541,"_1976":2521,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47947898978545",{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2525,"_54":2526,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2529,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2520,"_831":2521},[2542],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2544},"[\"BADGE - 30% off (p7865)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"B|30% Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7837)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2521},{"_1974":1928},[2548,-5,-5,2551,2553,-5,2555,2557,2560,2563,2566,-5,2568,2570,-5,2572,-5,-5],{"_41":2549,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2550},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239680856305","[{\"contributorId\":174944,\"fullName\":\"Bob Woodward\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2552,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239681478897",{"_41":2554,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239680332017",{"_41":2556,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239681642737",{"_41":2558,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2559},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239684034801","[{\"id\":\"125226341T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The iconic journalist and editor tells his own story, in his own words. From his childhood in Illinois to his tenure at The Washington Post, Woodward reflects on his life and brings readers inside some of his biggest stories from The White House, The Supreme Court, CIA operations and more.

\"},{\"id\":\"131642236T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"125188537T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"125226344T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Bob Woodward is an associate editor at The Washington Post, where he has worked for fifty-five years. He has shared in two Pulitzer Prizes, one for his Watergate coverage with Carl Bernstein and the other for coverage of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. He has authored twenty-four bestselling books, sixteen of which have been #1 New York Times bestsellers.

\"},{\"id\":\"125153592T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Bob Woodward is an associate editor at The Washington Post, where he has worked for 55 years. He has shared in two Pulitzer Prizes, one for his Watergate coverage with Carl Bernstein and the other for coverage of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. He has authored 24 bestselling books, 16 of which have been #1 New York Times bestsellers.

\"},{\"id\":\"125226345T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"AUDIO COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Bob Woodward is the author of three consecutive #1 New York Times bestsellers on President Trump—Fear (2018), Rage (2020), and Peril (2021) with Robert Costa—and an audiobook of 20 interviews with Trump. He has authored 22 bestselling books, 15 of which have been #1 New York Times bestsellers, covering every president from Nixon to Biden.

\"}]",{"_41":2561,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2562},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239682822385","Secrets/Bob-Woodward",{"_41":2564,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2565},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239680037105","1149767323",{"_41":2567,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239681347825",{"_41":2569,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2544},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239684329713",{"_41":2571,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2521},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239678464241",{"_41":2573,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78239681773809",{"_26":75,"_76":10,"_54":2575},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-biggest-books-of-fall-2026-nonfiction-edition","The Biggest Books of Fall 2026: Nonfiction Edition",{"_33":2578,"_26":1068,"_1058":2579,"_72":2917},"34fbf43184f1",{"_1061":2580,"_1070":220,"_1447":1448,"_1449":1450,"_103":-5,"_54":2915},[2581,2647,2709,2778,2847],{"_1923":1924,"_41":2582,"_72":2583,"_1927":2155,"_831":2584,"_1930":2585,"_1932":2586,"_1934":2587,"_1941":2591,"_1949":59,"_1950":2594,"_1956":2598,"_1978":2608,"_1981":2610,"_1983":2611,"_1985":2612,"_1986":2613},"gid://shopify/Product/9486151745777","Dead Beat (B&N Exclusive Edition)","9781250473196","This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition has a unique cover, designed endpapers, and a bonus annotated chapter from the author.The highly anticipated, explosive conclusion to the Ninth House trilogy from #1 New York Times bestselling author Leigh Bardugo.Hell is empty and all the devils are here…Alex Stern made it to hell and back more than once, but this time she left the door open behind her. Demons are creeping through the streets of New Haven and the Yale campus, feeding on the souls of the living, terrifying the dead. Alex and her allies can hunt them, but it’s only a matter of time before the gates to the underworld open and they face a war they cannot win. To stop it, they’ll have to reach deep into the secrets of Yale and its societies, and discover the truth hidden in Alex’s own blood.While she struggles to hold onto the dream of a future Yale once offered, Alex must contend with the machinations of a corrupt Lethe Board and a deadly vampire with his own connection to the societies. But for the first time in her life, she won’t have to face the fight alone. Dawes, Turner, Mercy, and even Tripp will have a role to play, none more so than Alex’s mentor Darlington, the golden boy who lived so long in her head, now back in the flesh and cursed with dangerous powers of his own. Hell itself is stalking the delegates of Lethe House, and they’re all about to learn that demons don’t play by human rules.","

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition has a unique cover, designed endpapers, and a bonus annotated chapter from the author.

The highly anticipated, explosive conclusion to the Ninth House trilogy from #1 New York Times bestselling author Leigh Bardugo.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here…

Alex Stern made it to hell and back more than once, but this time she left the door open behind her. Demons are creeping through the streets of New Haven and the Yale campus, feeding on the souls of the living, terrifying the dead. Alex and her allies can hunt them, but it’s only a matter of time before the gates to the underworld open and they face a war they cannot win. To stop it, they’ll have to reach deep into the secrets of Yale and its societies, and discover the truth hidden in Alex’s own blood.

While she struggles to hold onto the dream of a future Yale once offered, Alex must contend with the machinations of a corrupt Lethe Board and a deadly vampire with his own connection to the societies. But for the first time in her life, she won’t have to face the fight alone. Dawes, Turner, Mercy, and even Tripp will have a role to play, none more so than Alex’s mentor Darlington, the golden boy who lived so long in her head, now back in the flesh and cursed with dangerous powers of his own. Hell itself is stalking the delegates of Lethe House, and they’re all about to learn that demons don’t play by human rules.

",{"_41":2588,"_54":2589,"_56":2590,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48783661203697","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781250473196_p0.jpg?v=1771990363",1311,{"_1943":2592},{"_1945":2593,"_1947":1948},"26.99",{"_1943":2595,"_1954":2597},{"_1945":2596,"_1947":1948},"29.99",{"_1945":2596,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2599},[2600],{"_41":2601,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2602,"_711":2603,"_1966":2604,"_1968":2605,"_1970":2606,"_1976":2584,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47825254940913",{"_1945":2596,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2588,"_54":2589,"_1940":-5,"_56":2590,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2593,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2583,"_831":2584},[2607],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2609},"[\"Barnes & Noble Exclusives (p6314)\",\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"Special Editions (p10264)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Halloween Books & Spooky Stories Collection (p5292)\",\"B|B&N Exclusive|#956F2D|#4C3E1B (p7920)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Dark Academia (p10108)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]",{"_1974":2584},{"_1974":2155},{"_1974":2183},[2614,2617,2620,2624,2626,-5,2628,2630,2633,2636,2639,-5,2641,2643,-5,2645,-5,-5],{"_41":2615,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2616},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461616369","[{\"contributorId\":13563401,\"fullName\":\"Leigh Bardugo\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2618,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":2619},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76930301133041","Ninth House Series",{"_41":2621,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2622,"_1974":2623},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76930301100273","seriesNumber","3",{"_41":2625,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461812977",{"_41":2627,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2155},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461452529",{"_41":2629,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461845745",{"_41":2631,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2632},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77231531917553","[{\"id\":\"124418869T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\" Notes From Your Bookseller

The Ninth House trilogy comes to an epic conclusion in Dead Beat. Alex Stern made it to hell and back. But she left the door open behind her. Hell is unleashed upon Lethe House in this whirlwind installment from Leigh Bardugo.

\"}]",{"_41":2634,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2635},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910462107889","Dead-Beat/Leigh-Bardugo",{"_41":2637,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2638},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461386993","1149244925",{"_41":2640,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461780209",{"_41":2642,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2609},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910462402801",{"_41":2644,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2584},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910460862705",{"_41":2646,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76910461878513",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2648,"_72":2649,"_1927":1928,"_831":2650,"_1930":2651,"_1932":2652,"_1934":2653,"_1941":2656,"_1949":59,"_1950":2658,"_1956":2661,"_1978":2671,"_1981":2673,"_1983":2674,"_1985":-5,"_1986":2675},"gid://shopify/Product/9522636751089","Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion","9798217298594","The roguish charlatan Astarion will free himself from a centuries-long fate of servitude or die (a second time) trying-in this decadently dark fantasy adventure by award-winning author T. Kingfisher.You're too pretty to die.Astarion Ancunin was supposed to be a magistrate, not a vampire spawn. He was supposed to serve the law, not the vicious vampire lord Cazador Szarr. And he was supposed to drink fine wine, not rat blood. Alas-the city of Baldur's Gate cares little for what's supposed to happen.Though he has been powerless to resist his master's bidding, haunting the nighttime streets to fetch warm blood, Astarion has never surrendered his hope. One day, this nightmare must end. He just has to find out how.When the vampire lord announces a twisted competition for his favor, an opportunity presents itself in the form of a rare prize . . . and an unlikely alliance. The blood of a dead god is buried deep beneath Baldur's Gate, and, to get it, Astarion will need the help of a handsome Aasimar paladin named Hahn den Suriel.There are just a few problems. Astarion is not supposed to trust his fellow spawn. He's not supposed to go out into the city for his own ends rather than the vampire lord's. And he's certainly not supposed to strike a deal with a stranger whose golden eyes can snare even a blackened, undead heart.But the city of Baldur's Gate cares little for what's supposed to happen.","The roguish charlatan Astarion will free himself from a centuries-long fate of servitude or die (a second time) trying-in this decadently dark fantasy adventure by award-winning author T. Kingfisher.

You're too pretty to die.

Astarion Ancunin was supposed to be a magistrate, not a vampire spawn. He was supposed to serve the law, not the vicious vampire lord Cazador Szarr. And he was supposed to drink fine wine, not rat blood. Alas-the city of Baldur's Gate cares little for what's supposed to happen.

Though he has been powerless to resist his master's bidding, haunting the nighttime streets to fetch warm blood, Astarion has never surrendered his hope. One day, this nightmare must end. He just has to find out how.

When the vampire lord announces a twisted competition for his favor, an opportunity presents itself in the form of a rare prize . . . and an unlikely alliance. The blood of a dead god is buried deep beneath Baldur's Gate, and, to get it, Astarion will need the help of a handsome Aasimar paladin named Hahn den Suriel.

There are just a few problems. Astarion is not supposed to trust his fellow spawn. He's not supposed to go out into the city for his own ends rather than the vampire lord's. And he's certainly not supposed to strike a deal with a stranger whose golden eyes can snare even a blackened, undead heart.

But the city of Baldur's Gate cares little for what's supposed to happen.",{"_41":2654,"_54":2655,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/49469041115377","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217298594_p0.jpg?v=1777084714",{"_1943":2657},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":2659,"_1954":2660},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2662},[2663],{"_41":2664,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2665,"_711":2666,"_1966":2667,"_1968":2668,"_1970":2669,"_1976":2650,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47942277202161",{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2654,"_54":2655,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":1946,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2649,"_831":2650},[2670],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2672},"[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2650},{"_1974":1928},[2676,2679,-5,2682,2684,-5,2686,2688,2691,2694,2697,-5,2699,2701,-5,2703,2705,2707],{"_41":2677,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2678},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569206001","[{\"contributorId\":16957987,\"fullName\":\"T. Kingfisher\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2680,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":2681},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79417386402033","Baldur's Gate 3",{"_41":2683,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569369841",{"_41":2685,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569074929",{"_41":2687,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569402609",{"_41":2689,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2690},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79441614143729","[{\"id\":\"126328586T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A twisted competition is about to begin. Astarion Ancunín faces his fate in this Baldur’s Gate 3 prequel novel by T. Kingfisher. Astarion is a dark fantasy adventure following the fan-favorite charlatan who forms an unlikely alliance with a handsome paladin.

\"},{\"id\":\"126215045T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Ursula Vernon, aka T. Kingfisher is the author and illustrator of far more projects than is probably healthy. She has written over fifty novels for both children and adults, an epic webcomic called \\\"Digger\\\" and various short stories and other odds and ends. The daughter of an artist, she spent her youth attempting to rebel, but eventually succumbed to the siren song of paint (although not before getting a degree in anthropology.) Ursula grew up in Oregon and Arizona, went to college at Macalester College in Minnesota, and stayed there for ten years, until she finally learned to drive in deep snow and was obligated to leave the state. Having moved across the country several times, she eventually settled in New Mexico, where she works full-time as an artist and creator of oddities. She lives with her husband, her garden, and his chickens.

\"}]",{"_41":2692,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2693},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569664753","Baldurs-Gate-3/T-Kingfisher",{"_41":2695,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2696},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569009393","1149972785",{"_41":2698,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569337073",{"_41":2700,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2672},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78682506887409",{"_41":2702,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2650},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070568517873",{"_41":2704,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78070569435377",{"_41":2706,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2218},"gid://shopify/Metafield/89991244382449",{"_41":2708,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/89991244349681",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2710,"_72":2711,"_1927":2712,"_831":2713,"_1930":2714,"_1932":2715,"_1934":2716,"_1941":2719,"_1949":59,"_1950":2722,"_1956":2726,"_1978":2736,"_1981":2738,"_1983":2739,"_1985":2740,"_1986":2742},"gid://shopify/Product/9479610597617","The Sixth Faction Deluxe Limited Edition","Special","9780063462540","The worldwide sensation as you've never seen it before. Step into a bold new Divergent series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Veronica Roth.This deluxe limited edition of The Sixth Faction is unmissable: featuring a gorgeous exclusive cover in an alternate colorway, designed edges, a completely foiled case with a unique stamp, and special endpapers.Beatrice Prior stands on the brink of a decision every person in her world must make: five factions, five futures, five lives.She has a plan: she's going to make the bravest choice and leave Abnegation to join Dauntless, even though it means abandoning her family.But when tragedy strikes at her choosing ceremony, everything changes-her world, her plans, even Beatrice herself.Her decision will thrust her into the crosshairs of an underground rebellion, where a boy with secrets as dangerous as her own-a boy with only a number for a name-may be the only person she can trust.One choice will change everything.The series that took the world by storm: The #1 New York Times bestselling series, with tens of millions of copies sold worldwide. A global sensation translated into 40+ languages. A breakout phenomenon that defined the YA dystopian genre. A major motion picture hit and blockbuster film franchise. \"The next big thing.\" - Rolling Stone","

The worldwide sensation as you've never seen it before. Step into a bold new Divergent series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Veronica Roth.

This deluxe limited edition of The Sixth Faction is unmissable: featuring a gorgeous exclusive cover in an alternate colorway, designed edges, a completely foiled case with a unique stamp, and special endpapers.

Beatrice Prior stands on the brink of a decision every person in her world must make: five factions, five futures, five lives.

She has a plan: she's going to make the bravest choice and leave Abnegation to join Dauntless, even though it means abandoning her family.

But when tragedy strikes at her choosing ceremony, everything changes-her world, her plans, even Beatrice herself.

Her decision will thrust her into the crosshairs of an underground rebellion, where a boy with secrets as dangerous as her own-a boy with only a number for a name-may be the only person she can trust.

One choice will change everything.

The series that took the world by storm:

The #1 New York Times bestselling series, with tens of millions of copies sold worldwide.
\nA global sensation translated into 40+ languages.
A breakout phenomenon that defined the YA dystopian genre.
A major motion picture hit and blockbuster film franchise. \n
\"The next big thing.\" - Rolling Stone\n

",{"_41":2717,"_54":2718,"_56":2410,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48729175621873","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780063462540_p0.jpg?v=1777477814",{"_1943":2720},{"_1945":2721,"_1947":1948},"22.99",{"_1943":2723,"_1954":2725},{"_1945":2724,"_1947":1948},"25.99",{"_1945":2724,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":2727},[2728],{"_41":2729,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":2730,"_711":2731,"_1966":2732,"_1968":2733,"_1970":2734,"_1976":2713,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47809525940465",{"_1945":2724,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2717,"_54":2718,"_1940":-5,"_56":2410,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2721,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2711,"_831":2713},[2735],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":2737},"[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"B|Bestseller|#007C6C (p7858)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]",{"_1974":2713},{"_1974":2712},{"_1974":2741},"[{\"Key\":\"formatChicletOverlay\",\"Value\":\"Special\"}]",[2743,2746,2749,2751,2753,-5,2755,2757,2760,2763,2766,-5,2768,2770,-5,2772,2774,2776],{"_41":2744,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":2745},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320405745","[{\"contributorId\":12494388,\"fullName\":\"Veronica Roth\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":2747,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":2748},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79391424676081","A New Divergent Series",{"_41":2750,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2622,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/82304379027697",{"_41":2752,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320536817",{"_41":2754,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2712},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320241905",{"_41":2756,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320569585",{"_41":2758,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":2759},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79180156076273","[{\"id\":\"125950929T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Veronica Roth invites readers back to the exhilarating world of Divergent with the first book in a new duology that reimagines the iconic series.

\"},{\"id\":\"125883037T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Veronica Roth is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of several novels, including When Among Crows, Seek the Traitor's Son, Poster Girl, Chosen Ones, the Carve the Mark duology, as well as the global hit Divergent series, also a major motion picture film franchise. A leading voice in genre fiction, Roth has published numerous short stories and articles and has served as an editor for the Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy Anthology. Roth lives in Chicago. You can visit her online at veronicarothbooks.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"125888173T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

VERONICA ROTH is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of the Divergent series (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Four: A Divergent Collection) and the Carve the Mark duology (Carve the Mark, The Fates Divide). Divergent received the 2011 Goodreads Choice Award for Favorite Book, Publishers Weekly’s Best Book of 2011, and was the winner of the YALSA 2012 Teens’ Top Ten. The trilogy has been adapted into a blockbuster movie series starring Shailene Woodley and Theo James. Carve the Mark published in January 2017, debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, and remained on the list for eighteen weeks. The Fates Divide, the second installment of the Carve the Mark series, also debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list.

Though she was born in Mount Kisco, New York, Veronica’s family moved to Hong Kong and Germany before settling in Barrington, Illinois. In elementary school, Veronica read constantly, but it wasn’t until she got a “make your own book!” kit from her mother as a gift that she thought to write anything of her own. From that time on, she knew she would write for the rest of her life, whether she was published or not. She wrote the manuscript that would become Divergent in her free time while attending Northwestern University, where she graduated magna cum laude with a degree in English Literature with Creative Writing in 2010.

She is a board member of YALLFest, the biggest YA book festival in the country, and YALLWEST, its sister festival. She currently lives in Chicago with her husband and their dog, Avi, whose adorable existence is well-documented on Instagram.

\"},{\"id\":\"125888198T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

VERONICA ROTH is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of the Divergent series (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Four: A Divergent Collection) and the Carve the Mark duology (Carve the Mark, The Fates Divide). Divergent received the 2011 Goodreads Choice Award for Favorite Book, Publishers Weekly's Best Book of 2011, and was the winner of the YALSA 2012 Teens' Top Ten. The trilogy has been adapted into a blockbuster movie series starring Shailene Woodley and Theo James. Carve the Mark published in January 2017, debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, and remained on the list for eighteen weeks. The Fates Divide, the second installment of the Carve the Mark series, also debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list.

Though she was born in Mount Kisco, New York, Veronica's family moved to Hong Kong and Germany before settling in Barrington, Illinois. In elementary school, Veronica read constantly, but it wasn't until she got a \\\"make your own book!\\\" kit from her mother as a gift that she thought to write anything of her own. From that time on, she knew she would write for the rest of her life, whether she was published or not. She wrote the manuscript that would become Divergent in her free time while attending Northwestern University, where she graduated magna cum laude with a degree in English Literature with Creative Writing in 2010.

She is a board member of YALLFest, the biggest YA book festival in the country, and YALLWEST, its sister festival. She currently lives in Chicago with her husband and their dog, Avi, whose adorable existence is well-documented on Instagram.

\"},{\"id\":\"131071606T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":2761,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2762},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320831729","The-Sixth-Faction-Deluxe-Limited-Edition/Veronica-Roth",{"_41":2764,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2765},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320110833","1149914472",{"_41":2767,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320504049",{"_41":2769,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2737},"gid://shopify/Metafield/78682471727345",{"_41":2771,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2713},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672318832881",{"_41":2773,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/76672320602353",{"_41":2775,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2218},"gid://shopify/Metafield/87300898095345",{"_41":2777,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/87300898062577",{"_1923":1924,"_41":2779,"_72":2780,"_1927":2155,"_831":2781,"_1930":2782,"_1932":2783,"_1934":2784,"_1941":2788,"_1949":59,"_1950":2791,"_1956":2795,"_1978":2805,"_1981":2807,"_1983":2808,"_1985":2809,"_1986":2810},"gid://shopify/Product/9487125184753","Victorious (B&N Exclusive Edition)","9781250474940","This Barnes & Noble Exclusive features a bonus epilogue, unique to this edition.The triumphant conclusion to the Villains series from V.E. Schwab, the #1 New York Times Bestselling author of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue and Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil.The ExtraOrdinary of Merit City, a secret group of individuals gifted with a power connected to their manner of near-death experience, have been keeping a low profile, avoiding the ever-watchful eye of EON in the wake of the showdown with Marcella and Eli.But when EON—and its relationship to the ExtraOrdinaries—begins to change under the leadership of a new director with a terrifying agenda, the time for hiding is over. The path to the truth of what happened to EON leads Victor, Sydney, Mitch and the rest into the enemy's lair at EON headquarters, where they encounter unexpected allies, shocking new abilities, and the ultimate confrontation.Against all the years, the betrayals, and the odds—the arch rivals and their allies will meet for a final time, on a chess board laid out by a rival they didn't expect.","

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive features a bonus epilogue, unique to this edition.

The triumphant conclusion to the Villains series from V.E. Schwab, the #1 New York Times Bestselling author of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue and Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil.

The ExtraOrdinary of Merit City, a secret group of individuals gifted with a power connected to their manner of near-death experience, have been keeping a low profile, avoiding the ever-watchful eye of EON in the wake of the showdown with Marcella and Eli.

But when EON—and its relationship to the ExtraOrdinaries—begins to change under the leadership of a new director with a terrifying agenda, the time for hiding is over. The path to the truth of what happened to EON leads Victor, Sydney, Mitch and the rest into the enemy's lair at EON headquarters, where they encounter unexpected allies, shocking new abilities, and the ultimate confrontation.

Against all the years, the betrayals, and the odds—the arch rivals and their allies will meet for a final time, on a chess board laid out by a rival they didn't expect.

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Praise for the Villains Series

“V.E. Schwab is one of those authors you just have to read….She is a literary force to be reckoned with, a writer who packs more punch into a single chapter than most do in a whole series. With each new book, Schwab’s already finely honed skills get sharper and fiercer, and Vengeful is no exception.” –Reactor

“An epic collision of super-powered nemeses. The writing and storycraft is Schwab's own superpower as this tale leaps off the page in all its dark...glory.” —Chuck Wendig, author of Blackbirds on Vicious

\\\"Fresh, merciless, and, yes, vicious. Wow.\\\" —Mira Grant, New York Times bestselling author of the Newsflesh Trilogy on Vicious

\\\"Reading this book destroyed me physically and emotionally....I would recommend this book to anyone in a heartbeat.\\\" -The LA Times on Vicious

\\\"Readers won’t be able to put down this dark and riveting tale of power and revenge.\\\"-- Kirkus on Vengeful

Schwab’s tale of betrayal, self-hatred, and survival will resonate with superhero fans as well as readers who have never heard of Charles Xavier or Victor von Doom”-- Publishers Weekly, starred review on Vicious

Praise for V.E. Schwab

“Unmissable... Nobody can write like V. E. Schwab” - Jodie Picoult on Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

“Immersive… A time-sweeping, character-juggling, lesbian vampire mystery.” ―The New York Times on Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

“One of the most propulsive, compulsive and captivating novels in recent memory.”- The Washington Post on The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Schwab sends you whirling through a dizzying kaleidoscopic adventure through centuries filled with love, loss, art and war—all the while dazzling your senses with hundreds of tiny magical moments along the way.” —Naomi Novik

\"},{\"id\":\"124387961T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

V.E. Schwab’s Villains series comes to a stunning conclusion in Victorious. Years of betrayal and deceit have led to one final showdown with a rival that the ExtraOrdinaries never expected.

\"},{\"id\":\"124178247T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

VICTORIA “V. E.” SCHWAB is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty books. Schwab's series and standalone titles for readers of all ages have made her a major literary figure, whose notable works include the Villains series, the Shades of Magic universe, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, and Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil. When not haunting Paris streets or writing in the corner of her favorite coffee shop, she lives in Edinburgh, Scotland.

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The exclusive B&N limited edition features a unique reversible dust jacket, full color endpapers with surprise character artwork, and gorgeous sprayed edges.

When the hunter is hunted… who becomes prey?

The Emperor’s Enemy is an addictive true enemies-to-lovers dark romantasy with a heroine who doesn’t need saving, an enemy she can’t escape, and a war neither of them plans to lose.

Welcome to the Unsurvivable Love Duet, the all-new series by Jasmine Mas, bestselling author of Blood of Hercules.

Zora Ravenal didn’t join the Crimson Army to be a hero. She joined to destroy the empire.

A skilled hunter hardened by loss with a concerning capacity for stubbornness, Zora claws her way into becoming a Knight Mage: the Commonwealth’s deadliest defense against the Empire’s storm magic and her people’s only hope.

It almost works.

Now she’s stuck in a war she can’t walk away from, hiding dangerous secrets, and shoved into very close quarters with the one man she should never be alone with.

He’s a Royal Mage with a body count, a temper, and an unsettling obsession… with her.

Now they’re partners.

Sort of.

If “partners” means being forced to train together, trust each other with their lives, and somehow not kill each other in the process.

But the Royal Mage isn’t just dangerous—he’s paying attention. And the longer they’re forced to remain in each other’s orbit, the more twisted everything becomes. Who’s hunting who?

Perfect if you love:

True enemies-to-lovers
Sarcastic banter
A spicy slow burn
Touch her and die
Female rage
A shocking twist you will NOT see coming

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Who’s hunting who in the latest duology by Jasmine Mas? Dark magic, enemies-to-lovers tension and plenty of intrigue await. Zora is a powerful knight mage. Aleksander is a ruthless emperor. What could go wrong?

\"},{\"id\":\"122725939T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"EXCLUSIVE COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

JASMINE MAS is a New York Times bestselling author of fantasy romance. Her books have been translated into over 20 languages. She has a degree in ancient Greco-Roman classical studies from Georgetown University, and is a former lawyer who spends all her free time writing about strong women in magical worlds. She lives with her husband and cat named Boo. Jasmine loves connecting with readers on TikTok and Instagram at @jasminemasbooks. jasminemasbooks.com

\"}]",{"_41":2898,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":2899},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566446543089","The-Emperors-Enemy/Jasmine-Mas",{"_41":2901,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":2902},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566445297905","1149304995",{"_41":2904,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566446215409",{"_41":2906,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":2875},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566446805233",{"_41":2908,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2850},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566444413169",{"_41":2910,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75566446313713",{"_41":2912,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2218},"gid://shopify/Metafield/94077120315633",{"_41":2914,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/93452734202097",{"_26":75,"_76":10,"_54":2916},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-biggest-books-of-fall-2026-ya-fantasy-edition","The Biggest Books of Fall 2026: YA & Fantasy Edition",{"_33":2919,"_26":1068,"_1058":2920,"_72":3234},"2fc1cb311615",{"_1061":2921,"_1070":220,"_1447":1448,"_1449":1450,"_103":-5,"_54":3232},[2922,2990,3047,3111,3174],{"_1923":1924,"_41":2923,"_72":2924,"_1927":2155,"_831":2925,"_1930":2926,"_1932":2927,"_1934":2928,"_1941":2932,"_1949":59,"_1950":2935,"_1956":2939,"_1978":2949,"_1981":2951,"_1983":2952,"_1985":2953,"_1986":2954},"gid://shopify/Product/9571700375793","The Wild Zone (B&N Exclusive Edition) (Camp Half-Blood #1)","9798217448944","This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition features a unique moss green case with a foil Camp Half-Blood stamp, light green tinted endpapers, plus an exclusive Q&A with the authors!Ever wonder what goes on at Camp Half-Blood in between Percy Jackson's legendary quests? Find out in the start of a new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Rick Riordan and an all-star team of coauthors!In book one, five newbie demigods dare to enter Camp Half-Blood's forbidden Wild Zone, unleashing ancient curses, bloodthirsty monsters—and a fight to survive.Katie Kim may be a newcomer to Camp Half-Blood, but even she knows they weren't supposed to be running through the Wild Zone—the forest is off-limits to campers and staff. Why, then, did Clarisse, head counselor of the Ares cabin, take her and four other newbies there in the dark of night and tell them to race back to camp by morning?Clarisse's threat was scary enough, but when Katie's half-brother Grant goes missing, his disappearance sparks the arrival of vicious monsters and a mysterious curse. It's up to Katie and the three remaining newbies—the Wild Omada—to brave the Wild Zone again and uncover its dark and deadly secrets.","

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition features a unique moss green case with a foil Camp Half-Blood stamp, light green tinted endpapers, plus an exclusive Q&A with the authors!

Ever wonder what goes on at Camp Half-Blood in between Percy Jackson's legendary quests? Find out in the start of a new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Rick Riordan and an all-star team of coauthors!

In book one, five newbie demigods dare to enter Camp Half-Blood's forbidden Wild Zone, unleashing ancient curses, bloodthirsty monsters—and a fight to survive.

Katie Kim may be a newcomer to Camp Half-Blood, but even she knows they weren't supposed to be running through the Wild Zone—the forest is off-limits to campers and staff. Why, then, did Clarisse, head counselor of the Ares cabin, take her and four other newbies there in the dark of night and tell them to race back to camp by morning?

Clarisse's threat was scary enough, but when Katie's half-brother Grant goes missing, his disappearance sparks the arrival of vicious monsters and a mysterious curse. It's up to Katie and the three remaining newbies—the Wild Omada—to brave the Wild Zone again and uncover its dark and deadly secrets.

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Return to the world of Percy Jackson in a brand-new spinoff series featuring new heroes. The training camp for young demigods comes to life as Rick Riordan and Annabelle Oh team up for the first series installment, The Wild Zone.

\"},{\"id\":\"126844846T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Random House Children’s Books is a division of Penguin Random House.

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OVER 18 MILLION GRUFFALO BOOKS SOLD WORLDWIDE

Gruffalo Granny is visiting the Gruffalo family in this brand-new Gruffalo story!

The Gruffalo said to his daughter one day,
\"Your Gruffalo Granny is coming to stay.\"

Julia Donaldson's lively rhymes and Axel Scheffler's quirky art bring the same delightful charm and humor that make The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo's Child timeless favorites. Audiences new and old will embrace the return of this beloved character . . . and the introduction of a new Gruffalo family member!",{"_41":2997,"_54":2998,"_56":2999,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48713642180849","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217238736_p0.jpg?v=1774272233",1616,{"_1943":3001},{"_1945":2934,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":3003,"_1954":3005},{"_1945":3004,"_1947":1948},"19.99",{"_1945":3004,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3007},[3008],{"_41":3009,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":3010,"_711":3011,"_1966":3012,"_1968":3013,"_1970":3014,"_1976":2993,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47726983938289",{"_1945":3004,"_1947":1948},{"_41":2997,"_54":2998,"_1940":-5,"_56":2999,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2934,"_1947":1948},{"_72":2992,"_831":2993},[3015],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3017},"[\"Picture Books (p4127)\",\"Sweepstakes (p8811)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"B|$2 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7846)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"BADGE - $2 OFF (p7878)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":2993},{"_1974":1928},[3021,-5,-5,3024,3026,-5,3028,3030,3033,3036,3039,-5,3041,3043,-5,3045,-5,-5],{"_41":3022,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3023},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876140273","[{\"contributorId\":353160,\"fullName\":\"Julia Donaldson\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":735303,\"fullName\":\"Axel Scheffler\",\"jobName\":\"Illustrator\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":3025,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876599025",{"_41":3027,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697875550449",{"_41":3029,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876697329",{"_41":3031,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3032},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75698643828977","[{\"id\":\"123781206T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Julia Donaldson invites readers back to the beloved, quirky world of the Gruffalo. Silly and sweet, get ready to meet Gruffalo Granny in this delightful celebration of family.

\"},{\"id\":\"123560022T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Julia Donaldson is one of today's best-loved children's authors. She was the UK Children's Laureate 2011-2013 and has written more than 100 books for children, including the international bestsellers The Gruffalo and Room on the Broom. Her books have received numerous awards, including the Red House Children's Book Award and the Blue Peter Award.
Julia divides her time between West Sussex, England, and Edinburgh, Scotland.

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"},{\"id\":\"122620659T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Julia Donaldson is one of today's best-loved children's authors. She was the UK Children's Laureate 2011–2013 and has written more than 100 books for children, including the international bestsellers The Gruffalo and Room on the Broom. Her books have received numerous awards, including the Red House Children's Book Award and the Blue Peter Award. She lives in Sussex, England, with her husband.

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"},{\"id\":\"131345163T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"}]",{"_41":3034,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3035},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697877549297","Gruffalo-Granny/Julia-Donaldson",{"_41":3037,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3038},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697875255537","1149412359",{"_41":3040,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876467953",{"_41":3042,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3017},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697878040817",{"_41":3044,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":2993},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697872011505",{"_41":3046,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876795633",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3048,"_72":3049,"_1927":1928,"_831":3050,"_1930":3051,"_1932":3052,"_1934":3053,"_1941":3057,"_1949":59,"_1950":3060,"_1956":3064,"_1978":3074,"_1981":3076,"_1983":3077,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3078},"gid://shopify/Product/9435048149233","Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: The Illustrated Edition (Harry Potter, Book 6)","9780545791441","The sixth book in the beloved, bestselling Harry Potter series, now illustrated in glorious full color by award-winning artist Levi Pinfold in a jacketed hardcover edition with illustrated endpapers and a ribbon bookmark. A gift to be treasured by Harry Potter fans and book lovers of all ages!The war against Voldemort is not going well; even Muggle governments are noticing. Ron scans the obituary pages of the Daily Prophet, looking for familiar names. Dumbledore is absent from Hogwarts for long stretches of time, and the Order of the Phoenix has already suffered losses. And yet...As in all wars, life goes on. Sixth-year students learn to Apparate -- and lose a few eyebrows in the process. The Weasley twins expand their business. Teenagers flirt and fight and fall in love. Classes are never straightforward, though Harry receives some extraordinary help from the mysterious Half-Blood Prince.And all the while Harry uncovers the full and complex story of the boy who became Lord Voldemort -- hoping to find what may be his only vulnerability.The sixth book in the Harry Potter series, now illustrated in brilliant full color by award-winning artist Levi Pinfold.","The sixth book in the beloved, bestselling Harry Potter series, now illustrated in glorious full color by award-winning artist Levi Pinfold in a jacketed hardcover edition with illustrated endpapers and a ribbon bookmark. A gift to be treasured by Harry Potter fans and book lovers of all ages!

The war against Voldemort is not going well; even Muggle governments are noticing. Ron scans the obituary pages of the Daily Prophet, looking for familiar names. Dumbledore is absent from Hogwarts for long stretches of time, and the Order of the Phoenix has already suffered losses. And yet...

As in all wars, life goes on. Sixth-year students learn to Apparate -- and lose a few eyebrows in the process. The Weasley twins expand their business. Teenagers flirt and fight and fall in love. Classes are never straightforward, though Harry receives some extraordinary help from the mysterious Half-Blood Prince.

And all the while Harry uncovers the full and complex story of the boy who became Lord Voldemort -- hoping to find what may be his only vulnerability.

The sixth book in the Harry Potter series, now illustrated in brilliant full color by award-winning artist Levi Pinfold.

",{"_41":3054,"_54":3055,"_56":3056,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48411086160113","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780545791441_p0.jpg?v=1773316865",1709,{"_1943":3058},{"_1945":3059,"_1947":1948},"49.99",{"_1943":3061,"_1954":3063},{"_1945":3062,"_1947":1948},"54.99",{"_1945":3062,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3065},[3066],{"_41":3067,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":3068,"_711":3069,"_1966":3070,"_1968":3071,"_1970":3072,"_1976":3050,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47663781609713",{"_1945":3062,"_1947":1948},{"_41":3054,"_54":3055,"_1940":-5,"_56":3056,"_50":1939},{"_1945":3059,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3049,"_831":3050},[3073],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3075},"[\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"B|$5 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7848)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]",{"_1974":3050},{"_1974":1928},[3079,3082,3085,3088,3090,-5,3092,3094,3097,3100,3103,-5,3105,3107,-5,3109,-5,-5],{"_41":3080,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3081},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546578673","[{\"contributorId\":1797434,\"fullName\":\"J. K. Rowling\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":11154170,\"fullName\":\"Levi Pinfold\",\"jobName\":\"Illustrator\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":3083,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":3084},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546775281","Harry Potter Series",{"_41":3086,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2622,"_1974":3087},"gid://shopify/Metafield/77586166546673","6",{"_41":3089,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546971889",{"_41":3091,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546185457",{"_41":3093,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184547037425",{"_41":3095,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3096},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75185051566321","[{\"id\":\"124661152T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The wizarding world comes to life once more in the brand-new illustrated edition of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Fans can now relive the sixth book in vibrant color, and book lovers of all ages will feel lucky to add this beautiful edition to their collection.

\"},{\"id\":\"122063286T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

J.K. Rowling is the author of the enduringly popular Harry Potter books. After the idea for Harry Potter came to her on a delayed train journey in 1990, she plotted out and started writing the series of seven books and the first was published as Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in the UK in 1997. The series took another ten years to complete, concluding in 2007 with the publication of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

To accompany the series, J.K. Rowling wrote three short companion volumes for charity, Quidditch Through the Agesand Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, in aid of Comic Relief and Lumos, and The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in aid of Lumos. She also collaborated on the writing of a stage play, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, which was published as a script book.

Her other books for children include the fairy tale The Ickabog and The Christmas Pig, which were published in 2020 and 2021 respectively and have also been bestsellers. She is also the author of books for adults, including a bestselling crime fiction series.

J.K. Rowling has received many awards and honors for her writing. She also supports a number of causes through her charitable trust Volant and is the founder of the children's charity Lumos.

To find out more about J.K. Rowling visit jkrowlingstories.com.

Levi Pinfold has been drawing from his imagination for as long as he can remember. He has published many acclaimed books, and is a winner of the prestigious CILIP Kate Greenaway Medal. Born in the Forest of Dean in the UK, he now lives in northern New South Wales, Australia.

\"}]",{"_41":3098,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3099},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184547561713","Harry-Potter-and-the-Half-Blood-Prince/J-K-Rowling",{"_41":3101,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3102},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546054385","1149168003",{"_41":3104,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184546906353",{"_41":3106,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3075},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184548053233",{"_41":3108,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3050},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184544940273",{"_41":3110,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/75184547102961",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3112,"_72":3113,"_1927":1928,"_831":3114,"_1930":3115,"_1932":3116,"_1934":3117,"_1941":3121,"_1949":59,"_1950":3124,"_1956":3128,"_1978":3138,"_1981":3140,"_1983":3141,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3142},"gid://shopify/Product/9344153190641","Game of Pets Book 1: The Boy Who Knew Too Much","9781250424990","Mega-bestselling author Aaron Blabey, creator of The Bad Guys, is back!OK, here's the situation:Thanks to a diabolical intergalactic game show, we are all cooked.Luckily, Griff, an 11-year-old kid with innumerable allergies, just got told by a talking axolotl named Bob that Griff is the only one who can save us. I mean, that's kind of good news, right?Trouble is, Bob's prophecy comes with a warning: \"Watch your back, man...your PETS are not what they seem...\"Prepare to have your mind blown and your cats and dogs under heavy suspicion. It's time to buckle up for an insane, laugh-out-loud new series, 260 million years in the making...","

Mega-bestselling author Aaron Blabey, creator of The Bad Guys, is back!

OK, here's the situation:

Thanks to a diabolical intergalactic game show, we are all cooked.

Luckily, Griff, an 11-year-old kid with innumerable allergies, just got told by a talking axolotl named Bob that Griff is the only one who can save us.

I mean, that's kind of good news, right?

Trouble is, Bob's prophecy comes with a warning: \"Watch your back, man...your PETS are not what they seem...\"

Prepare to have your mind blown and your cats and dogs under heavy suspicion. It's time to buckle up for an insane, laugh-out-loud new series, 260 million years in the making...

",{"_41":3118,"_54":3119,"_56":3120,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48552799535345","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781250424990_p0.jpg?v=1779724735",1411,{"_1943":3122},{"_1945":3123,"_1947":1948},"12.99",{"_1943":3125,"_1954":3127},{"_1945":3126,"_1947":1948},"15.99",{"_1945":3126,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3129},[3130],{"_41":3131,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":3132,"_711":3133,"_1966":3134,"_1968":3135,"_1970":3136,"_1976":3114,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47060734902513",{"_1945":3126,"_1947":1948},{"_41":3118,"_54":3119,"_1940":-5,"_56":3120,"_50":1939},{"_1945":3123,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3113,"_831":3114},[3137],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3139},"[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"25% Off the List Price on All Pre-Order Books (p9461)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\"]",{"_1974":3114},{"_1974":1928},[3143,3146,3149,3151,3153,-5,3155,3157,3160,3163,3166,-5,3168,3170,-5,3172,-5,-5],{"_41":3144,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3145},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213538410737","[{\"contributorId\":5700723,\"fullName\":\"Aaron Blabey\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":5700723,\"fullName\":\"Aaron Blabey\",\"jobName\":\"Illustrator\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":3147,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":3148},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213540212977","Game of Pets",{"_41":3150,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2622,"_1974":897},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213540802801",{"_41":3152,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213542539505",{"_41":3154,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213535985905",{"_41":3156,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213543162097",{"_41":3158,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3159},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74035850608881","[{\"id\":\"127471258T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Praise for Game of Pets Book 1: The Boy Who Knew Too Much

\\\"Myriad moments of slapstick comedy and goofy illustrations manifest in a raucous experience.\\\"-Publishers Weekly

\\\"Zany, off-the-wall fun bound to be a hit.\\\" -Kirkus Reviews

\"},{\"id\":\"130822880T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Praise for Game of Pets Book 1: The Boy Who Knew Too Much

\\\"Myriad moments of slapstick comedy and goofy illustrations manifest in a raucous experience.\\\"--Publishers Weekly

\\\"Zany, off-the-wall fun bound to be a hit.\\\" --Kirkus Reviews

\"},{\"id\":\"129777839T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The author of the beloved Bad Guys series is back with a new kind of story. Griff discovers that his pets aren’t what they seem in this hilarious new book, perfect for fans of The Bad Guys and Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

\"},{\"id\":\"120748540T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Aaron Blabey is a #1 New York Times-bestselling author with around sixty million books in print. His various series, including The Bad Guys, Pig the Pug, Thelma the Unicorn, and Cat on the Run, are widely loved around the world and have been translated into many languages. Aaron is also an executive producer on the DreamWorks movies The Bad Guys and The Bad Guys 2 and on the Netflix musical animation Thelma the Unicorn.

\"},{\"id\":\"119447178T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":3161,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3162},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213547749617","Game-of-Pets-Book-1/Aaron-Blabey",{"_41":3164,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3165},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213534806257","1148921652",{"_41":3167,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213541949681",{"_41":3169,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3139},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213551976689",{"_41":3171,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3114},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213526089969",{"_41":3173,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71213543751921",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3175,"_72":3176,"_1927":1928,"_831":3177,"_1930":3178,"_1932":3179,"_1934":3180,"_1941":3184,"_1949":59,"_1950":3186,"_1956":3189,"_1978":3198,"_1981":3200,"_1983":3201,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3202},"gid://shopify/Product/9417636970737","Pete the Cat and the Cookie Catastrophe","9780063350588","It's cookie time with Pete and his friends in this zany picture book from the #1 New York Times bestselling classic series Pete the Cat!Pete the Cat is baking cookies. And when he sees his friends playing outside, Pete wishes the baking would just hurry up. So, he builds an invention...BEHOLD! The Cookie-O-Matic! It's cool, it's groovy, it's fantastic!The machine bakes a lot of cookies-and fast. But what happens when the cookies spin out of control and ROLL out the door? Will Pete catch the cookies before playtime ends?Find out in this delicious cookie chase story where Pete the Cat is serving up sweets with a side of patience and friendship.From the authors of the #1 New York Times bestselling Pete the Cat series, James and Kimberly Dean, this picture book is reminiscent of Pete favorites like Pete the Cat and His Four Groovy Buttons and perfect for fans of Grumpy Monkey by Suzanne Lang.Don't miss Pete's other adventures, including Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes, Pete the Cat: Rocking in My School Shoes, Pete the Cat and His Four Groovy Buttons, Pete the Cat Saves Christmas, Pete the Cat and His Magic Sunglasses, Pete the Cat and the Bedtime Blues, Pete the Cat and the New Guy, Pete the Cat and the Cool Cat Boogie, Pete the Cat and the Missing Cupcakes, Pete the Cat and the Perfect Pizza Party, Pete the Cat: Crayons Rock!, Pete the Cat's Groovy Imagination, Pete the Cat Plays Hide-and-Seek, Pete the Cat Screams for Ice Cream!, and Pete the Cat's Cool New Ride.","

It's cookie time with Pete and his friends in this zany picture book from the #1 New York Times bestselling classic series Pete the Cat!

Pete the Cat is baking cookies. And when he sees his friends playing outside, Pete wishes the baking would just hurry up. So, he builds an invention...

BEHOLD! The Cookie-O-Matic! It's cool, it's groovy, it's fantastic!

The machine bakes a lot of cookies-and fast. But what happens when the cookies spin out of control and ROLL out the door? Will Pete catch the cookies before playtime ends?

Find out in this delicious cookie chase story where Pete the Cat is serving up sweets with a side of patience and friendship.

From the authors of the #1 New York Times bestselling Pete the Cat series, James and Kimberly Dean, this picture book is reminiscent of Pete favorites like Pete the Cat and His Four Groovy Buttons and perfect for fans of Grumpy Monkey by Suzanne Lang.

Don't miss Pete's other adventures, including Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes, Pete the Cat: Rocking in My School Shoes, Pete the Cat and His Four Groovy Buttons, Pete the Cat Saves Christmas, Pete the Cat and His Magic Sunglasses, Pete the Cat and the Bedtime Blues, Pete the Cat and the New Guy, Pete the Cat and the Cool Cat Boogie, Pete the Cat and the Missing Cupcakes, Pete the Cat and the Perfect Pizza Party, Pete the Cat: Crayons Rock!, Pete the Cat's Groovy Imagination, Pete the Cat Plays Hide-and-Seek, Pete the Cat Screams for Ice Cream!, and Pete the Cat's Cool New Ride.

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Dean's boldly colored illustrations move the story forward and complement the short, rhyming narrative text. A playfully sweet addition to a beloved series, recommended for early reader and picture book collections. - School Library Journal

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\"},{\"id\":\"132574163T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The worst part about baking cookies? Waiting for them to be done! Pete the Cat invents an ultra-fast cookie machine that spirals into chaos in this hilarious new adventure.

\"},{\"id\":\"121456053T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

James Dean is the #1 New York Times bestselling creator and illustrator of Pete the Cat. He is a self-taught artist originally from Fort Payne, Alabama. He published his first book, The Misadventures of Pete the Cat, a history of his artwork, in 2006, and he illustrated his first children's book, Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes, in 2008. There are now dozens of published Pete the Cat titles, all inspired by James's real-life rescue pet.

Kimberly Dean is an artist, yoga enthusiast, and #1 New York Times bestselling author. Before fulfilling her dream of becoming a full-time author and artist, she worked for the governor's press office in the state of Georgia. Her dreams became a reality in 2013 with the release of her first children's book, Pete the Cat and His Magic Sunglasses. She has written many books since then, including the Willow and Oliver series. Kimberly lives in Georgia with her dog, Gypsy, and cat, Phoebe.

\"},{\"id\":\"131343540T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]",{"_41":3219,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3220},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780564685041","Pete-the-Cat-and-the-Cookie-Catastrophe/James-Dean",{"_41":3222,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3223},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780562718961","1149008794",{"_41":3225,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780563734769",{"_41":3227,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3199},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780565438705",{"_41":3229,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3177},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780561178865",{"_41":3231,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/74780564029681",{"_26":75,"_76":10,"_54":3233},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-biggest-books-of-fall-2026-kids-edition","The Biggest Books of Fall 2026: Kids’ Edition",{"_33":3236,"_26":1068,"_1058":3237,"_72":3558},"92189b8aa955",{"_1061":3238,"_1070":220,"_1447":1448,"_1449":1450,"_103":-5,"_54":3556},[3239,3302,3362,3425,3492],{"_1923":1924,"_41":3240,"_72":3241,"_1927":1928,"_831":3242,"_1930":3243,"_1932":3244,"_1934":3245,"_1941":3249,"_1949":59,"_1950":3252,"_1956":3255,"_1978":3265,"_1981":3267,"_1983":3268,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3269},"gid://shopify/Product/8853223932145","Remain: A Supernatural Love Story","9798217154043","#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * A one-of-a-kind novel that grapples with the supernatural mysteries of life, death, and human connection-an unprecedented collaboration between the globally bestselling author of love stories like The Notebook and the renowned writer and director of blockbuster thrillers like The Sixth SenseCOMING SOON AS A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE DIRECTED BY M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN AND STARRING JAKE GYLLENHAAL AND PHOEBE DYNEVORThe stunning hardcover of Remain features a premium dust jacket, beautiful endpapers, and a deluxe case stamped with replica images of the authors' signatures! These stamped \"signatures\" are reproduced in gold foil.When New York architect Tate Donovan arrives in Cape Cod to design his best friend's summer home, he is hoping to make a fresh start. Recently discharged from an upscale psychiatric facility where he was treated for acute depression, he is still wrestling with the pain of losing his beloved sister. Sylvia's deathbed revelation-that she can see spirits who are still tethered to the living world, a gift that runs in their family-sits uneasily with Tate, who struggles to believe in more than what reason can explain. But when he takes up residence at a historic bed-and-breakfast on the Cape, he encounters a beautiful young woman named Wren who will challenge every assumption he has about his logical and controlled world.Tate and Wren find themselves forging an immediate connection, one that neither has ever experienced before. But Tate gradually discovers that below the surface of Wren's idyllic small-town life, hatred, jealousy, and greed are festering, threatening their fragile relationship just as it begins to blossom. Tate realizes that in order to free Wren from an increasingly desperate fate, he will need to unearth the truth about her past before time runs out . . . a quest that will make him doubt whether we can ever believe the stories we tell about ourselves, and the laws that govern our existence. Love-while transformative-can sometimes be frightening.A story about the power of transcendent emotion, Remain asks us all: Can love set us free not only from our greatest sorrows, but even from the boundaries of life and death?","#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * A one-of-a-kind novel that grapples with the supernatural mysteries of life, death, and human connection-an unprecedented collaboration between the globally bestselling author of love stories like The Notebook and the renowned writer and director of blockbuster thrillers like The Sixth Sense

COMING SOON AS A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE DIRECTED BY M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN AND STARRING JAKE GYLLENHAAL AND PHOEBE DYNEVOR

The stunning hardcover of Remain features a premium dust jacket, beautiful endpapers, and a deluxe case stamped with replica images of the authors' signatures! These stamped \"signatures\" are reproduced in gold foil.

When New York architect Tate Donovan arrives in Cape Cod to design his best friend's summer home, he is hoping to make a fresh start. Recently discharged from an upscale psychiatric facility where he was treated for acute depression, he is still wrestling with the pain of losing his beloved sister. Sylvia's deathbed revelation-that she can see spirits who are still tethered to the living world, a gift that runs in their family-sits uneasily with Tate, who struggles to believe in more than what reason can explain. But when he takes up residence at a historic bed-and-breakfast on the Cape, he encounters a beautiful young woman named Wren who will challenge every assumption he has about his logical and controlled world.

Tate and Wren find themselves forging an immediate connection, one that neither has ever experienced before. But Tate gradually discovers that below the surface of Wren's idyllic small-town life, hatred, jealousy, and greed are festering, threatening their fragile relationship just as it begins to blossom. Tate realizes that in order to free Wren from an increasingly desperate fate, he will need to unearth the truth about her past before time runs out . . . a quest that will make him doubt whether we can ever believe the stories we tell about ourselves, and the laws that govern our existence. Love-while transformative-can sometimes be frightening.

A story about the power of transcendent emotion, Remain asks us all: Can love set us free not only from our greatest sorrows, but even from the boundaries of life and death?",{"_41":3246,"_54":3247,"_56":3248,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47637314142449","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217154043_p0.jpg?v=1768972727",1325,{"_1943":3250},{"_1945":3251,"_1947":1948},"21.0",{"_1943":3253,"_1954":3254},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3256},[3257],{"_41":3258,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":3259,"_711":3260,"_1966":3261,"_1968":3262,"_1970":3263,"_1976":3242,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46251647566065",{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_41":3246,"_54":3247,"_1940":-5,"_56":3248,"_50":1939},{"_1945":3251,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3241,"_831":3242},[3264],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3266},"[\"BADGE - 30% off (p7865)\",\"The Best Gifts Under $30 (p6693)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Halloween Books & Spooky Stories Collection (p5292)\",\"B|30% Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7837)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\"]",{"_1974":3242},{"_1974":1928},[3270,-5,-5,3273,3275,-5,3277,3279,3282,3285,3288,-5,3290,3292,-5,3294,3296,3299],{"_41":3271,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3272},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979889164529","[{\"contributorId\":653118,\"fullName\":\"Nicholas Sparks\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":2525369,\"fullName\":\"M. Night Shyamalan\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":3274,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979890180337",{"_41":3276,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979888115953",{"_41":3278,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979890344177",{"_41":3280,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3281},"gid://shopify/Metafield/59748453056753","[{\"id\":\"116236421T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1

Cape Cod in May stirs hope in the hearts of previously frozen New Yorkers, its verdant lawns and ocean breezes holding the promise of summer days just around the corner. As I rolled down the window of my car, breathing in the scent of growing things, I marveled at how distant the chilly gray skies and rain-flooded gutters of city life felt. Here, at least, winter had long since retreated and the dream of slower, sun-drenched days felt close enough to touch.

I had visited the Cape a few times before, but never this particular town. A quieter, smaller cousin to the nearby magnet of Provincetown, Heatherington seemed to revel in its classic 1950s vibe. Cruising down its main thoroughfare, Pleasant Street, I took note of the quaint, upscale stores selling antiques, gourmet ice cream, wooden toys, and brick oven pizza, as well as the parents pushing expensive strollers on brick-paved sidewalks. Day-trippers ducked in and out of shops, while beneath a large old-fashioned clock, a pair of older gentlemen in baseball caps conferred on a wooden bench. Idling at an intersection to allow some musicians with guitars strapped to their backs to cross, I spotted a retro-style pharmacy and soda shop on the corner; inside, a group of teenagers sat at a counter, sipping shakes out of long straws.

I smiled, thinking the scene was almost too perfect to be real, but upon reflection it made sense that my best friend, Oscar, the offspring of immigrant parents who'd run a deli in Boston, would seek out a slice of the mythic American ideal. As traffic began to move again, I caught glimpses of neatly kept Colonials and clapboard homes with white picket fences on the side streets to my left and right. Heatherington was picturesque, I had to admit, and as if on cue, the clouds overhead suddenly cleared, giving way to a blue sky so intense that it made me squint.

It was Monday, the typical beginning of a new workweek, and I was in town to help Oscar and his wife, Lorena, design and build their vacation home, although until now I'd only seen photographs of the plot of land they'd bought. I was looking forward to hearing what they had in mind, as today would be our first real conversation about the project. Following the directions they'd given me and keeping an eye on my GPS, I turned off Pleasant Street, heading for the house's future site, where we planned to meet. On the outskirts of town, I passed a sprawling fairground with performance stages in various states of construction. Dusty pickup trucks filled the gravel parking lot while workers toiled in the distance. It was a hive of activity, frantic preparations under way for the upcoming Mask and Music Festival on Memorial Day weekend at the end of the month. I'd heard about the festival while trying and failing to find a place to stay; in the end, I'd had to enlist Oscar's help to find accommodations. Apparently forty or fifty bands would be descending on the town for the long weekend, and as many as twenty thousand people were expected to attend. When I asked about the kind of music being showcased, Oscar had merely snorted. \\\"How would I know? It's probably weird Gen Z music.\\\"

A few minutes later, I turned off the road onto a grassy track that climbed to what I assumed was a bluff overlooking the ocean. I drove slowly, following the tread marks of previous vehicles, my Aston Martin bouncing and shimmying as the grass gave way to dirt. On either side, arching birch and elm and maple trees formed a canopy overhead until I emerged into a clearing at the top.

It was a flat and grassy plateau, ringed with majestic oak trees and a panoramic view of an ocean the color of dark sapphires. Butterflies floated above a small patch of dandelions, and the air was briny, conjuring my own memories of summers at the beach. Over the sound of the engine, I could hear vibrant birdcalls drifting from the trees, and when I looked up, I glimpsed a Cooper's hawk circling. I marveled that this lot had somehow escaped development.

Soon a substantial wooden structure came into sight: a city-size playset that looked as if it had been dropped from the sky, complete with swings, hanging bars, sandbox, multiple slides, and a fort crowned with a multicolor awning. All five of Oscar's kids swarmed over the structure while he and Lorena watched from a nearby picnic table. As usual, Oscar was wearing a throwback football jersey from the early 1960s, this one from the Cleveland Browns.

Not long after graduating from NYU, Oscar had secured funding to purchase franchise rights from the NFL, NBA, NHL, and MLB for the purpose of manufacturing and selling apparel. His concept was to put current players' names and numbers on vintage-style jerseys. He was meticulous about design and quality, making sure each garment felt ultrasoft and appeared appropriately distressed. He was also extremely savvy when it came to promoting and marketing on social media, and while the jerseys were popular from the start, sales exploded when a prominent rapper began wearing them at concerts and trendy influencers began posting regularly about them. Eventually, private equity firms started sniffing around and Oscar sold the company for nearly a billion dollars. It was the ultimate success story. His parents, whom I regarded almost as foster parents of my own, could barely contain their pride and wore matching jerseys whenever they went out, bragging to their many relatives in the U.S. and back in India about their son's success. Oscar humored his parents, but the money hadn't fundamentally changed him or Lorena.

I parked next to their matching Cadillac Escalades, which made my car look like a toy, and Oscar approached with his arms opened wide for a hug. Like the rest of his family, he was a hugger, and I'm pretty sure he hugged everyone, including grocery store clerks, the guy who cleaned his pool, even IRS auditors. I'd long given up any WASP-like resistance and embraced him in return. He slapped my back before we separated.

\\\"You made it,\\\" he said, with a wide grin. \\\"What do you think?\\\"

\\\"It's incredible,\\\" I admitted. \\\"Even better than the photos you sent.\\\"

Oscar looked around with a faint air of wonder. \\\"I still can't believe I was able to close on this place. I was bidding against one of those hedge fund bros and you know how much they hate to lose.\\\"

He nodded in the direction of the picnic table. \\\"Come on. Lorena has been asking about you nonstop.\\\"

As we started toward her, I tilted my head at the playset. \\\"What's with that?\\\"

\\\"I had it installed last week. I figure that once we start building, it'll keep the kids occupied when we visit the site to check on the progress.\\\"

\\\"Remind me how old they all are now?\\\"

\\\"Leo is seven. Lalita and Lakshmi are six. Logesh is five, and Luca just turned four. I know it's a lot of Ls, but on the plus side, I get to say things like, 'Get the L out here!' or 'Shut the L up!' or 'Sit the L down!' \\\"

\\\"I'll bet Lorena loves that.\\\"

\\\"Not so much,\\\" he said with a chuckle. \\\"But the whole their-first-names-should-start-with-L thing was her idea, and they think it's hilarious.\\\"

By then, Lorena was standing. She shook her dark bangs out of her eyes and hurried over. A gregarious Italian American dynamo, she possessed unyielding strength and stamina that even Oscar couldn't match. Like him, she was a hugger, and her embrace felt like being enveloped in a down comforter. After pulling back, she continued to hold my hands.

\\\"How are you doing?\\\" she asked, her expressive brown eyes searching my face. \\\"I've been so worried about you.\\\"

\\\"I'm better,\\\" I answered with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

\\\"Did you get my care package?\\\"

Halfway through my recent stay at the hospital, a giant basket had arrived filled with snacks, candy bars, and Jolly Ranchers, and accompanied by a rather large plush toy penguin. For some reason-maybe because I'd once enthused about the documentary March of the Penguins-Lorena believed that I was particularly fond of emperor penguins, and I'd never bothered to correct her.

\\\"I did. Thank you. I hope you don't mind that I shared those goodies with some of the other patients.\\\"

\\\"Not at all,\\\" she said, finally letting go of my hands and appraising me. \\\"You look good. More . . . rested than the last time I saw you.\\\"

\\\"I feel more rested,\\\" I agreed. \\\"How are the kids?\\\"

\\\"Wild as ever.\\\" She sighed, waving in the direction of the playset with a rueful smile. \\\"I never should have let Oscar talk me into a fifth. All standards and rules had fallen by the wayside by the time Luca arrived. He gets away with murder.\\\"

She laughed good-naturedly. An economics major whom Oscar had met at NYU, Lorena had helped him build his business until the twins arrived, at which point she stepped back to tend to their growing brood. Their home, like Oscar's had been, was messy and loud, a constant buzz of energy coursing through the walls and hallways. Yet Lorena took the chaos in stride. Never once had I seen her frazzled or impatient.\"},{\"id\":\"115312321T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1

Cape Cod in May stirs hope in the hearts of previously frozen New Yorkers, its verdant lawns and ocean breezes holding the promise of summer days just around the corner. As I rolled down the window of my car, breathing in the scent of growing things, I marveled at how distant the chilly gray skies and rain-flooded gutters of city life felt. Here, at least, winter had long since retreated and the dream of slower, sun-drenched days felt close enough to touch.

I had visited the Cape a few times before, but never this particular town. A quieter, smaller cousin to the nearby magnet of Provincetown, Heatherington seemed to revel in its classic 1950s vibe. Cruising down its main thoroughfare, Pleasant Street, I took note of the quaint, upscale stores selling antiques, gourmet ice cream, wooden toys, and brick oven pizza, as well as the parents pushing expensive strollers on brick-paved sidewalks. Day-trippers ducked in and out of shops, while beneath a large old-fashioned clock, a pair of older gentlemen in baseball caps conferred on a wooden bench. Idling at an intersection to allow some musicians with guitars strapped to their backs to cross, I spotted a retro-style pharmacy and soda shop on the corner; inside, a group of teenagers sat at a counter, sipping shakes out of long straws.

I smiled, thinking the scene was almost too perfect to be real, but upon reflection it made sense that my best friend, Oscar, the offspring of immigrant parents who’d run a deli in Boston, would seek out a slice of the mythic American ideal. As traffic began to move again, I caught glimpses of neatly kept Colonials and clapboard homes with white picket fences on the side streets to my left and right. Heatherington was picturesque, I had to admit, and as if on cue, the clouds overhead suddenly cleared, giving way to a blue sky so intense that it made me squint.

It was Monday, the typical beginning of a new workweek, and I was in town to help Oscar and his wife, Lorena, design and build their vacation home, although until now I’d only seen photographs of the plot of land they’d bought. I was looking forward to hearing what they had in mind, as today would be our first real conversation about the project. Following the directions they’d given me and keeping an eye on my GPS, I turned off Pleasant Street, heading for the house’s future site, where we planned to meet. On the outskirts of town, I passed a sprawling fairground with performance stages in various states of construction. Dusty pickup trucks filled the gravel parking lot while workers toiled in the distance. It was a hive of activity, frantic preparations under way for the upcoming Mask and Music Festival on Memorial Day weekend at the end of the month. I’d heard about the festival while trying and failing to find a place to stay; in the end, I’d had to enlist Oscar’s help to find accommodations. Apparently forty or fifty bands would be descending on the town for the long weekend, and as many as twenty thousand people were expected to attend. When I asked about the kind of music being showcased, Oscar had merely snorted. “How would I know? It’s probably weird Gen Z music.”

A few minutes later, I turned off the road onto a grassy track that climbed to what I assumed was a bluff overlooking the ocean. I drove slowly, following the tread marks of previous vehicles, my Aston Martin bouncing and shimmying as the grass gave way to dirt. On either side, arching birch and elm and maple trees formed a canopy overhead until I emerged into a clearing at the top.

It was a flat and grassy plateau, ringed with majestic oak trees and a panoramic view of an ocean the color of dark sapphires. Butterflies floated above a small patch of dandelions, and the air was briny, conjuring my own memories of summers at the beach. Over the sound of the engine, I could hear vibrant birdcalls drifting from the trees, and when I looked up, I glimpsed a Cooper’s hawk circling. I marveled that this lot had somehow escaped development.

Soon a substantial wooden structure came into sight: a city-size playset that looked as if it had been dropped from the sky, complete with swings, hanging bars, sandbox, multiple slides, and a fort crowned with a multicolor awning. All five of Oscar’s kids swarmed over the structure while he and Lorena watched from a nearby picnic table. As usual, Oscar was wearing a throwback football jersey from the early 1960s, this one from the Cleveland Browns.

Not long after graduating from NYU, Oscar had secured funding to purchase franchise rights from the NFL, NBA, NHL, and MLB for the purpose of manufacturing and selling apparel. His concept was to put current players’ names and numbers on vintage-style jerseys. He was meticulous about design and quality, making sure each garment felt ultrasoft and appeared appropriately distressed. He was also extremely savvy when it came to promoting and marketing on social media, and while the jerseys were popular from the start, sales exploded when a prominent rapper began wearing them at concerts and trendy influencers began posting regularly about them. Eventually, private equity firms started sniffing around and Oscar sold the company for nearly a billion dollars. It was the ultimate success story. His parents, whom I regarded almost as foster parents of my own, could barely contain their pride and wore matching jerseys whenever they went out, bragging to their many relatives in the U.S. and back in India about their son’s success. Oscar humored his parents, but the money hadn’t fundamentally changed him or Lorena.

I parked next to their matching Cadillac Escalades, which made my car look like a toy, and Oscar approached with his arms opened wide for a hug. Like the rest of his family, he was a hugger, and I’m pretty sure he hugged everyone, including grocery store clerks, the guy who cleaned his pool, even IRS auditors. I’d long given up any WASP-like resistance and embraced him in return. He slapped my back before we separated.

“You made it,” he said, with a wide grin. “What do you think?”

“It’s incredible,” I admitted. “Even better than the photos you sent.”

Oscar looked around with a faint air of wonder. “I still can’t believe I was able to close on this place. I was bidding against one of those hedge fund bros and you know how much they hate to lose.”

He nodded in the direction of the picnic table. “Come on. Lorena has been asking about you nonstop.”

As we started toward her, I tilted my head at the playset. “What’s with that?”

“I had it installed last week. I figure that once we start building, it’ll keep the kids occupied when we visit the site to check on the progress.”

“Remind me how old they all are now?”

“Leo is seven. Lalita and Lakshmi are six. Logesh is five, and Luca just turned four. I know it’s a lot of Ls, but on the plus side, I get to say things like, ‘Get the L out here!’ or ‘Shut the L up!’ or ‘Sit the L down!’ ”

“I’ll bet Lorena loves that.”

“Not so much,” he said with a chuckle. “But the whole their-first-names-should-start-with-L thing was her idea, and they think it’s hilarious.”

By then, Lorena was standing. She shook her dark bangs out of her eyes and hurried over. A gregarious Italian American dynamo, she possessed unyielding strength and stamina that even Oscar couldn’t match. Like him, she was a hugger, and her embrace felt like being enveloped in a down comforter. After pulling back, she continued to hold my hands.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her expressive brown eyes searching my face. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m better,” I answered with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Did you get my care package?”

Halfway through my recent stay at the hospital, a giant basket had arrived filled with snacks, candy bars, and Jolly Ranchers, and accompanied by a rather large plush toy penguin. For some reason—maybe because I’d once enthused about the documentary March of the Penguins—Lorena believed that I was particularly fond of emperor penguins, and I’d never bothered to correct her.

“I did. Thank you. I hope you don’t mind that I shared those goodies with some of the other patients.”

“Not at all,” she said, finally letting go of my hands and appraising me. “You look good. More . . . rested than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel more rested,” I agreed. “How are the kids?”

“Wild as ever.” She sighed, waving in the direction of the playset with a rueful smile. “I never should have let Oscar talk me into a fifth. All standards and rules had fallen by the wayside by the time Luca arrived. He gets away with murder.”

She laughed good-naturedly. An economics major whom Oscar had met at NYU, Lorena had helped him build his business until the twins arrived, at which point she stepped back to tend to their growing brood. Their home, like Oscar’s had been, was messy and loud, a constant buzz of energy coursing through the walls and hallways. Yet Lorena took the chaos in stride. Never once had I seen her frazzled or impatient.\"},{\"id\":\"116238616T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1

Cape Cod in May stirs hope in the hearts of previously frozen New Yorkers, its verdant lawns and ocean breezes holding the promise of summer days just around the corner. As I rolled down the window of my car, breathing in the scent of growing things, I marveled at how distant the chilly gray skies and rain-flooded gutters of city life felt. Here, at least, winter had long since retreated and the dream of slower, sun-drenched days felt close enough to touch.

I had visited the Cape a few times before, but never this particular town. A quieter, smaller cousin to the nearby magnet of Provincetown, Heatherington seemed to revel in its classic 1950s vibe. Cruising down its main thoroughfare, Pleasant Street, I took note of the quaint, upscale stores selling antiques, gourmet ice cream, wooden toys, and brick oven pizza, as well as the parents pushing expensive strollers on brick-paved sidewalks. Day-trippers ducked in and out of shops, while beneath a large old-fashioned clock, a pair of older gentlemen in baseball caps conferred on a wooden bench. Idling at an intersection to allow some musicians with guitars strapped to their backs to cross, I spotted a retro-style pharmacy and soda shop on the corner; inside, a group of teenagers sat at a counter, sipping shakes out of long straws.

I smiled, thinking the scene was almost too perfect to be real, but upon reflection it made sense that my best friend, Oscar, the offspring of immigrant parents who'd run a deli in Boston, would seek out a slice of the mythic American ideal. As traffic began to move again, I caught glimpses of neatly kept Colonials and clapboard homes with white picket fences on the side streets to my left and right. Heatherington was picturesque, I had to admit, and as if on cue, the clouds overhead suddenly cleared, giving way to a blue sky so intense that it made me squint.

It was Monday, the typical beginning of a new workweek, and I was in town to help Oscar and his wife, Lorena, design and build their vacation home, although until now I'd only seen photographs of the plot of land they'd bought. I was looking forward to hearing what they had in mind, as today would be our first real conversation about the project. Following the directions they'd given me and keeping an eye on my GPS, I turned off Pleasant Street, heading for the house's future site, where we planned to meet. On the outskirts of town, I passed a sprawling fairground with performance stages in various states of construction. Dusty pickup trucks filled the gravel parking lot while workers toiled in the distance. It was a hive of activity, frantic preparations under way for the upcoming Mask and Music Festival on Memorial Day weekend at the end of the month. I'd heard about the festival while trying and failing to find a place to stay; in the end, I'd had to enlist Oscar's help to find accommodations. Apparently forty or fifty bands would be descending on the town for the long weekend, and as many as twenty thousand people were expected to attend. When I asked about the kind of music being showcased, Oscar had merely snorted. \\\"How would I know? It's probably weird Gen Z music.\\\"

A few minutes later, I turned off the road onto a grassy track that climbed to what I assumed was a bluff overlooking the ocean. I drove slowly, following the tread marks of previous vehicles, my Aston Martin bouncing and shimmying as the grass gave way to dirt. On either side, arching birch and elm and maple trees formed a canopy overhead until I emerged into a clearing at the top.

It was a flat and grassy plateau, ringed with majestic oak trees and a panoramic view of an ocean the color of dark sapphires. Butterflies floated above a small patch of dandelions, and the air was briny, conjuring my own memories of summers at the beach. Over the sound of the engine, I could hear vibrant birdcalls drifting from the trees, and when I looked up, I glimpsed a Cooper's hawk circling. I marveled that this lot had somehow escaped development.

Soon a substantial wooden structure came into sight: a city-size playset that looked as if it had been dropped from the sky, complete with swings, hanging bars, sandbox, multiple slides, and a fort crowned with a multicolor awning. All five of Oscar's kids swarmed over the structure while he and Lorena watched from a nearby picnic table. As usual, Oscar was wearing a throwback football jersey from the early 1960s, this one from the Cleveland Browns.

Not long after graduating from NYU, Oscar had secured funding to purchase franchise rights from the NFL, NBA, NHL, and MLB for the purpose of manufacturing and selling apparel. His concept was to put current players' names and numbers on vintage-style jerseys. He was meticulous about design and quality, making sure each garment felt ultrasoft and appeared appropriately distressed. He was also extremely savvy when it came to promoting and marketing on social media, and while the jerseys were popular from the start, sales exploded when a prominent rapper began wearing them at concerts and trendy influencers began posting regularly about them. Eventually, private equity firms started sniffing around and Oscar sold the company for nearly a billion dollars. It was the ultimate success story. His parents, whom I regarded almost as foster parents of my own, could barely contain their pride and wore matching jerseys whenever they went out, bragging to their many relatives in the U.S. and back in India about their son's success. Oscar humored his parents, but the money hadn't fundamentally changed him or Lorena.

I parked next to their matching Cadillac Escalades, which made my car look like a toy, and Oscar approached with his arms opened wide for a hug. Like the rest of his family, he was a hugger, and I'm pretty sure he hugged everyone, including grocery store clerks, the guy who cleaned his pool, even IRS auditors. I'd long given up any WASP-like resistance and embraced him in return. He slapped my back before we separated.

\\\"You made it,\\\" he said, with a wide grin. \\\"What do you think?\\\"

\\\"It's incredible,\\\" I admitted. \\\"Even better than the photos you sent.\\\"

Oscar looked around with a faint air of wonder. \\\"I still can't believe I was able to close on this place. I was bidding against one of those hedge fund bros and you know how much they hate to lose.\\\"

He nodded in the direction of the picnic table. \\\"Come on. Lorena has been asking about you nonstop.\\\"

As we started toward her, I tilted my head at the playset. \\\"What's with that?\\\"

\\\"I had it installed last week. I figure that once we start building, it'll keep the kids occupied when we visit the site to check on the progress.\\\"

\\\"Remind me how old they all are now?\\\"

\\\"Leo is seven. Lalita and Lakshmi are six. Logesh is five, and Luca just turned four. I know it's a lot of Ls, but on the plus side, I get to say things like, 'Get the L out here!' or 'Shut the L up!' or 'Sit the L down!' \\\"

\\\"I'll bet Lorena loves that.\\\"

\\\"Not so much,\\\" he said with a chuckle. \\\"But the whole their-first-names-should-start-with-L thing was her idea, and they think it's hilarious.\\\"

By then, Lorena was standing. She shook her dark bangs out of her eyes and hurried over. A gregarious Italian American dynamo, she possessed unyielding strength and stamina that even Oscar couldn't match. Like him, she was a hugger, and her embrace felt like being enveloped in a down comforter. After pulling back, she continued to hold my hands.

\\\"How are you doing?\\\" she asked, her expressive brown eyes searching my face. \\\"I've been so worried about you.\\\"

\\\"I'm better,\\\" I answered with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

\\\"Did you get my care package?\\\"

Halfway through my recent stay at the hospital, a giant basket had arrived filled with snacks, candy bars, and Jolly Ranchers, and accompanied by a rather large plush toy penguin. For some reason-maybe because I'd once enthused about the documentary March of the Penguins-Lorena believed that I was particularly fond of emperor penguins, and I'd never bothered to correct her.

\\\"I did. Thank you. I hope you don't mind that I shared those goodies with some of the other patients.\\\"

\\\"Not at all,\\\" she said, finally letting go of my hands and appraising me. \\\"You look good. More . . . rested than the last time I saw you.\\\"

\\\"I feel more rested,\\\" I agreed. \\\"How are the kids?\\\"

\\\"Wild as ever.\\\" She sighed, waving in the direction of the playset with a rueful smile. \\\"I never should have let Oscar talk me into a fifth. All standards and rules had fallen by the wayside by the time Luca arrived. He gets away with murder.\\\"

She laughed good-naturedly. An economics major whom Oscar had met at NYU, Lorena had helped him build his business until the twins arrived, at which point she stepped back to tend to their growing brood. Their home, like Oscar's had been, was messy and loud, a constant buzz of energy coursing through the walls and hallways. Yet Lorena took the chaos in stride. Never once had I seen her frazzled or impatient.\"},{\"id\":\"115312524T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1

Cape Cod in May stirs hope in the hearts of previously frozen New Yorkers, its verdant lawns and ocean breezes holding the promise of summer days just around the corner. As I rolled down the window of my car, breathing in the scent of growing things, I marveled at how distant the chilly gray skies and rain—flooded gutters of city life felt. Here, at least, winter had long since retreated and the dream of slower, sun—drenched days felt close enough to touch.

I had visited the Cape a few times before, but never this particular town. A quieter, smaller cousin to the nearby magnet of Provincetown, Heatherington seemed to revel in its classic 1950s vibe. Cruising down its main thoroughfare, Pleasant Street, I took note of the quaint, upscale stores selling antiques, gourmet ice cream, wooden toys, and brick oven pizza, as well as the parents pushing expensive strollers on brick—paved sidewalks. Day—trippers ducked in and out of shops, while beneath a large old—fashioned clock, a pair of older gentlemen in baseball caps conferred on a wooden bench. Idling at an intersection to allow some musicians with guitars strapped to their backs to cross, I spotted a retro—style pharmacy and soda shop on the corner; inside, a group of teenagers sat at a counter, sipping shakes out of long straws.

I smiled, thinking the scene was almost too perfect to be real, but upon reflection it made sense that my best friend, Oscar, the offspring of immigrant parents who’d run a deli in Boston, would seek out a slice of the mythic American ideal. As traffic began to move again, I caught glimpses of neatly kept Colonials and clapboard homes with white picket fences on the side streets to my left and right. Heatherington was picturesque, I had to admit, and as if on cue, the clouds overhead suddenly cleared, giving way to a blue sky so intense that it made me squint.

It was Monday, the typical beginning of a new workweek, and I was in town to help Oscar and his wife, Lorena, design and build their vacation home, although until now I’d only seen photographs of the plot of land they’d bought. I was looking forward to hearing what they had in mind, as today would be our first real conversation about the project. Following the directions they’d given me and keeping an eye on my GPS, I turned off Pleasant Street, heading for the house’s future site, where we planned to meet. On the outskirts of town, I passed a sprawling fairground with performance stages in various states of construction. Dusty pickup trucks filled the gravel parking lot while workers toiled in the distance. It was a hive of activity, frantic preparations under way for the upcoming Mask and Music Festival on Memorial Day weekend at the end of the month. I’d heard about the festival while trying and failing to find a place to stay; in the end, I’d had to enlist Oscar’s help to find accommodations. Apparently forty or fifty bands would be descending on the town for the long weekend, and as many as twenty thousand people were expected to attend. When I asked about the kind of music being showcased, Oscar had merely snorted. “How would I know? It’s probably weird Gen Z music.”

A few minutes later, I turned off the road onto a grassy track that climbed to what I assumed was a bluff overlooking the ocean. I drove slowly, following the tread marks of previous vehicles, my Aston Martin bouncing and shimmying as the grass gave way to dirt. On either side, arching birch and elm and maple trees formed a canopy overhead until I emerged into a clearing at the top.

It was a flat and grassy plateau, ringed with majestic oak trees and a panoramic view of an ocean the color of dark sapphires. Butterflies floated above a small patch of dandelions, and the air was briny, conjuring my own memories of summers at the beach. Over the sound of the engine, I could hear vibrant birdcalls drifting from the trees, and when I looked up, I glimpsed a Cooper’s hawk circling. I marveled that this lot had somehow escaped development.

Soon a substantial wooden structure came into sight: a city—size playset that looked as if it had been dropped from the sky, complete with swings, hanging bars, sandbox, multiple slides, and a fort crowned with a multicolor awning. All five of Oscar’s kids swarmed over the structure while he and Lorena watched from a nearby picnic table. As usual, Oscar was wearing a throwback football jersey from the early 1960s, this one from the Cleveland Browns.

Not long after graduating from NYU, Oscar had secured funding to purchase franchise rights from the NFL, NBA, NHL, and MLB for the purpose of manufacturing and selling apparel. His concept was to put current players’ names and numbers on vintage—style jerseys. He was meticulous about design and quality, making sure each garment felt ultrasoft and appeared appropriately distressed. He was also extremely savvy when it came to promoting and marketing on social media, and while the jerseys were popular from the start, sales exploded when a prominent rapper began wearing them at concerts and trendy influencers began posting regularly about them. Eventually, private equity firms started sniffing around and Oscar sold the company for nearly a billion dollars. It was the ultimate success story. His parents, whom I regarded almost as foster parents of my own, could barely contain their pride and wore matching jerseys whenever they went out, bragging to their many relatives in the U.S. and back in India about their son’s success. Oscar humored his parents, but the money hadn’t fundamentally changed him or Lorena.

I parked next to their matching Cadillac Escalades, which made my car look like a toy, and Oscar approached with his arms opened wide for a hug. Like the rest of his family, he was a hugger, and I’m pretty sure he hugged everyone, including grocery store clerks, the guy who cleaned his pool, even IRS auditors. I’d long given up any WASP—like resistance and embraced him in return. He slapped my back before we separated.

“You made it,” he said, with a wide grin. “What do you think?”

“It’s incredible,” I admitted. “Even better than the photos you sent.”

Oscar looked around with a faint air of wonder. “I still can’t believe I was able to close on this place. I was bidding against one of those hedge fund bros and you know how much they hate to lose.”

He nodded in the direction of the picnic table. “Come on. Lorena has been asking about you nonstop.”

As we started toward her, I tilted my head at the playset. “What’s with that?”

“I had it installed last week. I figure that once we start building, it’ll keep the kids occupied when we visit the site to check on the progress.”

“Remind me how old they all are now?”

“Leo is seven. Lalita and Lakshmi are six. Logesh is five, and Luca just turned four. I know it’s a lot of Ls, but on the plus side, I get to say things like, ‘Get the L out here!’ or ‘Shut the L up!’ or ‘Sit the L down!’ ”

“I’ll bet Lorena loves that.”

“Not so much,” he said with a chuckle. “But the whole their—first—names—should—start—with—L thing was her idea, and they think it’s hilarious.”

By then, Lorena was standing. She shook her dark bangs out of her eyes and hurried over. A gregarious Italian American dynamo, she possessed unyielding strength and stamina that even Oscar couldn’t match. Like him, she was a hugger, and her embrace felt like being enveloped in a down comforter. After pulling back, she continued to hold my hands.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her expressive brown eyes searching my face. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m better,” I answered with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Did you get my care package?”

Halfway through my recent stay at the hospital, a giant basket had arrived filled with snacks, candy bars, and Jolly Ranchers, and accompanied by a rather large plush toy penguin. For some reason—maybe because I’d once enthused about the documentary March of the Penguins—Lorena believed that I was particularly fond of emperor penguins, and I’d never bothered to correct her.

“I did. Thank you. I hope you don’t mind that I shared those goodies with some of the other patients.”

“Not at all,” she said, finally letting go of my hands and appraising me. “You look good. More . . . rested than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel more rested,” I agreed. “How are the kids?”

“Wild as ever.” She sighed, waving in the direction of the playset with a rueful smile. “I never should have let Oscar talk me into a fifth. All standards and rules had fallen by the wayside by the time Luca arrived. He gets away with murder.”

She laughed good—naturedly. An economics major whom Oscar had met at NYU, Lorena had helped him build his business until the twins arrived, at which point she stepped back to tend to their growing brood. Their home, like Oscar’s had been, was messy and loud, a constant buzz of energy coursing through the walls and hallways. Yet Lorena took the chaos in stride. Never once had I seen her frazzled or impatient.\"},{\"id\":\"116236422T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Bestseller Sparks (The Notebook) and filmmaker Shyamalan (The Sixth Sense) combine their talents to create a paranormal love story that makes suspension of disbelief easy through thoughtful characterization. . . . The mystery chugs along nicely but the romance is the stronger plot, and the authors deserve credit for making the relationship between the living and the dead moving. Fans of both authors will not be disappointed.\\\"-Publishers Weekly

\\\"The blending of bestselling novelist Sparks' signature romance with renowned film director Shyamalan's supernatural touches is brilliant. . . . This mysterious and moving love story will attract legions of eager readers.\\\"-Booklist, starred review\"},{\"id\":\"113368555T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Tate doesn’t believe in the old family myth that a chosen few can see spirits trapped in the realm of the living — until something rattles his world for good. With the heart of Nicholas Sparks and the twists of M. Night Shyamalan, Remain is a one-of-a-kind read.

\"},{\"id\":\"111626415T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"116236423T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Nicholas Sparks is the author of twenty-five books, including Counting Miracles and Dreamland, all of which have been New York Times bestsellers. His books have been published across more than fifty languages with over 150 million copies sold worldwide, and eleven have been adapted into films. He is also the founder of the Nicholas Sparks Foundation, a nonprofit committed to improving cultural and international understanding through global education experiences. He lives in North Carolina.

M. Night Shyamalan is an internationally acclaimed director, screenwriter, and actor who has written and produced films such as The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Trap. His movies have grossed over $3.3 billion globally, and he's best known for creating psychological thrillers with supernatural themes. He is the founder of the film and television production company Blinding Edge Pictures. Shyamalan lives in Pennsylvania.

\"},{\"id\":\"113368558T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Nicholas Sparks is the author of twenty-five books, including Counting Miracles and Dreamland, all of which have been New York Times bestsellers. His books have been published across more than fifty languages with over 150 million copies sold worldwide, and eleven have been adapted into films. He is also the founder of the Nicholas Sparks Foundation, a nonprofit committed to improving cultural and international understanding through global education experiences. He lives in North Carolina.

M. Night Shyamalan is an internationally acclaimed director, screenwriter, and actor who has written and produced films such as The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Trap. His movies have grossed over $3.3 billion globally, and he’s best known for creating psychological thrillers with supernatural themes. He is the founder of the film and television production company Blinding Edge Pictures. Shyamalan lives in Pennsylvania.\"},{\"id\":\"116238617T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"113368560T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Nicholas Sparks is the author of twenty—five books, including Counting Miracles and Dreamland, all of which have been New York Times bestsellers. His books have been published across more than fifty languages with over 150 million copies sold worldwide, and eleven have been adapted into films. He is also the founder of the Nicholas Sparks Foundation, a nonprofit committed to improving cultural and international understanding through global education experiences. He lives in North Carolina.

M. Night Shyamalan is an internationally acclaimed director, screenwriter, and actor who has written and produced films such as The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Trap. His movies have grossed over $3.3 billion globally, and he’s best known for creating psychological thrillers with supernatural themes. He is the founder of the film and television production company Blinding Edge Pictures. Shyamalan lives in Pennsylvania.\"},{\"id\":\"115899560T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"Nicholas Sparks is the author of twenty-five books, including Counting Miracles and Dreamland, all of which have been New York Times bestsellers. His books have been published across more than fifty languages with over 150 million copies sold worldwide, and eleven have been adapted into films. He is also the founder of the Nicholas Sparks Foundation, a nonprofit committed to improving cultural and international understanding through global education experiences. He lives in North Carolina.

M. Night Shyamalan is an internationally acclaimed director, screenwriter, and actor who has written and produced films such as The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Trap. His movies have grossed over $3.3 billion globally, and he's best known for creating psychological thrillers with supernatural themes. He is the founder of the film and television production company Blinding Edge Pictures. Shyamalan lives in Pennsylvania.\"}]",{"_41":3283,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3284},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979891851505","Remain/Nicholas-Sparks",{"_41":3286,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3287},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979887263985","1147568387",{"_41":3289,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979890016497",{"_41":3291,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3266},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979892965617",{"_41":3293,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3242},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979883364593",{"_41":3295,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39979890540785",{"_41":3297,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":3298},"gid://shopify/Metafield/83695036367089","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.3\"}",{"_41":3300,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":3301},"gid://shopify/Metafield/83695036334321","115",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3303,"_72":3304,"_1927":1928,"_831":3305,"_1930":3306,"_1932":3307,"_1934":3308,"_1941":3311,"_1949":59,"_1950":3313,"_1956":3316,"_1978":3325,"_1981":3327,"_1983":3328,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3329},"gid://shopify/Product/8846218985713","Verity (Collector's Edition)","9781538739723","SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!Stay up all night reading the sensational psychological thriller that has readers obsessed-the inspiration for the major motion picture starring Anne Hathaway and Dakota Johnson-from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Too Late and It Ends With Us.#1 New York Times Bestseller · USA Today Bestseller · Globe and Mail Bestseller · Publishers Weekly Bestseller Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of bestselling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started.What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read-page after page of bone-chilling admissions, including Verity's recollection of the night her family was forever altered. Lowen decides to keep the manuscript hidden from Jeremy, knowing its contents could devastate the already grieving father. But as Lowen's feelings for Jeremy begin to intensify, she recognizes all the ways she could benefit if he were to read his wife's words.After all, no matter how devoted Jeremy is to his injured wife, a truth this horrifying would make it impossible for him to continue loving her.\"Sublimely creepy with a true Hoover pulse. I've been waiting for a thriller like this for years.\" -Tarryn Fisher, New York Times bestselling author of The Wrong FamilyRiveting and unexpected. Impossible to put down.\" -Claire Contreras, New York Times bestselling author of Until I Get You","SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!

Stay up all night reading the sensational psychological thriller that has readers obsessed-the inspiration for the major motion picture starring Anne Hathaway and Dakota Johnson-from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Too Late and It Ends With Us.

#1 New York Times Bestseller · USA Today Bestseller · Globe and Mail Bestseller · Publishers Weekly Bestseller

Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of bestselling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started.

What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read-page after page of bone-chilling admissions, including Verity's recollection of the night her family was forever altered. Lowen decides to keep the manuscript hidden from Jeremy, knowing its contents could devastate the already grieving father. But as Lowen's feelings for Jeremy begin to intensify, she recognizes all the ways she could benefit if he were to read his wife's words.

After all, no matter how devoted Jeremy is to his injured wife, a truth this horrifying would make it impossible for him to continue loving her.

\"Sublimely creepy with a true Hoover pulse. I've been waiting for a thriller like this for years.\" -Tarryn Fisher, New York Times bestselling author of The Wrong Family

Riveting and unexpected. Impossible to put down.\" -Claire Contreras, New York Times bestselling author of Until I Get You",{"_41":3309,"_54":3310,"_56":2162,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47675315552497","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781538739723_p0.jpg?v=1765327018",{"_1943":3312},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":3314,"_1954":3315},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3317},[3318],{"_41":3319,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":-5,"_711":3320,"_1966":3321,"_1968":3322,"_1970":3323,"_1976":3305,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46244176101617",{"_41":3309,"_54":3310,"_1940":-5,"_56":2162,"_50":1939},{"_1945":2047,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3304,"_831":3305},[3324],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3326},"[\"Page & Screen (p4180)\"]",{"_1974":3305},{"_1974":1928},[3330,-5,-5,3333,3335,-5,3337,3339,3342,3345,3348,-5,3350,3352,-5,3354,3356,3359],{"_41":3331,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3332},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636697383153","[{\"contributorId\":14147172,\"fullName\":\"Colleen Hoover\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":3334,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636698300657",{"_41":3336,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636695908593",{"_41":3338,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636698497265",{"_41":3340,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3341},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636700299505","[{\"id\":\"120567928T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Sublimely creepy with a true Hoover pulse. I've been waiting for a thriller like this for years.\\\"-Tarryn Fisher, New York Times bestselling author

\\\"Riveting and unexpected. Impossible to put down.\\\"-Claire Contreras, New York Times bestselling author

\\\"This isn't a book, it's a visceral experience.\\\"-B.B. Easton, bestselling author

\\\"Verity delivers the grand slam of thriller twists-the holy grail of'what the...?!' moments . . . It lit up my brain.\\\"-Washington Post

\\\"If you came here to find a mystery romance book that'll have you on the edge of your seat (and keep you up at night), add Verity by Colleen Hoover to your cart.\\\"-Cosmopolitan

\\\"Unravels a picture-perfect couple's courtship and marriage in truly twisted-and jaw-dropping-fashion.\\\"-Elle magazine

\\\"If you've yet to experience the delight that is reading one of Hoover's novels, we suggest starting with this . . . Prepare for your pulse to race and palms to sweat.\\\"-E! News

\\\"The energy and pace in this book are like a fun house at a carnival. It's ever-changing, and just when you think you know what to expect next, Hoover hits you with another turn. Up until the very final page, readers are mining for clues. Just when you thought you figured out the who, what, when, where, and why, it completely changes, leaving you gobsmacked.\\\"-BuzzFeed

\\\"The perfect choice if you're after a gripping read but be warned, its twists and turns may very well keep you up at night.\\\"-Refinery29

\\\"Colleen Hoover's romances and contemporary fiction novels . . . grip readers with emotionally charged storylines, unique plotlines, and twists that leave us reeling.\\\" -Business Insider

\\\"Talk about a word-of-mouth of page-turner we're still not over . . . Cue the seductive mystery that has one of our all-time fave twists. Run, don't walk.\\\"-The Skimm

\\\"An explosive, sexy thriller full of chilling admissions, incredible twists and turns, and some seriously creepy plotlines. I can honestly say that I've never read another thriller quite like it.\\\"-BookReporter.com

\\\"Seamlessly blends romance and horror.\\\"-New York Post

\\\"Full of suspense with steamy scenes and creepy undertones.\\\"-Plymouth Magazine

\\\"Hoover always tells her stories so beautifully . . . [An] ideal holiday gift.\\\"-Houstonia magazine

\\\"Emotionally charged, sinister, evocative, fascinating and very addictive. We read Verity with a knot in our stomachs from the first to last page! What a brilliant read!\\\"-TotallyBooked Blog

\\\"Wow I'm speechless, I don't know where to start with this one. Verity was a captivating, fast paced, twisted, and addictive story.\\\"-Read More Sleep Less Blog

\\\"If you've read any of our recent book round-ups here on The Everygirl, you know how much our editors love this book. It created quite the chain reaction, and now, those who have not yet read it are in the minority. Obviously, this means it is a great book, but the real reason we can't stop talking about it is because of the story-it is truly the most shocking book I have ever read. It also started a huge internet book debate about what really happened, so you'll be wrapped up in this world even after you finish reading.\\\"-The EveryGirl

\\\"I recommend this book to everyone I come across!\\\"-Her Campus

\\\"Solidified my love for romantic suspense.\\\"-She Reads

\\\"There are genuinely spooky moments that had me squirming, and all sorts of twists and turns.\\\"-Business Insider

\\\"If you're a book lover drawn to dark thrillers, start with the stand-alone page-turner Verity.\\\"-Reader's Digest

\\\"You'll stay up all night reading this . . . Hoover expertly combines thriller with romance to test the boundaries of who is telling the truth, and who is lying.\\\"-Woman's Day

\\\"What makes Verity so good is that it is both a steamy romance novel as well as a deeply twisted and disturbing psychological thriller, flawlessly wrapped into one story . . . steamy, disturbing, and surprising.\\\"-The Mary Sue

\\\"Twisted . . . a thrilling deviation from her typical romance books.\\\" -HelloGiggles\"},{\"id\":\"84950952T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Warning: This book is IMPOSSIBLE to put down. Verity's story keeps you turning page after page, and Lowen's story keeps you on the edge of your seat. This book is the definition of a gripping thriller with a bit of romance (it is a Colleen Hoover novel, after all) and an ending that will have you simply stunned.

\"},{\"id\":\"84198215T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"120567929T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Hopeless series, the Maybe Someday series, Ugly Love, Confess, It Ends with Us, All Your Perfects, and many more. She lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Please visit www.ColleenHoover.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"84950953T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Hopeless series, the Maybe Someday series, Ugly Love, Confess, It Ends with Us, All Your Perfects, and many more. She lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Please visit www.ColleenHoover.com.\"},{\"id\":\"84950955T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Hopeless series, the Maybe Someday series, Ugly Love, Confess, It Ends with Us, All Your Perfects, and many more. She lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Please visit www.ColleenHoover.com.\"}]",{"_41":3343,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3344},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636699578609","Verity/Colleen-Hoover",{"_41":3346,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3347},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636694991089","1141833713",{"_41":3349,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636698136817",{"_41":3351,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3326},"gid://shopify/Metafield/92776078344433",{"_41":3353,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3305},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636689813745",{"_41":3355,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39636698726641",{"_41":3357,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":3358},"gid://shopify/Metafield/69011374473457","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.2\"}",{"_41":3360,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":3361},"gid://shopify/Metafield/69011374440689","16",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3363,"_72":3364,"_1927":2712,"_831":3365,"_1930":3366,"_1932":3367,"_1934":3368,"_1941":3373,"_1949":59,"_1950":3375,"_1956":3378,"_1978":3387,"_1981":3389,"_1983":3390,"_1985":3391,"_1986":3392},"gid://shopify/Product/8830950539505","The Love Hypothesis (Collector's Edition)","9780593953815","A stunning hardcover collector’s edition of Ali Hazelwood’s instant New York Times bestseller and TikTok sensation featuring:• A shimmering, revamped cover• Endpapers with all new art from Lilith Saur featuring Olive and Adam• STEM stenciled spredges• A sunny, foil stamped case• Fun additional chapter heading doodles throughout, and...• A brand new bonus chapter featuring THAT KISS from Adam’s point of viewWhen a fake relationship between scientists meets the irresistible force of attraction, it throws one woman's carefully calculated theories on love into chaos.As a third-year Ph.D. candidate, Olive Smith doesn't believe in lasting romantic relationships—but her best friend does, and that's what got her into this situation. Convincing Anh that Olive is dating and well on her way to a happily ever after was always going to take more than hand-wavy Jedi mind tricks: Scientists require proof. So, like any self-respecting biologist, Olive panics and kisses the first man she sees.That man is none other than Adam Carlsen, a young hotshot professor—and well-known ass. Which is why Olive is positively floored when Stanford's reigning lab tyrant agrees to keep her charade a secret and be her fake boyfriend. But when a big science conference goes haywire, putting Olive's career on the Bunsen burner, Adam surprises her again with his unyielding support and even more unyielding...six-pack abs.Suddenly their little experiment feels dangerously close to combustion. And Olive discovers that the only thing more complicated than a hypothesis on love is putting her own heart under the microscope.","A stunning hardcover collector’s edition of Ali Hazelwood’s instant New York Times bestseller and TikTok sensation featuring:

• A shimmering, revamped cover
• Endpapers with all new art from Lilith Saur featuring Olive and Adam
• STEM stenciled spredges
• A sunny, foil stamped case
• Fun additional chapter heading doodles throughout, and...
• A brand new bonus chapter featuring THAT KISS from Adam’s point of view

When a fake relationship between scientists meets the irresistible force of attraction, it throws one woman's carefully calculated theories on love into chaos.

As a third-year Ph.D. candidate, Olive Smith doesn't believe in lasting romantic relationships—but her best friend does, and that's what got her into this situation. Convincing Anh that Olive is dating and well on her way to a happily ever after was always going to take more than hand-wavy Jedi mind tricks: Scientists require proof. So, like any self-respecting biologist, Olive panics and kisses the first man she sees.

That man is none other than Adam Carlsen, a young hotshot professor—and well-known ass. Which is why Olive is positively floored when Stanford's reigning lab tyrant agrees to keep her charade a secret and be her fake boyfriend. But when a big science conference goes haywire, putting Olive's career on the Bunsen burner, Adam surprises her again with his unyielding support and even more unyielding...six-pack abs.

Suddenly their little experiment feels dangerously close to combustion. And Olive discovers that the only thing more complicated than a hypothesis on love is putting her own heart under the microscope.",{"_41":3369,"_54":3370,"_56":3371,"_50":3372,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47563604263153","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593953815_p0.jpg?v=1768967940",1056,1646,{"_1943":3374},{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_1943":3376,"_1954":3377},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3379},[3380],{"_41":3381,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":-5,"_711":3382,"_1966":3383,"_1968":3384,"_1970":3385,"_1976":3365,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46226368561393",{"_41":3369,"_54":3370,"_1940":-5,"_56":3371,"_50":3372},{"_1945":2358,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3364,"_831":3365},[3386],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3388},"[\"Special Editions (p10264)\",\"Page & Screen (p4180)\",\"Judge a Book by Its Edges (p10048)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\"]",{"_1974":3365},{"_1974":2712},{"_1974":2741},[3393,-5,-5,3396,3398,-5,3400,3402,3405,3408,3411,-5,3413,3415,-5,3417,3419,3422],{"_41":3394,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3395},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892992823537","[{\"contributorId\":22984463,\"fullName\":\"Ali Hazelwood\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":3397,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":1928},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892993741041",{"_41":3399,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":2712},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892991971569",{"_41":3401,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":2003},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892994068721",{"_41":3403,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3404},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892998525169","[{\"id\":\"130558886T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Chapter One

Hypothesis: When given a choice between A (a slightly inconveniencing situation) and B (a colossal shitshow with devastating consequences), I will inevitably end up selecting B.

In Olive's defense, the man didn't seem to mind the kiss too much.

It did take him a moment to adjust-perfectly understandable, given the sudden circumstances. It was an awkward, uncomfortable, somewhat painful minute, in which Olive was simultaneously smashing her lips against his and pushing herself as high as her toes would extend to keep her mouth at the same level as his face. Did he have to be so tall? The kiss must have looked like some clumsy headbutt, and she grew anxious that she was not going to be able to pull the whole thing off. Her friend Anh, whom Olive had spotted coming her way a few seconds ago, was going to take one look at this and know at once that Olive and Kiss Dude couldn't possibly be two people in the middle of a date.

Then that agonizingly slow moment went by, and the kiss became . . . different. The man inhaled sharply and inclined his head a tiny bit, making Olive feel less like a squirrel monkey climbing a baobab tree, and his hands-which were large and pleasantly warm in the AC of the hallway-closed around her waist. They slid up a few inches, coming to wrap around Olive's rib cage and holding her to himself. Not too close, and not too far.

Just so.

It was more of a prolonged peck than anything, but it was quite nice, and for the life span of a few seconds Olive forgot a large number of things, including the fact that she was pressed against a random, unknown dude. That she'd barely had the time to whisper \\\"Can I please kiss you?\\\" before locking lips with him. That what had originally driven her to put on this entire show was the hope of fooling Anh, her best friend in the whole world.

But a good kiss will do that: make a girl forget herself for a while. Olive found herself melting into a broad, solid chest that showed absolutely no give. Her hands traveled from a defined jaw into surprisingly thick and soft hair, and then-then she heard herself sigh, as if already out of breath, and that's when it hit her like a brick on the head, the realization that- No. No.

Nope, nope, no.

She should not be enjoying this. Random dude, and all that.

Olive gasped and pushed herself away from him, frantically looking for Anh. In the 11:00 p.m. bluish glow of the biology labs' hallway, her friend was nowhere to be seen. Weird. Olive was sure she had spotted her a few seconds earlier.

Kiss Dude, on the other hand, was standing right in front of her, lips parted, chest rising and a weird light flickering in his eyes, which was exactly when it dawned on her, the enormity of what she had just done. Of who she had just-

Fuck her life.

Fuck. Her. Life.

Because Dr. Adam Carlsen was a known ass.

This fact was not remarkable in and of itself, as in academia every position above the graduate student level (Olive's level, sadly) required some degree of assness in order to be held for any length of time, with tenured faculty at the very peak of the ass pyramid. Dr. Carlsen, though-he was exceptional. At least if the rumors were anything to go by.

He was the reason Olive's roommate, Malcolm, had to completely scrap two research projects and would likely end up graduating a year late; the one who had made Jeremy throw up from anxiety before his qualifying exams; the sole culprit for half the students in the department being forced to postpone their thesis defenses. Joe, who used to be in Olive's cohort and would take her to watch out-of-focus European movies with microscopic subtitles every Thursday night, had been a research assistant in Carlsen's lab, but he'd decided to drop out six months into it for \\\"reasons.\\\" It was probably for the best, since most of Carlsen's remaining graduate assistants had perennially shaky hands and often looked like they hadn't slept in a year.

Dr. Carlsen might have been a young academic rock star and biology's wunderkind, but he was also mean and hypercritical, and it was obvious in the way he spoke, in the way he carried himself, that he thought himself the only person doing decent science within the Stanford biology department. Within the entire world, probably. He was a notoriously moody, obnoxious, terrifying dick.

And Olive had just kissed him.

She wasn't sure how long the silence lasted-only that he was the one to break it. He stood in front of Olive, ridiculously intimidating with dark eyes and even darker hair, staring down from who knows how many inches above six feet-he must have been over half a foot taller than she was. He scowled, an expression that she recognized from seeing him attend the departmental seminar, a look that usually preceded him raising his hand to point out some perceived fatal flaw in the speaker's work.

Adam Carlsen. Destroyer of research careers, Olive had once overheard her adviser say.

It's okay. It's fine. Totally fine. She was just going to pretend nothing had happened, nod at him politely, and tiptoe her way out of here. Yes, solid plan.

\\\"Did you . . . Did you just kiss me?\\\" He sounded puzzled, and maybe a little out of breath. His lips were full and plump and . . . God. Kissed. There was simply no way Olive could get away with denying what she had just done.

Still, it was worth a try.

\\\"Nope.\\\"

Surprisingly, it seemed to work.

\\\"Ah. Okay, then.\\\" Carlsen nodded and turned around, looking vaguely disoriented. He took a couple of steps down the hallway, reached the water fountain-maybe where he'd been headed in the first place.

Olive was starting to believe that she might actually be off the hook when he halted and turned back with a skeptical expression.

\\\"Are you sure?\\\"

Dammit.

\\\"I-\\\" She buried her face in her hands. \\\"It's not the way it looks.\\\"

\\\"Okay. I . . . Okay,\\\" he repeated slowly. His voice was deep and low and sounded a lot like he was on his way to get ting mad. Like maybe he was already mad. \\\"What's going on here?\\\"

There was simply no way to explain this. Any normal person would have found Olive's situation odd, but Adam Carlsen, who obviously considered empathy a bug and not a feature of humanity, could never understand. She let her hands fall to her sides and took a deep breath.

\\\"I . . . listen, I don't mean to be rude, but this is really none of your business.\\\"

He stared at her for a moment, and then he nodded. \\\"Yes. Of course.\\\" He must be getting back into his usual groove, because his tone had lost some of its surprise and was back to normal-dry. Laconic. \\\"I'll just go back to my office and begin to work on my Title IX complaint.\\\"

Olive exhaled in relief. \\\"Yeah. That would be great, since- Wait. Your what?\\\"

He cocked his head. \\\"Title IX is a federal law that protects against sexual misconduct within academic settings-\\\"

\\\"I know what Title IX is.\\\"

\\\"I see. So you willfully chose to disregard it.\\\"

\\\"I- What? No. No, I didn't!\\\"

He shrugged. \\\"I must be mistaken, then. Someone else must have assaulted me.\\\"

\\\"Assault-I didn't 'assault' you.\\\"

\\\"You did kiss me.\\\"

\\\"But not really.\\\"

\\\"Without first securing my consent.\\\"

\\\"I asked if I could kiss you!\\\"

\\\"And then did so without waiting for my response.\\\"

\\\"What? You said yes.\\\"

\\\"Excuse me?\\\"

She frowned. \\\"I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.\\\"

\\\"Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I snorted.\\\"

\\\"I'm pretty sure I heard you said yes.\\\"

He lifted one eyebrow, and for a minute Olive let herself daydream of drowning someone. Dr. Carlsen. Herself. Both sounded like great options.

\\\"Listen, I'm really sorry. It was a weird situation. Can we just forget that this happened?\\\"

He studied her for a long moment, his angular face serious and something else, something that she couldn't quite decipher because she was too busy noticing all over again how damn towering and broad he was. Just massive. Olive had always been slight, just this side of too slender, but girls who are five eight rarely felt diminutive. At least until they found themselves standing next to Adam Carlsen. She'd known that he was tall, of course, from seeing him around the department or walking across campus, from sharing the elevator with him, but they'd never interacted. Never been this close.

Except for a second ago, Olive. When you almost put your tongue in his-

\\\"Is something wrong?\\\" He sounded almost concerned.

\\\"What? No. No, there isn't.\\\"

\\\"Because,\\\" he continued calmly, \\\"kissing a stranger at midnight in a science lab might be a sign that there is.\\\"

\\\"There isn't.\\\"

Carlsen nodded, thoughtful. \\\"Very well. Expect mail in the next few days, then.\\\" He began to walk past her, and she turned to yell after him.

\\\"You didn't even ask my name!\\\"

\\\"I'm sure anyone could figure it out, since you must have swiped your badge to get in the labs area after hours. Have a good night.\\\"

\\\"Wait!\\\" She leaned forward and stopped him with a hand on his wrist. He paused immediately, even though it was obvious that it would take him no effort to free himself, and stared pointedly at the spot where her fingers had wrapped around his skin-right below a wristwatch that probably cost half her yearly graduate salary. Or all of it.

She let go of him at once and took one step back. \\\"Sorry, I didn't mean to-\\\"

\\\"The kiss. Explain.\\\"

Olive bit into her lower lip. She had truly screwed herself over. She had to tell him, now. \\\"Anh Pham.\\\" She looked around to make sure Anh was really gone. \\\"The girl who was passing by. She's a graduate student in the biology department.\\\"

Carlsen gave no indication of knowing who Anh was.

\\\"Anh has . . .\\\" Olive pushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear. This was where the story became embarrassing. Complicated, and a little juvenile sounding. \\\"I was seeing this guy in the department. Jeremy Langley, he has red hair and works with Dr. . . . Anyway, we went out just a couple of times, and then I brought him to Anh's birthday party, and they just sort of hit it off and-\\\"

Olive shut her eyes. Which was probably a bad idea, because now she could see it painted on her lids, how her best friend and her date had bantered in that bowling alley, as if they'd known each other their whole lives; the never-exhausted topics of conversation, the laughter, and then, at the end of the night, Jeremy following Anh's every move with his gaze. It had been painfully clear who he was interested in. Olive waved a hand and tried for a smile.

\\\"Long story short, after Jeremy and I ended things he asked Anh out. She said no because of . . . girl code and all that, but I can tell that she really likes him. She's afraid to hurt my feelings, and no matter how many times I told her it was fine she wouldn't believe me.\\\"

Not to mention that the other day I overheard her confess to our friend Malcolm that she thought Jeremy was awesome, but she could never betray me by going out with him, and she sounded so dejected. Disappointed and insecure, not at all like the spunky, larger-than-life Anh I am used to.

\\\"So I just lied and told her that I was already dating someone else. Because she's one of my closest friends and I'd never seen her like a guy this much and I want her to have the good things she deserves and I'm positive that she would do the same for me and-\\\" Olive realized that she was rambling and that Carlsen couldn't have cared less. She stopped and swallowed, even though her mouth felt dry. \\\"Tonight. I told her I'd be on a date tonight.\\\"

\\\"Ah.\\\" His expression was unreadable.

\\\"But I'm not. So I decided to come in to work on an experiment, but Anh showed up, too. She wasn't supposed to be here. But she was. Coming this way. And I panicked-well.\\\" Olive wiped a hand down her face. \\\"I didn't really think.\\\"

Carlsen didn't say anything, but it was there in his eyes that he was thinking. Obviously.

\\\"I just needed her to believe that I was on a date.\\\"

He nodded. \\\"So you kissed the first person you saw in the hallway. Perfectly logical.\\\"

Olive winced. \\\"When you put it like that, perhaps it wasn't my best moment.\\\"

\\\"Perhaps.\\\"

\\\"But it wasn't my worst, either! I'm pretty sure Anh saw us. Now she'll think that I was on a date with you and she'll hopefully feel free to go out with Jeremy and-\\\" She shook her head. \\\"Listen. I'm so, so sorry about the kiss.\\\"

\\\"Are you?\\\"

\\\"Please, don't report me. I really thought I heard you say yes. I promise I didn't mean to . . .\\\"

Suddenly, the enormity of what she had just done fully dawned on her. She had just kissed a random guy, a guy who happened to be the most notoriously unpleasant faculty member in the biology department. She'd misunderstood a snort for consent, she'd basically attacked him in the hallway, and now he was staring at her in that odd, pensive way, so large and focused and close to her, and . . .

Shit.

Maybe it was the late night. Maybe it was that her last coffee had been sixteen hours ago. Maybe it was Adam Carlsen looking down at her, like that. All of a sudden, this entire situation was just too much.

\\\"Actually, you're absolutely right. And I am so sorry. If you felt in any way harassed by me, you really should report me, because it's only fair. It was a horrible thing to do, though I really didn't want to . . . Not that my intentions matter; it's more like your perception of . . .\\\"

Crap, crap, crap.

\\\"I'm going to leave now, okay? Thank you, and . . . I am so, so, so sorry.\\\" Olive spun around on her heels and ran away down the hallway.

\\\"Olive,\\\" she heard him call after her. \\\"Olive, wait-\\\"

She didn't stop. She sprinted down the stairs to the first floor and then out the building and across the pathways of the sparsely lit Stanford campus, running past a girl walking her dog and a group of students laughing in front of the library. She continued until she was standing in front of her apartment's door, stopping only to unlock it, making a beeline for her room in the hope of avoiding her roommate and whoever he might have brought home tonight.
It wasn’t until she slumped on her bed, staring at the glow‑in‑the- dark stars glued to her ceiling, that she realized that she had neglected to check on her lab mice. She had also left her laptop on her bench and her sweatshirt somewhere in the lab, and she had completely forgotten to stop at the store and buy the coffee she’d promised Malcolm she’d get for tomorrow morning.
Shit. What a disaster of a day.
It never occurred to Olive that Dr. Adam Carlsen— known ass— had called her by her name.

\"},{\"id\":\"130558887T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Chapter One

Hypothesis: When given a choice between A (a slightly inconveniencing situation) and B (a colossal shitshow with devastating consequences), I will inevitably end up selecting B.

In Olive's defense, the man didn't seem to mind the kiss too much.

Just so.

Nope, nope, no.

She should not be enjoying this. Random dude, and all that.

Fuck her life.

Fuck. Her. Life.

Because Dr. Adam Carlsen was a known ass.

And Olive had just kissed him.

Adam Carlsen. Destroyer of research careers, Olive had once overheard her adviser say.

It's okay. It's fine. Totally fine. She was just going to pretend nothing had happened, nod at him politely, and tiptoe her way out of here. Yes, solid plan.

Still, it was worth a try.

\\\"Nope.\\\"

Surprisingly, it seemed to work.

Olive was starting to believe that she might actually be off the hook when he halted and turned back with a skeptical expression.

\\\"Are you sure?\\\"

Dammit.

\\\"I-\\\" She buried her face in her hands. \\\"It's not the way it looks.\\\"

\\\"Okay. I . . . Okay,\\\" he repeated slowly. His voice was deep and low and sounded a lot like he was on his way to get ting mad. Like maybe he was already mad. \\\"What's going on here?\\\"

\\\"I . . . listen, I don't mean to be rude, but this is really none of your business.\\\"

Olive exhaled in relief. \\\"Yeah. That would be great, since- Wait. Your what?\\\"

He cocked his head. \\\"Title IX is a federal law that protects against sexual misconduct within academic settings-\\\"

\\\"I know what Title IX is.\\\"

\\\"I see. So you willfully chose to disregard it.\\\"

\\\"I- What? No. No, I didn't!\\\"

He shrugged. \\\"I must be mistaken, then. Someone else must have assaulted me.\\\"

\\\"Assault-I didn't 'assault' you.\\\"

\\\"You did kiss me.\\\"

\\\"But not really.\\\"

\\\"Without first securing my consent.\\\"

\\\"I asked if I could kiss you!\\\"

\\\"And then did so without waiting for my response.\\\"

\\\"What? You said yes.\\\"

\\\"Excuse me?\\\"

She frowned. \\\"I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.\\\"

\\\"Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I snorted.\\\"

\\\"I'm pretty sure I heard you said yes.\\\"

He lifted one eyebrow, and for a minute Olive let herself daydream of drowning someone. Dr. Carlsen. Herself. Both sounded like great options.

\\\"Listen, I'm really sorry. It was a weird situation. Can we just forget that this happened?\\\"

Except for a second ago, Olive. When you almost put your tongue in his-

\\\"Is something wrong?\\\" He sounded almost concerned.

\\\"What? No. No, there isn't.\\\"

\\\"Because,\\\" he continued calmly, \\\"kissing a stranger at midnight in a science lab might be a sign that there is.\\\"

\\\"There isn't.\\\"

Carlsen nodded, thoughtful. \\\"Very well. Expect mail in the next few days, then.\\\" He began to walk past her, and she turned to yell after him.

\\\"You didn't even ask my name!\\\"

\\\"I'm sure anyone could figure it out, since you must have swiped your badge to get in the labs area after hours. Have a good night.\\\"

She let go of him at once and took one step back. \\\"Sorry, I didn't mean to-\\\"

\\\"The kiss. Explain.\\\"

Carlsen gave no indication of knowing who Anh was.

\\\"Ah.\\\" His expression was unreadable.

Carlsen didn't say anything, but it was there in his eyes that he was thinking. Obviously.

\\\"I just needed her to believe that I was on a date.\\\"

He nodded. \\\"So you kissed the first person you saw in the hallway. Perfectly logical.\\\"

Olive winced. \\\"When you put it like that, perhaps it wasn't my best moment.\\\"

\\\"Perhaps.\\\"

\\\"Are you?\\\"

\\\"Please, don't report me. I really thought I heard you say yes. I promise I didn't mean to . . .\\\"

Shit.

Crap, crap, crap.

\\\"I'm going to leave now, okay? Thank you, and . . . I am so, so, so sorry.\\\" Olive spun around on her heels and ran away down the hallway.

\\\"Olive,\\\" she heard him call after her. \\\"Olive, wait-\\\"

\"},{\"id\":\"130558881T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"As seen on THE VIEW!
A BuzzFeed Best Summer Read of 2021!
An Indie Next and LibraryReads Pick!

Praise for Ali Hazelwood

“The reigning queen of STEM romance.”—The Washington Post

\\\"Ali Hazelwood is a romance powerhouse.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Hannah Grace

\\\"Passionate and witty and primal in its intensity.\\\"—New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh, on Bride

“Contemporary romance's unicorn: the elusive marriage of deeply brainy and delightfully escapist.”—New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren

“Hazelwood proves that she is the perfect writer to show that science is sexy as hell, and that love can ‘STEM’ from the most unlikely places.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Jodi Picoult

“Funny, sexy and smart, Ali Hazelwood did a terrific job with The Love Hypothesis.”—New York Times bestselling author Mariana Zapata

“Gloriously nerdy and sexy, with on-point commentary about women in STEM.”—New York Times bestselling author Helen Hoang\"},{\"id\":\"130558888T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A fake relationship with real chemistry – this equation is not easy to solve. Ph.D candidate Olive Smith and Professor Adam Carlsen embark on an experimental romance, but when sparks start flying for real, Olive has to choose between science and love.

\"},{\"id\":\"114090636T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"130558890T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Ali Hazelwood is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of multiple romance novels, as well as a writer of peer-reviewed articles about brain science, in which no one makes out and the ever after is not always happy. Originally from Italy, she lived in Germany and Japan before moving to the US to pursue a PhD in neuroscience. When Ali is not at work, she can be found running, eating cake pops, or watching sci-fi movies with her three feline overlords (and her slightly-less-feline husband).

\"},{\"id\":\"130558891T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Ali Hazelwood is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of multiple romance novels, as well as a writer of peer-reviewed articles about brain science, in which no one makes out and the ever after is not always happy. Originally from Italy, she lived in Germany and Japan before moving to the US to pursue a PhD in neuroscience. When Ali is not at work, she can be found running, eating cake pops, or watching sci-fi movies with her three feline overlords (and her slightly-less-feline husband).\"},{\"id\":\"130558889T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Ali Hazelwood is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of multiple romance novels, as well as a writer of peer-reviewed articles about brain science, in which no one makes out and the ever after is not always happy. Originally from Italy, she lived in Germany and Japan before moving to the US to pursue a PhD in neuroscience. When Ali is not at work, she can be found running, eating cake pops, or watching sci-fi movies with her three feline overlords (and her slightly-less-feline husband).\"}]",{"_41":3406,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3407},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892996591857","The-Love-Hypothesis/Ali-Hazelwood",{"_41":3409,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3410},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892991381745","1138635323",{"_41":3412,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892993511665",{"_41":3414,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3388},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892999278833",{"_41":3416,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3365},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892988891377",{"_41":3418,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/38892994363633",{"_41":3420,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":3421},"gid://shopify/Metafield/86796812091633","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.7\"}",{"_41":3423,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":3424},"gid://shopify/Metafield/86796812058865","159",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3426,"_72":3427,"_1927":3428,"_831":3429,"_1930":3430,"_1932":3431,"_1934":3432,"_1941":3436,"_1949":59,"_1950":3439,"_1956":3442,"_1978":3451,"_1981":3452,"_1983":3453,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3454},"gid://shopify/Product/8846625243377","Practical Magic 2 (Previously published as The Book of Magic)","Paperback","9781982151492","The Owens family finally confronts the curse that has haunted them for centuries in this unforgettable conclusion to the beloved Practical Magic series by New York Times bestselling author Alice Hoffman.The family's story began in 1620, when Maria Owens was tried for witchcraft, and every Owens descendant was cursed in love. Now, in Cambridge, seventy-eight-year-old Jet Owens hears the deathwatch beetle and knows she has only seven days to live. Before she goes, she discovers The Book of the Raven, a dangerous magical grimoire that may hold the secret to breaking the curse once and for all. Her sister Franny, nieces Sally and Gillian, and the next Owens generation-Antonia and Kylie-must face the truth of their legacy. When Kylie's boyfriend falls into a coma after they confess their love, she flees to Europe in search of answers, embracing perilous left-handed magic that could destroy everything the Owens clan has fought to protect. Spanning from New York City to Europe, Practical Magic 2 weaves a spellbinding tale of Owens family witches, sacrifice, and survival. A breathtaking and masterful conclusion to the beloved series, it brings together three generations of Owens women-and one long-lost brother-for a dazzling finale that proves the only cure for love is to love more.","The Owens family finally confronts the curse that has haunted them for centuries in this unforgettable conclusion to the beloved Practical Magic series by New York Times bestselling author Alice Hoffman.

The family's story began in 1620, when Maria Owens was tried for witchcraft, and every Owens descendant was cursed in love. Now, in Cambridge, seventy-eight-year-old Jet Owens hears the deathwatch beetle and knows she has only seven days to live. Before she goes, she discovers The Book of the Raven, a dangerous magical grimoire that may hold the secret to breaking the curse once and for all.

Her sister Franny, nieces Sally and Gillian, and the next Owens generation-Antonia and Kylie-must face the truth of their legacy. When Kylie's boyfriend falls into a coma after they confess their love, she flees to Europe in search of answers, embracing perilous left-handed magic that could destroy everything the Owens clan has fought to protect.

Spanning from New York City to Europe, Practical Magic 2 weaves a spellbinding tale of Owens family witches, sacrifice, and survival. A breathtaking and masterful conclusion to the beloved series, it brings together three generations of Owens women-and one long-lost brother-for a dazzling finale that proves the only cure for love is to love more.",{"_41":3433,"_54":3434,"_56":3435,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47499509694705","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781982151492_p0.jpg?v=1787146638",1317,{"_1943":3437},{"_1945":3438,"_1947":1948},"20.0",{"_1943":3440,"_1954":3441},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3443},[3444],{"_41":3445,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":-5,"_711":3446,"_1966":3447,"_1968":3448,"_1970":3449,"_1976":3429,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46244599791857",{"_41":3433,"_54":3434,"_1940":-5,"_56":3435,"_50":1939},{"_1945":3438,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3427,"_831":3429},[3450],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3326},{"_1974":3429},{"_1974":3428},[3455,3458,3461,3464,3466,-5,3468,3471,3474,3477,3480,-5,3482,3484,-5,3486,3488,3490],{"_41":3456,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3457},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656784494833","[{\"contributorId\":156487,\"fullName\":\"Alice Hoffman\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",{"_41":3459,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":3460},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656784822513","Practical Magic Series",{"_41":3462,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2622,"_1974":3463},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656784920817","4",{"_41":3465,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":3428},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656785412337",{"_41":3467,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":3428},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656784003313",{"_41":3469,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":3470},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656785576177","121",{"_41":3472,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3473},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656788754673","[{\"id\":\"132806674T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Chapter I I.
Some stories begin at the beginning and others begin at the end, but all the best stories begin in a library. It was there that Jet Owens saw her fate in a mirror behind the reference desk. Even in her eighties, Jet was still beautiful. Each day she washed with the black soap the family prepared in March during the dark phase of the moon, with every bar then wrapped in crinkly cellophane. Jet had no aches or pains and had never been ill a day in her life, but fate is fate and it can often be what you least expect it to be. On this day, when the daffodils had begun to bloom, Jet saw that she had seven days to live.

The deathwatch beetle had begun to call from within the walls of the Owens Library, a sound that often went unnoticed until it was so loud it was all a person could hear. When your time came, the black beetle would withdraw from hiding and follow you everywhere, no matter where you went. Its presence meant that the past was over and the future no longer existed. This was the moment that revealed how you had walked through the world, with kindness or with fear, with your heart open or closed. It had taken this long for Jet to appreciate that every instant was a marvel. Now everything she saw was illuminated. The sun streaming through the library windows in fierce bands of orange light. A moth tapping at the glass. The sweep of the branches of one of the last elm trees in the commonwealth, which shadowed the library's lawn. Some people unravel or run for shelter when their time has come, they curse their fate or hide under their beds, but Jet knew exactly what she wished to do in the last days she'd been granted. She didn't have to think twice.

Long ago, the library had been a jail where Maria Owens, the first woman in their family to set foot in Massachusetts in 1680, had been confined until the judges announced she would be hanged. Those were the days when witchery was forbidden and women were harshly punished, judged to be dangerous creatures if they talked too much, or read books, or did their best to protect themselves from harm. People said Maria could turn herself into a crow, that she had the ability to enchant men without ever speaking to them directly and to compel other women to do as they pleased, so that they were willing to forsake their proper place in society and in their own families. The court set out to destroy Maria and nearly did, but she could not be drowned, and she did not back down. She blamed love for her undoing, for she'd chosen the wrong man, with dire consequences. Just before the rope that was meant to end her life snapped, and she was miraculously saved, Maria called out a curse upon love.

Beware of love, she had written on the first page of her journal, now exhibited in the library, a display mothers in town often brought their teenaged daughters to view before they started dating. Beware of love that was dishonest and disloyal, love that would lie to you and trick you, love that could break you and condemn you to sorrow, love that could never be trusted. If Maria Owens had been less rash, she might have realized that when you curse another, you curse yourself as well. Curses are like knots, the more you struggle to be free, the tighter they become, whether they're made of rope or spite or desperation. Maria invoked an enchantment to protect the generations to follow, with her daughters' and great-granddaughters' best interests at heart. For their own safety, they must avoid love. Those who failed to abide by this rule would find that engagements would be tragic, and marriages would end with funerals. Over the years, many of those in the Owens family had found ways to outwit the curse, always an intricate and risky endeavor. All the same, a person could trick fate if she dared, she could change her name, never admit her love, skip a legal union, vanish from view, or, for those who were careless and wild, simply plunge in and hope for the best, knowing that sooner or later everyone had to face her own destiny.

Maria's journal pages had been up on the wall of the library for more years than anyone could remember. Certainly, they had been there when Jet and her sister, Franny, were girls, and came here on muggy heat-laden summer days, waiting for their lives to begin, learning the truth about themselves from the town records and from their beloved aunt Isabelle. The family had a history of witchery, inherited in every generation, and had practiced the Nameless Art. They were bloodline witches, genetically predisposed to magic, with a lineage to ancestors who possessed the same sacred gifts. For those who tried to escape their heritage, it soon became clear that they couldn't run away from who they were. A person could do her best to be ordinary and fit in, but the past could not be refuted, even when it was hidden from children thought to be too tender to know the truth. You didn't choose magic, it chose you; it bloomed inside you, blood and bones. And a curse, once spoken, could not be denied. All the same, fate was what you made of it. You could make the best of it, or you could let it make the best of you. On this evening when she saw the truth in the library, Jet Owens decided she would do her best to change her family's destiny.

It was dusk when Jet and her niece Sally walked home from the library, as they did nearly every evening. Sally and her husband and daughters had moved into the old family house when the aunts' aging became noticeable, and she had been happy to settle into the place she couldn't wait to escape from as a girl. Sally had two wonderful girls, Kylie and Antonia, but both were now off at school, and her sister, Gillian, lived in Cambridge quite near to the girls, where she worked in a lab at MIT, so it was only Sally, now a widow, who still resided with her aunts in that big tilted house with the black shutters on Magnolia Street, where a fierce iron fence circled an enormous parcel of land the gardeners in town all envied, for it was here that the first daffodils pushed through the earth and where herbs grew between patches of ice in March, a month before they appeared anywhere else. Already the bramble of blackberries along the gate was beginning to green, and the lilacs, which would bloom in shades of violet and deep purple and white, were filling in with their flat heart-shaped leaves.

Unfortunately, Sally Owens couldn't hold on to love and everyone knew it. She'd been a victim of her family's curse, not once but twice. She was quite young when she first married, a forbidden act that could only end badly. Her husband Michael, a school friend and the father of her girls, had been a local boy and the first to ask her out; he was cursed with an untimely death, a victim of bad luck and bad weather, struck by lightning. Sally didn't speak for a year after his death, but she tried again with her second husband, Gary Hallet, a man she could depend on until he'd passed on a few years after their marriage. Gary had been afflicted with a childhood congenital heart disease that had finally caught up to him, but Sally was convinced his death had been activated by the family curse, for Gary had always seemed to be as healthy as he was strong. He had come from Arizona to work on the local police force, preferring a horse to a patrol car, and he and his tall good-natured bay, Jack, were known and beloved in town. Gary would rather give someone a second chance than arrest him, and the children in town begged to visit old Jack at the police stable on the far side of Endicott Street, bringing sugar cubes and carrots.

How was it possible for a man like Gary Hallet to kiss his wife good night, close his eyes, and never wake again? His horse had died of grief two nights later, lying down on the earthen floor of the stable. Sally was stunned and devastated, and some people said she had lost a piece of her heart. Certainly, she seemed transformed. When she did say hello to her neighbors, which was rare, she made it perfectly clear she preferred to be left in peace. Sally had returned to school for her degree in library science at Simmons University, and now, at the age of forty-four, she was the director of the Owens Library. The only other employee was Sarah Hardwick, who had worked at the library for over sixty years, and who still made it a point of leaving every day at five o'clock on the dot, which allowed her to stop by the Black Rabbit Inn and have a cocktail at her regular time. Often, she didn't report back until ten in the morning, especially if she'd had more than one drink. Sally didn't begrudge Miss Hardwick the need to come in late and leave early at her age, and she didn't mind the hours she spent working alone in the library, late into the evenings. She did her best to be helpful when she checked out books, or assisted students from the local high school, but everyone knew Sally Owens was embittered, and even more standoffish than she'd been as a girl.

The curse had ruined Sally's life, and she had decided not to reveal the Owens fate to her daughters. They knew bits, of course, and there was a scrim of magic over the house on Magnolia Street; the famous garden, the dangerous plants locked away in the greenhouse, the sparrow that arrived at midsummer. Still, the word witchery was never spoken out loud. Sally knew that her great-grandmother Susannah Owens had also kept the truth of their heritage from her children, setting out a series of rules to ensure they would avoid magic. Sally felt a kinship with Susannah, and when she found her great-grandmother's rules jotted down in an old diary, she made use of them. No swimming, no books about magic, no candles, no sitting out on the roof and gazing at stars, no wearing black, no walking in the moonlight. In Sally's opinion a life without magic was preferable, and she had done her best to ensure that her daughters wouldn't live with the cloud of the curse above them, spying danger in every kiss. When the time came, if and when one of the girls teetered on the verge of falling in love, Sally would step in and put a stop to it, as she wished she had done when her sister, Gillian, had fallen for the man whose name was never said aloud for fear he'd be called back from the dead. Thankfully, neither Antonia nor Kylie seemed to have any romantic inclinations. Perhaps the curse would never be a problem for them and they'd be safe after all. Kylie spent all her time with her best friend, Gideon Barnes, and Antonia was clearly a workaholic, even now that she was pregnant. There was no partner in the picture and when asked who the father of her unborn child was, Antonia merely shrugged and said it was a long story, which in truth it was not. She had dated Scott Morrison in high school, but she had always preferred women and had several girlfriends, many of whose hearts were broken without Antonia even trying to accomplish that task. Antonia was a confident, calm young woman of twenty-three, a redhead who didn't possess the same fierce temperament as Franny, the sort of person you would want beside you in an emergency, and no one was surprised when she announced that emergency medicine was the specialty she wished to pursue. Whenever she heard a siren on the street, she broke into a run, ready to offer help, for she was and always had been a natural healer; the more urgent the problem, the more focused she was on a cure.

Antonia didn't understand why people thought she was a bit tone deaf in matters of the heart when she was simply more preoccupied by her studies. To be honest, she wasn't even sure if she believed in love, but she definitely believed in children, as did Scott, who was two years ahead of her at med school, in a long-term relationship with another doctor, Joel McKenna. They agreed they would all make terrific parents, especially if they raised the child together.

As for Sally, she had worn black ever since her husband Gary's death and had a closet filled with dark, austere dresses, cotton for spring and summer, wool for the colder seasons. With her silky black hair pinned up, and her black coat flaring out behind her, Sally looked like a ghost on evenings when she walked home from the Owens Library with her aunt, with heaps of new leaves falling from the trees as she passed by. She closed the shutters on sunshiny days and favored large dark glasses that made her expression impenetrable. When she lingered on the porch in the evenings, not wishing to go up to her lonely bedroom, she rocked back and forth in an old wicker chair as the dusk settled around her, not realizing that she was frightening the neighborhood children who came upon her in the falling dark. The children who glimpsed Sally Owens on cold, crisp evenings shared their opinion that she was a witch who could turn herself into whatever she wished to be-a cat or a crow or a she-wolf-and that they had best not talk too much or have too much fun when she had them in her sights. Most people in town considered Sally to be unpredictable and irritable and there were those who insisted it was best not to cross her or she would hex you in the blink of an eye. Sally paid no attention. Let the neighbors gossip, let them cross the street when they spied her, she couldn't care less. The Owens women had a habit of doing as they pleased no matter what people might say, and she would continue to do so.

This week, as spring neared, Sally had decided to turn out the light on the porch, which had been kept on for three hundred years, assuring women in need of assistance that they were welcome to call. Enough was enough, in Sally's estimation. Let the neighbors go elsewhere for cures. Soon after, the gate was latched, the front door bolted, and thorny vines clung to the skirts of anyone who tried to pass by on the bluestone path. If a remedy was needed, for health or love or revenge, the best clients could do was wait on the sidewalk outside the fence, hoping that Franny Owens, or more likely dear Jet, would venture out on the way to the market or the drugstore and stop long enough to listen to their woes. Perhaps, if they were lucky, one of the aunts would grant them an elixir, stored in the pantry or in the greenhouse, well out of Sally's sight. Star tulip to decipher dreams, blue beads for protection, garlic, salt, and rosemary to dispel evil, or the most sought-after cure, Love Potion Number Nine, which consisted of anise, rosemary, honey, and cloves, all simmered for nine hours and always costing $9.99. Jet would never charge a penny more, and she made certain to remind the buyer that the spell worked best on the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month. On some nights, neighborhood women stood in the dark in front of the Owens house, their hands clutching the iron fence, with jewelry or cash in their purses, in need of assistance in matters of love or health or revenge. Often the aunts were already in bed, still the women stayed, ever hopeful, and there were times when Sally had to step over them on her way to work in the morning, for some truly desperate clients fell asleep on the sidewalk, dreaming of cures they would never receive.

Sally had become so closed off that she had recently lost the ability to see the color red, a side effect of severing one's emotions. One morning she woke and that color was simply gone from the palette of her vision. Anything that had once been scarlet or crimson or cherry or coral had turned a splotchy gray. As far as Sally was concerned, good riddance. She didn't mind the loss of red in her life one bit. Who needed a color as bright and disturbing as red? Red blossoms, red heart, red magic, red love. Even though spring had begun, for Sally the month of March was muted and blurry, a world of black and white. She didn't care that she could no longer spy cardinals perched in the trees, or that the red tulips in the greenhouse forced into an early bloom were the color of dust. Sally felt quite sensible observing the world through a scrim of gloom.

Though Jet didn't work in the library officially, she was a great favorite with the youngest patrons. She had the ability to know what people were thinking, and therefore understood that boys who were rude were usually fearful and that quiet girls often had a lot to say. She frequently stopped by to help young people choose books, guiding them to stories that contained magic of the best sort, practical magic that was folded into the everyday world, tales in which people stumbled into enchantments, often while walking down the street in their own hometown, or when they stepped into closets that contained other worlds, or waited for a train that would take them to a place they'd never before imagined.

\\\"All you need is patience,\\\" Jet told Sally when she threw up her hands each time she was faced with disruptive behavior from middle-school visitors who gathered in groups, lounging at the tables as if they were in their own homes.

Sally had been an excellent mother, but nowadays she was strict and rarely smiled anymore, and children are always put off by a rigid sensibility. Her own daughters had chafed under the household rules, but the rules were the rules, and Sally would not have them be broken. She'd taped up a laminated list at the reference desk in the library. No running, no shouting, no gathering in groups, no pets, no bare feet, no crying when you didn't get the book you most wanted to read. She didn't blame the children for avoiding her, preferring Jet or Miss Hardwick. She had turned away from the world and its sorrows and there were times when she walked past a mirror and could have sworn she saw the image of her aunt Franny rather than her own. Those cold gray eyes; that frown. Surely, she had inherited Frances Owens's no-nonsense attitude; she was curt and didn't easily suffer fools. She sometimes heard Franny's voice inside her head, or worse, she heard herself speaking phrases Franny had long ago imparted to her, blunt advice that pulled no punches. Courage or caution? Why on earth would you want to be normal? What fun would that be?

When their parents had died, and Sally and Gillian had come to the house on Magnolia Street, they'd both been terrified of Franny, intimidated by her wild hair and her red boots and her freckled complexion and her clipped conversation, and they'd secretly called her the mean aunt. But when Sally wept in bed at night, it was Franny who came upstairs to sit beside her. She didn't offer silly, meaningless words of comfort, but instead stroked Sally's long, dark hair and told her that in the morning they would have chocolate cake for breakfast, and they always did.

Although Sally considered herself to be a logical woman, she knew there was more to this world than could be seen with the naked eye. Ever since childhood she'd been convinced that a dark brand of bad luck followed at her heels, a wicked spell she couldn't diffuse, not with sage or garlic or salt. It was after her, there was no doubt about it. The Owens curse stalked her even though she was determined to avoid magic. Oh, she had tried, but no matter how ordinary her life might be, the curse hung on as if it were an obstinate dog that refused to loosen its bite even when she tried to shake it off. Now, as Sally and Jet walked through town, Sally realized that a little dog was, indeed, pursuing them, as though it had read her mind, validating her theory that a hex and a wild dog were equally difficult to be rid of. The one following them was a scraggly white thing with sharp black eyes. Sally soon recognized it as the stray that had been hanging around trash barrels behind the library for several days, one wily enough to escape every time animal control was called in.

\\\"I can't seem to catch that dog,\\\" Sally said. Now that her girls were grown, with Kylie a sophomore and Antonia in her second year of medical school, both at Harvard, and with Antonia pregnant, nearly a mother herself, Sally often stayed at the library after hours. What was the point of leaving? She would have preferred to eat a sandwich at her desk and would likely have forgotten to come home entirely, choosing to work through the night, had Jet not come for her at the end of the day.

\\\"I think it's Daisy,\\\" Jet said thoughtfully as she observed the dog.

Once you knew that death was walking alongside you, things came into focus, as they now did for Jet. With only seven days left she had best pay attention to every detail. She had already taken note that the lines on her right palm, showing the fate that she'd been given, and those on the left hand, the fate she had made for herself, were exactly the same; they had converged, as they always do at the end of a life. Jet's gift of the sight had intensified. She could envision the dog's heart beating under its tangled fur, just as she saw the slow unfolding of black leaves on the last surviving elm trees in Essex County. The Reverend Willard had owned a dog resembling this one before he'd been forced into residing at the retirement home on Endicott Street. The Willards and the Owenses were all descendants of a witch-finder and a witch, John Hathorne and Maria Owens on the Owens' side, and a granddaughter of Hathorne and a relation of John Proctor, hanged as a witch when he tried to protect an innocent woman brought to trial, on the Willards' side. Although there had been centuries of distrust, Jet had managed to change that after her beloved Levi Willard's death when she knocked at the Reverend's door, refusing to allow him to turn her away until they set the situation right. The Reverend had passed his hundredth birthday and could no longer care for himself, let alone a dog, and it was said that his little Maltese had run off and was now dodging around town, eating from garbage cans, sleeping on porches, begging for food from children exiting the school bus. Wary, the dog ducked beneath the thickets, but Jet stopped and waved cheerfully. \\\"Come here, Daisy,\\\" she called. \\\"I think she belongs to the Reverend.\\\"

\\\"You don't want a dog,\\\" Sally reminded her aunt. \\\"You're a cat person.\\\"

True enough. Jet had had a series of adored black cats when she was younger, all named for birds, including Magpie and Goose and Crow. Yet when Daisy, if indeed it was she, began to approach, Jet felt something prick her heart. She bent to pick up the dog and when she held it she could feel its jumpy heartbeat next to her own. She remembered being told that you didn't choose a familiar, it chose you. In truth, Jet felt comforted by Daisy's presence. Life of any sort was marvelous. She saw that now.

\\\"Are you sure?\\\" Jet murmured to the dog. She had only a few days left, after all, and couldn't pledge to oversee Daisy's future. All the same, the Reverend's dog settled in against her, clearly pleased to be carried along, although it didn't make eye contact. That was curious. A familiar saw inside you. It was then Jet realized she was only a temporary caretaker. Daisy was meant for someone else.

\\\"Here we go.\\\" Sally's tone was gloomy. She had no patience for anything these days. Although she looked far younger than her age, likely due to the miraculous black soap the Owenses had concocted from a family recipe since the 1600s, when it had been useful in treating those infected with the plague in a time when simply washing one's hands made a world of difference, with ingredients that were disinfectants, including rosemary, lavender, and mint. Sally distrusted the world, an attitude that aged a person beyond her years. Soap couldn't fix that. \\\"One thing will lead to another,\\\" Sally told her aunt, \\\"and the end result will likely be fleas.\\\"

Jet patted the dog and didn't argue. She had always loved the month of March, though it was wild and unpredictable, evoking hope as the wintry brown world began to flourish. Jet felt extremely grateful to experience it this one last time. Everything was greening and the hedges had a fresh, peppery scent. There was a chill in the blue air, yet daffodils were pushing up through the damp, black earth, and in the Owenses' garden they had already bloomed. Oh, what a beautiful, unexpected world this was.

\\\"Be prepared. Franny will have a fit if you bring a dog home,\\\" Sally continued to warn her aunt as they walked along past the Black Rabbit Inn. Tonight the special was chicken pot pie, but most of the regulars were concentrating on whiskey. A fiddler was playing enthusiastically in the bar. It was the kind of rousing, rowdy song Gary would have liked. Once he'd moved to Massachusetts, he'd missed the desert where he'd grown up, and the untamed country he'd known. He enjoyed standing outside with Sally before they went to bed to gaze at the stars and point out constellations, even in the dead of winter. Gary had never believed in curses or bad luck, and he'd considered fairy tales to be stories for children. Sally had loved his fearless attitude and the way he'd made her feel so safe, even though she knew that the world was, and always had been, a dangerous place. What was wicked grew with the ferocity of the bramble; cut it down, and it rose up again with even deeper roots.

Now, on the way home, Sally linked an arm through Jet's. She always softened when in the presence of her aunt Jet, who was the most kindhearted among them. Gillian had voiced a hunch that there must be an irregularity in Jet's DNA, and some unexpected genes had rendered her a huge heart, absent in most of their relations. Gillian should know; she worked in a lab at MIT researching genetics, a subject that had come to obsess her. She was convinced that somewhere in their past there had been an ancestor who had been as kind as their aunt, perhaps the same person from whom Jet had inherited her striking good looks.

Warmer weather was predicted for the rest of the week, and Jet's seven days marked the start of a season that was always a delight in Massachusetts. All through the long winter people waited for a sign for the first surge of spring. The green bark of a lilac. The murmur of a dove in the yard. While there was still a scrim of ice on Leech Lake, people came down with spring fever that made them act as if they were young again; they took risks, they stayed out late, they fell in love unexpectedly. This was the month when teams began to play softball in the high school field and music flooded out from open windows as children practiced scales at pianos that had been ignored all winter long. There was an extra hour of daylight, so glorious and so needed after the many months of darkness.

Jet could hear the hum of the first of the season's bees as they neared the house on Magnolia Street with its black shutters and tilted roof slates and dozens of windows made of old, wavering green glass. She came to a halt when they turned a corner, well aware that people had long believed that whenever bees swarmed outside a house, a resident was sure to die. Hundreds were now circling the porch in a buzzing whirlwind of yellow. There was Franny, out in the chilly dusk without a coat, a broom in her hands, doing her best to bat them away.

\\\"You're going to be stung!\\\" Sally called to her tall, fearsome aunt who had always shone with a beauty all her own. Franny Owens was in her eighties but her hair had a red tone, and although people whispered she had it dyed in a salon in Boston or magicked away the gray with a mixture of blood and potent herbs, all it took to keep the color was a rinse of madder root every once in a while.

Jet set down the dog and went directly to her sister. \\\"We need the bees,\\\" Jet said in a no-nonsense voice. She pried the broom from Franny's hands and let it drop to the ground. \\\"Franny, that's enough.\\\"

The sisters gazed into one another's eyes. They'd always been able to read each other but now Franny was baffled by what she saw. She glimpsed herself in the future, there in their garden alone, and then, with a quickening breath, she understood.

\\\"No,\\\" she said.

This is how it happened, on an ordinary night when Franny had planned to read a book after supper, she had Virginia Woolf's The Waves on her night table, then go early to bed. She had assumed life would remain as it was, with nothing daring to change, but all at once it had become an anguished night of bees, of a mad swarm around them, of her sister already wrested away from her, gazing into the world to come that was written in the constellations spinning above them. There was the Winter Triangle, which would fade away by the end of the month, as it always did at this time of year. Franny understood this was how loss began. She had been here before, but then, like anyone else, she had forgotten this is what happened, that things ended when you least expected them to, that you could not protect those you loved from nature and fate.

Sally had come up beside her aunts. She would likely have to call the exterminator in the morning, for once bees got into a house they might just decide to stay there and then honey would be dripping through the ceiling and down the walls. In the garden, the sprouting herbs were already letting off clouds of scent: marjoram, lavender, rosemary. There was always plenty of Spanish garlic, traditional to harvest in great abundance. There was chickweed, and feverfew, and juniper with the last of its berries. The dog was sniffing around, making itself at home.

\\\"Did you see what we picked up on the way home?\\\" Sally asked Franny. When her aunt looked blank, Sally laughed. Franny did have a way of ignoring the townspeople, as did she, and she'd likely never noticed the dog before. \\\"Daisy. The Reverend's dog?\\\"

\\\"To hell with the Reverend's dog,\\\" Franny said, turning to stalk past the plumy weeds on her way into the rear of the garden where they kept a beehive. It was empty. When she tapped on the sides it rattled and then Franny knew. Their very own bees had announced the death to come. There was no denying what would happen. One of their family. One of their own.

\\\"I told you she wouldn't be happy about this.\\\" Sally glared at the dog, but Jet was no longer beside her. She had gone after her sister, her dear Franny, who was as different from her as night was from day, but whom she had always loved beyond all reason.

On the first day of her last week on earth, Jet went to New York, taking the train from Boston's South Station. Because it was a lovely afternoon when she arrived in Manhattan, she walked uptown to the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street. She'd brought Daisy along, tucked into a shoulder bag on the train, now leashed and free to gleefully smell the scents that greeted her when they left Penn Station. Jet had made this trip once a month for the past sixty years, and the older employees who worked at the hotel always recognized her and were happy to greet her. When she'd first come here, the Oak Room had refused to serve women at lunch, but that all changed in 1969 when Betty Friedan and fifteen other members of National Organization for Women decided enough was enough and refused to leave. For years afterward, Jet would frequent the Oak Bar, lingering until it was time to go upstairs for the one night she waited for all month long.

When she walked in with the dog under her arm, no one behind the desk asked any questions. They never had. She was always without a suitcase, and simply packed a nightgown, some undergarments, and a change of clothes into her purse. This time she had brought along a tote bag containing dog food. She always paid cash.

More than six decades earlier, Jet had been a bewitching, dark-haired girl who had registered at this very hotel in order to do away with herself. She had lost her first love, Levi, the Reverend's son, in a car accident that seemed triggered by the curse, a horrific collision that had claimed her parents' lives as well. She'd seen no reason to go on and was certain that the world no longer was a place in which she wished to reside.

Her fate changed when a young bellman noticed she had checked into the Plaza without a suitcase. People without luggage most often had one of two things in mind: an affair or suicide, although occasionally there was a third possibility when a novelist arrived, desperate for inspiration, and always asking for the cheapest room. Rafael Correa was the bellman who had noticed Jet. He had stopped her, begging her to reconsider her plans and have room service with him instead. Jet told him from the start she would never belong to him; she mentioned a curse, but he was head over heels after their first encounter, and he didn't argue. When you save someone's life, they belong to you, no matter what they might say.

This time Jet had reserved the room for two nights. If she didn't do as she pleased this week, when would she ever? The one good thing about her death to come was that the curse could no longer claim the man she loved. She had taken a suite, damn the expense, and for two nights and days they could pretend they lived together, or maybe it wasn't pretense, maybe this was the realest time they had ever known.

Rafael had been a principal of a high school in Queens and since his retirement he had tutored ESL students in his neighborhood. He had a wide social circle, but he went home alone every night. Despite his friends' concerns about the solitary life he led, Rafael never married. He'd wanted more, but it wasn't possible, and in many ways they were more fortunate than most. They never quarreled and any disagreements were brief; they wanted to make the best of the time they had together and use it wisely. But when Rafael arrived at the Plaza, his instinct that there was bad news kicked in, left over from his years as a principal. For one thing, Jet had brought a stray dog along, a white scruffy pup who sat at Rafael's feet when he took off his shoes, staring into his eyes as if he were a long-lost friend.

\\\"She'll cheer you up,\\\" Jet said.

\\\"All I need is you,\\\" Rafael said mournfully, sensing that something wasn't right.

Jet sat down beside him and took his hand. For all these years she had been protecting Rafael every time she claimed she didn't love him, but now Jet told him the truth. She had loved him and only him.

\\\"I know,\\\" Rafael assured her.

\\\"And that's why Daisy is here. She'll be a companion.\\\"

That was when he'd known something terrible and unbreakable was about to befall them. They considered getting married that afternoon, since the curse could no longer do them any harm, but in the end they decided they didn't need a witness to their love. Instead, they did things any couple might have done on an ordinary day. That was what Jet wanted most. To be just another couple on the streets of New York. Oh, she knew it wasn't really possible, it never had been, but during this last time they spent together, she wanted them to be people who weren't afraid of love, who believed that the future belonged to them.

The next morning they walked through Central Park to Belvedere Castle, with Daisy tugging at her leash. From the height of the castle's craggy ledge they observed the greening canopy below. The sky turned lemon-colored, and they huddled in the castle during a quick blast of rain. Then they went arm in arm to the Boathouse for brunch, the dog hidden in Jet's purse and fed bits of toast. Jet went so far as to kiss Rafael in public, curse be damned. After that, they took the subway to Queens so that Jet could see the high school in Forest Hills where Rafael had worked. He'd had a life without her, he'd made a world for himself as a teacher and as a man, but on the train back into Manhattan she could see how lonely he would be once she was gone.

In the evening, they left the dog at the hotel and took a taxi to Waverly Place, where they sat holding hands at the best Italian restaurant in the Village. When they could eat and drink no more, they did so anyway, and ordered the famous olive oil cake with gelato. There was a mackerel sky dotted with clouds as they walked down Greenwich Avenue to number 44, the small townhouse where Jet had lived with Franny and their much-loved brother Vincent when they were young and anything seemed possible. The literary agent who'd had an office there after they'd moved out was now sadly gone, but there were still scraggly lilacs in the tiny yard. Jet closed her eyes and remembered everything. Her room on the third floor where she read so many novels, including Wuthering Heights, which she devoured three times over, Franny sitting at the kitchen table sorting out how to pay the bills when she was all of nineteen, Vincent playing guitar in his room, his reedy voice echoing.

When Jet and Rafael looked at each other in bed, they saw one another as they had been when they were young and beautiful, both with dark hair and flushed olive skin. Perhaps this was why they were still burning for each other. Or perhaps it was that the last time is beautiful and somber when it's finally understood every instant counts.

Whenever they were together, Jet thought of their first time, when she was certain that she'd lost everything and that life wasn't worth living. Each time Jet encountered young women crying in the library, or on the porch of the house on Magnolia Street, convinced there was no point in going on, she always told them that you never knew who might walk through the door. Fate worked that way. Some of what was to come was fixed, true enough, as shown in the lines on your right hand. But the lines on your left hand changed, day by day, for that was the fate you made for yourself.

When it was time to leave, Jet couldn't bring herself to wake Rafael. She wished she could stay all week, but if she remained with him for too long her heart would break; it was breaking already. She watched him sleep for a few moments, grateful to have known love despite the curse. She wasn't normal, she never could be, but Rafael hadn't seemed to mind. She left a note on the bedside table, a quote from her favorite poet. Rafael would understand. He always had. They would never be parted.

Unable are the Loved to die

For Love is Immortality.

On the train back to Boston, Daisy sat on Jet's lap and gazed out the window as they passed through the pale green marshes in Connecticut. \\\"Service dog,\\\" Jet told the conductor, and who would argue with such a dear, old lady who appeared to be crying black tears, the tears that witches cry no matter that lore says they have no hearts and are incapable of love. There were osprey nests on the tallest utility poles and one huge bird with a wingspan of five feet swooped over the lowering tide in search of fish. Tall tawny grass was growing in the rivulets, and the clouds reflected in the water. Had there ever been a marsh as beautiful? Everything you did for the last time was a miracle, no matter how ordinary. Jet had been beside Rafael while he brushed his teeth, she had taken the subway with him to Queens, she had seen the way he looked at her, as if nothing else mattered. This is the way their real life might have been if she hadn't been forced to keep vigil over the curse.

\\\"You don't have to worry about the curse anymore,\\\" she'd reassured him as they'd walked along the landscape of their past, so that it almost seemed as if they were young again and had all the time in the world.

\\\"I was never worried,\\\" Rafael told her. \\\"I've been lucky and I know it.\\\"

Franny came in from the garden with a basket of fresh parsley and mint. She stopped when she saw that her sister had returned. She could see an ashy shadow around Jet, visible only if you knew what death looked like, if you dared to peer into a black mirror and see the future of those you loved most. It was the evening of the second day and by tomorrow the color of the shadow would be more ink than ash.

\\\"Back at last,\\\" Franny said crisply. Her heart was breaking, but what good would it do to let it show?

\\\"Here I am,\\\" Jet replied. \\\"Yours for the next five days.\\\"

Mine alone, Franny thought. Beautiful, darling, dear sister. \\\"Then we should make supper,\\\" she said. We should make the most of every minute we have.

They spent nearly every moment together during the next few days, linked in thought and deed, as sisters often are. Who can you trust if not your sister? Who knows your story better than she? If you saw one Owens sister at the grocery, the other would be right beside her. If one was working in the garden, making certain the rows of herbs were weeded, her sister would be there as well, carrying a basket to collect the dandelion greens. When Jet went to visit Reverend Willard at the retirement home, Franny tagged along, even though she was the least social creature in town and had certainly never visited anyone there before. Daisy was with them, and no one at the retirement home considered giving them any trouble concerning a canine visitor, knowing if they did they'd have Franny to deal with, who had already cast a domination spell in the entry hall to ensure that people on the premises would bend to her will.

The Reverend had performed the marriage ceremony for Franny and her beloved Haylin Walker soon after Haylin was diagnosed with cancer, and due to that kindness, Franny had made allowances for the way he'd treated Jet when she was a girl, which, in point of fact, had been all but unforgivable. But forgiveness was one thing, a social call was another, and Franny simply couldn't fathom holding a cheerful conversation wedged in between emergency alerts going off for failing residents and Reverend Willard's labored breathing, for spring always affected his asthma. Franny remained on the threshold while Jet went to sit at the Reverend's bedside. That was as social as Franny got. She pursed her lips as she gazed at Reverend Willard. Things didn't look good for the old man and he had been despondent for some time. Once you are over a hundred you stop counting days. Once you've lost your son you glimpse death everywhere. All the same the Reverend let out a whoop when Daisy jumped onto his bed.

\\\"Here's my girl.\\\" He patted the dog, wholly absorbed, turning to Jet only when she politely coughed. \\\"And my other girl!\\\"

\\\"She's a grown woman.\\\" Franny reminded the Reverend, still not venturing any farther than the doorway. \\\"An old one at that.\\\" One who was spending precious time with a man who had made her life miserable long ago, but that was clearly water under the bridge to everyone but Franny. The Reverend hadn't wanted his son to have any dealings with an Owens girl because of her family, but he'd realized he'd been a bigot and over these many years he'd come to think of Jet as a daughter. Today she looked sadder than usual.

\\\"Am I dying?\\\" he asked her. They had loved the same person, that was their lasting bond.

\\\"Not yet,\\\" Jet told him. \\\"It's me this time.\\\"

\\\"So, you won't be coming to visit anymore?\\\" The Reverend was struck by emotion, his eyes and nose running.

\\\"No.\\\" Jet smiled at him with tenderness. \\\"That will be Franny from now on.\\\"

\\\"What!\\\" Franny said sharply. She'd only been half listening, but she'd paid attention when she heard her sister's remark. \\\"Not me. I'm not one for social calls.\\\"

\\\"Then one of my grand-nieces will come,\\\" Jet reassured the Reverend. \\\"Kylie or Antonia. Someone will always look in on you. And don't worry about Daisy. I've found her the perfect home.\\\"

As Jet was leaving, Reverend Willard seized her hand. \\\"Make sure it's not your sister.\\\" He spoke in a low voice, eyeing the fearsome figure at the door who was gesturing for Jet to hurry. Jet ignored Franny rushing her and took her time. Why not? She had grown to love this old man who, if fate had taken a different route, would have been her father-in-law.

\\\"It won't be,\\\" she promised.

\\\"Whoever it is, she won't be as good as you.\\\"

Franny looped her arm through her sister's as they were leaving. The world was still beautiful and they stood in the front yard of the retirement home while Daisy nosed around. There were old people sitting on wooden benches, gazing at the pink-tinged sky. \\\"Did you ever imagine you'd forgive him?\\\" Franny asked, remembering how the Reverend had made Jet's and Levi's lives intolerable when he flatly refused to allow his son to see her. He'd been a fool who judged Jet by her family's history of witchery.

\\\"I still can't forgive myself.\\\" Levi had loved her and she had brought the curse to him. \\\"Forgiveness is the most difficult undertaking.\\\"

\\\"I forgave you for being the better sister,\\\" Franny said bluntly.

\\\"Nonsense,\\\" Jet said, and because she didn't have all the time in the world, she threw her arms around her sister even though Franny was always uncomfortable in an embrace. \\\"Dear sister, that was always you.\\\"

On the fourth day, Jet and Franny went out to the greenhouse to read through the Grimoire, the thick book that was the repository of the family's magical knowledge. Their treasured Grimoire had been created in Essex, England, by Maria Owens's adopted mother, Hannah, a birthday gift when Maria was ten, old enough to study magic. The cover was the cool green-black skin of some strange leather that was said to be toad skin, a material that was both delicate and strong. Maria's original cures and spells could be found in these pages, learned in England and Curaçao, and it was here in this book that the original curse had been written down years after it had been set when Maria stood upon the gallows, having been judged to be a witch by the man she imagined she loved. There were also several pages written by Maria's daughter, Faith, who had assisted her mother in opening the library and a well-respected girls' school, thanks to the most loyal wealthy patron, Thomas Brattle, the treasurer of Harvard College who had helped to thwart the witchcraft trials, publicly refuting Cotton Mather's unprovable beliefs in spectral evidence, calling the entire episode a delusion, a man who was also rumored to be the father of Faith's two little girls, Avis and Violet.

The women in the following generations had added to the family's knowledge, including their cherished aunt Isabelle, who had invited Franny and Jet to Magnolia Street when they had no idea who they were. They'd been kept in the dark by their mother, Susannah, who had abandoned the family and its history when she was little more than a girl. The most recent pages in the Grimoire had been written over a period of fifty years by Franny and Jet, and there were remedies and enchantments Gillian had added, even though Gillian had always had less talent for magic than the others and had been mortified by her lack of skill. She was frankly jealous that magic had come to Sally so naturally, when Sally clearly had no use for such things and only craved to be normal. Sally had never written a word in the Grimoire. \\\"I'm not interested,\\\" she always said when the topic of magic was broached. \\\"I've got better things to do.\\\"

Stored beside the book was the black mirror Jet and Franny had been shown during their first summer on Magnolia Street. It was possible to see the future in this mirror, if you dared. You'd know if you had the sight when the mirror was presented; you'd see your future in bits and pieces and begin to unravel the story of your life. But stories change, depending on who tells them, and stories are nothing if you don't have someone to tell them to. Fortunately, they'd had each other. When they put the book away, they held hands and listened to the riotous birdsong in the trees. How lucky to have a sister.

They had a brother as well, one they loved dearly, the darling of their family, wild and talented, the sort of man who could do no harm and dared to fall in love when everything in their history told him he should not. That evening Jet wrote a letter to Vincent, who had disappeared after being called up to fight in Vietnam. He had managed to avoid the curse with a false death, tricking fate and setting off with his beloved William to a life that couldn't be shared with his family. Jet kept a photograph of Vincent in her bedside table drawer, along with her treasured packet of letters from Rafael. She took out her best stationery and a pen with red ink that made the white paper flush the color of roses.

Darling boy, Jet began, we have missed you every day. Whenever you can come home, do.

She addressed the letter to Vincent's great friend Agnes Durant, in Paris, then slipped the key to the house on Magnolia Street into the envelope. She and Franny walked through the gusty night to the post office, where the letter was sent off in the mailbox.

\\\"Unlikely he'll get the letter,\\\" Franny chimed in. She had written to Vincent several times and had never heard a word in return, although every year she received a card from Agnes with a bright greeting-All is fine here in France-which she supposed meant Vincent was well.

\\\"I don't know about that,\\\" Jet responded. \\\"He could always find anything. He had that talent.\\\"

\\\"When he wanted to use it,\\\" Franny sniffed. Her brother's absence still pained her. \\\"He never found us.\\\"

\\\"He couldn't, darling,\\\" Jet said. \\\"There was the curse. He had William to think of.\\\"

On the fifth day, after Sally had gone off to the library, Jet turned on the porch light and threw open the door. When the news got out that Jet was available to her neighbors, a line formed along the path and down the street. People wanted cures for rashes and indigestion, enchantments for runaway daughters and for sons who had made a wrong turn, tinctures for forgetfulness and for mean-spirited husbands, and, as always, they came for love. Jet was so busy that she enlisted Franny, who grumbled but set about gathering ingredients from the garden: leaves from their ginkgo tree, one of the oldest varieties on earth, for anxiety; turmeric as an anti-inflammatory; primrose, whose essence would be pressed into an oil that helped skin conditions and lifted the spirits; echinacea, best for the common cold; lavender, to bring wayward children home. In tall glass jars in the pantry there was mandrake, belladonna, mushrooms of all sorts, blue beads, black feathers, apple seeds, the hollow bones of birds, dove's hearts. The rush lasted until five, and by the time it was through most of the daffodils had been trampled by people who wanted to make certain they got their turn bringing their problems to Jet. Before Sally arrived home to chastise them for practicing magic, Franny chased the last of the visitors from the path and once they were gone, she switched off the light. She agreed with Sally; let the porch light be turned down forevermore.

Jet sat at the table, exhausted, in need herself of a cup of Courage Tea.

\\\"I hope you're happy,\\\" Franny said. \\\"Half the neighborhood has been here today.\\\"

Jet smiled and poured more tea. She was, indeed, happy, and because Franny couldn't fight that, she had a cup of tea as well, for courage was what they both needed now.

On the sixth day, the aunts fell silent, in a haze of disbelief. The future was less than forty-eight hours away. Still, no one had ever called them lazy, and they made good use of their time, setting about cleaning the house, which, frankly, had not been seen to for some time, so that the woodwork and drapes were dusty and the carpets had to be taken out to the porch and beaten with a broom. It was traditional to do so after a death, to prepare for the mourners and clear out anything the deceased might wish to keep private, but knowing what they knew, they had the opportunity to complete the task together before the funeral. They covered the mirrors and opened the windows to let in fresh air. Sparrows were nesting in the shrubbery and buds had appeared on the magnolias that lined the street. The sisters packed up Jet's clothing and her collection of novels, along with the batch of letters Levi had sent her when she was a girl, mostly concerning how they might manage to meet without the Reverend catching on. There was another correspondence that Jet treasured, letters tied up with blue ribbon. These were Rafael's. She gazed at them, on the brink of tears.

\\\"His?\\\" Franny said. She'd never questioned Jet about her love life. Still, she'd been curious.

Jet nodded. She thought about what might have happened if Rafael hadn't taken a part-time job as a bellman while he was going to college. \\\"Life is luck.\\\"

\\\"That it is,\\\" Franny agreed.

When they were through with the house, and the woodwork shone and the cobwebs were all swept away with a broom, they had a picnic lunch that included splurging on all of their favorite childhood foods which were too rich for them now: jam sandwiches, scones with lavender honey, cheese and chive biscuits, sliced apples with cream. Later, they walked to the cemetery where Jet wrote out a check, the final payment for the plot beside Levi Willard, whom she had loved when she was so young and hadn't any idea of what love meant. Then they went out grocery shopping for the ingredients they needed. In the morning, when Sally came into the kitchen, ready to head to the library, her aunts were baking a Chocolate Tipsy Cake, a family tradition for birthdays, weddings, and funerals ever since Maria Owens's time.

\\\"Do you know how many calories are in that?\\\" Sally said. All the same, she sat down at the table and ate the leftover batter with a spoon. \\\"What are we celebrating?\\\" she asked.

Sally looked exhausted, with dark bluish circles under her eyes. She worked too much and she hadn't conditioned her hair for ages, but she was still beautiful and, in the aunts' eyes, still their little girl.

\\\"If you can't eat chocolate cake for breakfast, what is the point of being alive?\\\" Franny said.

On the morning of the seventh day, when the ashy circle around Jet closed so that she was surrounded by a black aura and time was running out, they did exactly that. For reasons Sally could never explain to herself, nor understand, she joined her aunts at the breakfast table, and instead of her usual yogurt and blueberries, she had the biggest slice of all.

Jet insisted they all have dinner in the taproom at the Black Rabbit Inn that evening. She'd already phoned Gillian, who would fetch Kylie and Antonia and drive them up from Cambridge. Jet had made reservations as well, the rear table, far away from the fiddler who played there after six, whose mother had often come to them for a success elixir for her son, though, due to the level of his talent, there was none to be had.

\\\"Are you certain you want them all here on the seventh day?\\\" Franny asked with concern.

\\\"They'll need to be here on the eighth day, won't they? I don't want you to have to handle everything alone.\\\"

Franny had little choice but to agree. She couldn't yet bring herself to think about the eighth day and a world without Jet. Perhaps just this one time, she might need help dealing with what was to come. Although the Black Rabbit certainly would not have been her choice for a last supper; she couldn't stand the cheerful dining room, with its red-checked tablecloths and a menu of second-rate New England food: boiled potatoes, baked cod, macaroni and cheese, always burned on top, along with salads that included only shredded iceberg lettuce, and all manner of puddings for dessert, the specialty being something called cheesecake upside-down, which the kitchen had been serving to mixed reviews for more than a hundred years.

At the close of the afternoon, before the others arrived, Jet grabbed her spring coat and set out for the library.

\\\"Where do you think you're going?\\\" Franny wanted to know. The truth was she didn't wish to let her sister out of her sight. The deathwatch beetle had situated itself in the linen closet on the second floor and its clacking was louder all the time. Franny had used bug spray and set out traps laced with sugar with no success. When it came down to it, she knew this was one insect it was impossible to be rid of.

\\\"What I want most is for this to be an ordinary day,\\\" Jet explained. \\\"On an ordinary day I'd go get Sally to be certain she left the library at a decent hour.\\\"

\\\"Fine. But be at the inn by five. I'll bring the girls. Don't leave me stranded there.\\\"

Time was everything, and there was so little of it. Jet walked the long way around, stopping at the cemetery to visit Levi Willard, bringing a bunch of daffodils from the garden, yellow with orange centers dotted with inky black marks. She lay down in the grass next to his headstone and looked up at a sky clotted with clouds. She was beginning to say good-bye to the world, to all the things she loved, grass and sky, the lanes in town that were so shady and green, the library where she and Franny and Vincent would go on sultry days during their first summer in town. When she arrived, Sally was still working even though it was nearly five and they certainly didn't want to keep Franny waiting at the inn.

\\\"I need fifteen minutes to close up,\\\" Sally called when Jet came through the door. Sally was in a hurry, as always, but something made her stop and gaze into Jet's eyes. They seemed darker than usual, the pale gray flecked with black. Dear Jet, whose love and good heart were constant, appeared to be quite exhausted. \\\"Are you all right?\\\" Sally smoothed down her aunt's hair. \\\"Is that mud on your shoes?\\\"

\\\"I've been for a walk in the cemetery.\\\" On Jet's last night in the world she saw everything with clear eyes, including her beloved niece. How kindhearted Sally was. How vulnerable beneath all that bluster. Sally had been the one who had found the aunts listed in their mother's phone book, and had called clear across the country to inform them that she and Gillian would be coming to stay. Their aunts had loved them beyond measure ever since.

Sally narrowed her eyes, wondering if Jet was trying to pull a fast one. She had always been wary, certain that Jet wasn't exactly what she seemed to be. Once, in the year when she'd turned thirteen, Sally had gone so far as to follow Jet into Manhattan, breaking into a run to catch up with her outside Penn Station. Jet had surprised her by being furious.

\\\"I want one day a month to myself,\\\" Jet had said as they stood on Eighth Avenue, nearly deafened by the roar of the traffic. \\\"If I want to go to a museum or take a walk in Central Park, it's no one's business but my own.\\\"

Sally had been embarrassed and had quickly apologized. They'd gone to a coffee shop where Sally had been treated to an ice-cream soda, then she had taken the train home, leaving Jet to do as she pleased. But Sally had the sight, and she knew there was more to the story, then and now. She so rarely used her bloodline talents, that the sight came to her in little sparks, almost as if she'd had a slight electric shock. She blinked and took a step closer to her aunt. There was the scent of smoke and the ceiling above them was shadowed with a black smudge. Could it be that the room needed to be repainted? Hadn't they had the Merrill brothers do so only two years earlier?

\\\"There's something you're not telling me,\\\" Sally mused.

\\\"Gillian and the girls are joining us for the evening,\\\" Jet explained. \\\"Isn't that a lovely surprise?\\\"

\\\"Why didn't you mention it this morning? I have nothing to serve for dinner other than canned soup!\\\" Antonia was such a picky eater now that she was pregnant and Kylie was a vegetarian, and lately Sally and the aunts had mostly eaten pasta and tomato soup, quick easy meals that took no care or thought.

\\\"We're meeting Franny and having dinner at the inn.\\\"

\\\"Franny loathes the inn,\\\" Sally said, even more suspicious.

\\\"We want it to be a special night,\\\" Jet explained. \\\"We'll all be together.\\\"

\\\"Well, then, the inn it is,\\\" Sally agreed.

While Sally saw to her end of the day's duties, Jet sat down and observed the room. She took in everything she usually would have ignored: the skittering sound of mice beneath the floorboards, the clock ticking off seconds, the wind hitting against the cloudy windows. There were fingerprints on the glass cases of the rare books, and the ceiling fan spun in a cockeyed circle. She noticed that the hems of the curtains that were original to the library were decorated with an intricate pattern of moons in every phase. Funny how she'd never seen that before; she'd never looked deeply enough. Jet gazed around the room, wondering what else she had never noticed, and there it was. The bricks directly beneath Maria's framed journal page were not fitted properly. The mortar was a dark crimson. Jet crossed the room so she might place a hand on the wall. You can live a whole lifetime without knowing what was right in front of you. Seeing has little to do with opening your eyes; it's what you feel inside that counts, it's what you know without anyone telling you.

Behind the bricks there was a steady rhythm, the pulse of a book that had been hidden for more than three hundred years. Jet loosened one of the bricks by scraping a pen against mortar. She wriggled the brick back and forth until it gave way and could be pried loose. The space behind the wall was dank and icy cold. It appeared to be empty until Jet reached her hand inside. A shiver ran through her as she brought forth a small black book. The Book of the Raven.

Maria Owens might have rid the world of this slim volume, for it had nearly ruined her daughter Faith's life, but to destroy a book seemed an unnatural act, especially one written by a woman of great talent and skill. Instead of burning it, Maria had come here to the library, then set to work hiding The Book of the Raven, a dark spell book that had brought her daughter to the left-handed side of magic long ago. She'd deposited this Grimoire behind the loose bricks, mixing in three drops of her blood to seal the mortar, well aware that some things should stay hidden until they were meant to be found, for the knowledge this book held was so dark it was intended for a reader who possessed the ability to handle its power. Maria had just had a child with the man she loved and was in no position to use The Book of the Raven. In time, however, an Owens woman would discover the book, and use it as it should be used, with love and courage.

This was that time. The seventh day. Jet's last day on earth.

When she reached for the book, the binding scalded her fingertips. She could feel the darkness within the text. She knew left-handed magic when she saw it, black magic so perilous that every page was inflamed. She thought of the time her brother, Vincent, had discovered The Magus, a compilation of the history of magic first published in 1801. The Magus had shaken the bureau drawer whenever it was locked away, as if it had a life and a mind of its own. At the turn of the century it had been deemed so fearsome that copies had been burned on bonfires in Washington Square.

The Book of the Raven had been written by the first woman to publish a book in England, Amelia Bassano. Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum, her volume of poems, had been written from a woman's point of view, defending Eve, thought to have caused sin in the mortal world. Bassano had gone largely unrecognized due to her gender, but that hadn't stopped her from writing. Jet had now rediscovered this second book no one but its users knew about, Amelia Bassano's private Grimoire, an ode to the Dark Art sometimes referred to as a Book of Shadows. It was a volume made up of equal parts love and revenge, meant to help a woman in need, a woman who'd been cursed, who was in love, who was desperate, who was at the end of her life and the end of her rope. On the very first page Un desiderio was written in pale blue ink. One wish. That was what the book promised to grant its reader.

Amelia Bassano was the daughter of a Jew from Venice, from a family of musicians who had lived on the outskirts of power, attached to the court of England, where she learned more than most educated men about politics and falconry and music and myth. At the age of thirteen she'd been a mistress to Lord Hunsdon, the Queen's patron of the theater, said to be Anne Boleyn's son, and she was said to have had an affair with Christopher Marlowe, who had taught her the art of writing for the theater. Language was everything. Trust was for fools. Love came and went. Words could be stolen. There were those who said she was the Dark Lady William Shakespeare wrote about and that it was she who taught him to write plays. There had always been rumors that he had loved her, but in this book she claimed even more. She had not only taught him how to write, she had written the plays.

The last chapter of The Book of the Raven was titled \\\"How to End a Curse.\\\"

I didn't know that what you sent into the world came back to you threefold, and that I would be the one to suffer. To begin a curse is done with ease, to break it takes a great sacrifice.

Everything worthwhile is dangerous.

Jet could hear Sally returning books to the shelves in the travel section; fortunately she was too far away for her to observe Jet slip the slim volume into her coat pocket, then hastily replace the brick in the wall, her hands now stained with blood and mortar. Sally might have seen the abnormality in the wall had she been able to see the color red, but as it was, she was still disconnected from her emotions, and had walked past it daily without a glance. She'd never once noticed what was right in front of her.

Gillian and her nieces drove up from Cambridge, leaving before rush-hour traffic set in. The sky was bright and blue and the magnolias were so spectacular that people from all over the commonwealth came to gawk as soon as the buds began to bloom in creamy cups.

\\\"Home sweet home,\\\" Gillian said when she and Antonia and Kylie unfolded themselves from her black and white Mini, which, considering how huge Antonia was in the seventh month of her pregnancy, could not have fit anything more than the three women and a tray of heirloom tomato seedlings called Blue Zebra that Gillian had brought for her aunt Jet.

Jet had always been especially fond of Gillian, despite the fact that Gilly had been a wild girl who had looked for trouble in her youth, and had made certain to find it. Sally had pulled her back from the brink, and Gillian would always be grateful to her sister.

But that was long ago, and Gillian had learned her lesson. She blushed when recalling her mistakes and all those dreadful men she'd taken up with; she had long ago come to understand she was entitled to kindness and comfort. Gillian had thought she was through with love, until she'd met Ben Frye. He'd been her niece's science teacher, the opposite of the men she'd gone for in the past, steady and earnest and kindhearted. She still laughed to think he'd been attracted to her because of her ability to work complex figures in her head. Halfway through her life, she'd been lucky in love. She'd avoided the curse by following the rules. Don't live together, don't declare your love, no wedding rings, no displays of affection in public. Ben had been puzzled and somewhat hurt by these strange traditions.

\\\"Your aunt Franny didn't hide the fact that she was married,\\\" he reminded her.

Yes, but that was after her beloved Haylin had been diagnosed with stage four cancer, and once there was no cure the curse couldn't touch them.

\\\"And Sally!\\\" Ben had said. \\\"She was married twice.\\\"

And look at her, twice a widow and brokenhearted. And look at me, without a daughter, what I want most in the world.

To do their best to trick the curse, Gillian and Ben had wed simply and quietly at the courthouse and Gillian refused to have their marriage officially recorded. Whether or not they were legally married was up for debate; certainly Gillian refused to wear a ring. They lived in a two-family house in Central Square, where Gillian resided on the ground floor, while Ben took the upstairs apartment. Whenever he asked why they must live separately-neither earned much of a salary-Ben was a science teacher at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School and MIT didn't pay lab technicians a fortune and clearly it would have made more sense to live in one apartment and rent out the other-Gillian asserted that too much togetherness was certain to ruin a relationship, especially in the Owens family. In truth, they spent most nights together, and when they didn't Ben would often spy Gillian out in their small garden, sleepless and shivering, scanning the heavens, as if she might find an answer there in the night sky above them as to how the curse had found her despite her deception.

When she saw Antonia blooming in the last trimester of her pregnancy, her red hair pinned up, her freckled skin rosy and flushed, Gillian felt her heart jolt. Her one wish was to have a daughter, but now that she was forty-three she'd begun to wonder if her inability to have a child was the work of the curse. She had been to infertility specialists at Mass General and when that didn't work, she'd begged the aunts for a cure. Franny and Jet had done their best, attempting any number of traditional botanical remedies. Myrrh, juniper berries, licorice, skullcap, pennyroyal, hemlock, chamomile flowers, unicorn root taken in small doses, butterfly weed, a tea of stinging nettle to strengthen the uterus, motherwort to bolster Gillian's immune system. She had tried red clover and evening primrose oil, and the oddly named chasteberry, along with black cohosh. She ate pomegranates and olive oil, honey and cinnamon, and had even tried the ancient ritual of bringing a toad to sleep in her bed, all to no avail. Now, to explain her brimming eyes as they stood in front of the old house, Gillian told her nieces she was affected by the spring pollen in the air. Antonia and Kylie exchanged a look, for both had read that the pollen count on this day was zero.

Franny was out on the porch waiting, which wasn't at all like her. Usually, she was the last to be ready for anything. \\\"Come in. Come in,\\\" she called.

Antonia held on to Kylie's arm so she wouldn't trip on the bluestone path that led through the falling shadows. \\\"Why do they keep turning off the porch light?\\\" Antonia muttered.

\\\"That's your mother's decision,\\\" Gillian informed them. \\\"No neighbors need come to call.\\\"

\\\"Call for what?\\\" Kylie asked. The family had kept secrets from Kylie and Antonia, at Sally's insistence. To them, magic was little more than a story in a book of fairy tales.

A small dog came out, yapping at them.

\\\"What's going on here?\\\" Antonia wanted to know. \\\"Who is this creature?\\\"

It was explained that Jet was watching over Reverend Willard's dog, and that she had gone to fetch Sally and would meet them at the inn. The tomato seedlings were left in the garden, and they all traipsed into the kitchen, where half a Chocolate Tipsy Cake sat on a platter on the marble counter.

\\\"Why wait for dinner?\\\" Gillian grinned, getting some cake plates from the cabinet. \\\"We can have chocolate cake as an appetizer.\\\"

\\\"I can't eat that,\\\" Antonia scolded. \\\"All that rum? It's much too alcoholic.\\\"

\\\"Sorry.\\\" Gillian felt like a fool. Of course, a pregnant woman couldn't have rum, not the amount that was in this recipe. In many ways Antonia reminded her of Sally, so sure of herself, so logical and matter-of-fact, always wanting clear-cut evidence before she made a decision. \\\"Of course you can't,\\\" Gillian apologized.

\\\"I can,\\\" Kylie said, looping one arm around Gillian's waist. \\\"I'll have her slice, too.\\\"

Dear Kylie, who had grown so tall so fast, reaching her full height by the time she was ten, coming to her aunt Gillian to ask in a small voice if she might be a giant. In fact, she was a true beauty, with long hair that glinted copper in certain slants of light, and gray-green eyes, but she had a nervous disposition and couldn't sit still. She had been a runner in high school and it often seemed as if she might take off at a fast clip at any given moment. Men stopped on the street when they saw her, mouths open, but she never even noticed.

Kylie ate her cake with her fingers, as she had when she was five years old, in heaven from the very first bite. She still considered Chocolate Tipsy Cake to be the best dessert in the world. She wished that Gideon were here with her. He would have probably finished the rest of the cake with ease.

\\\"What are you thinking about?\\\" Franny asked her great-niece. \\\"Your face is all lit up.\\\"

\\\"Nothing,\\\" Kylie was quick to say. She was discreet about all things, taught to be so by living in a town where people tended to judge the Owenses and gossip was rampant. Her love life was her own business, not that she was making that sort of admission to anyone, not even to members of her own family. \\\"No one,\\\" she insisted even though Franny was giving her that stern look she always had when she didn't believe a word you said.

They had the best table in the dining room, thanks to Jet having helped the host with his love life several years ago. When the fiddler started up they could barely hear him, which was all for the best. \\\"Yoo-hoo,\\\" Jet called when the family arrived. \\\"We've already ordered the macaroni and cheese as a starter.\\\"

There was a great deal of hugging, but Franny was out of sorts. \\\"Seriously? The macaroni and cheese?\\\"

\\\"We never eat that,\\\" Sally said, agreeing with her aunt. \\\"It's totally unhealthy.\\\"

\\\"Well, just tonight, as a lark,\\\" Jet said. \\\"Just this once.\\\"

Jet was so apologetic and sweet, Franny felt guilty complaining about the food, which was known far and wide to be terrible, and she buried her head in the oversized menu, lest anyone see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to the inn, and most of the customers were nervous in her presence, convinced she could perceive their wrongdoings and transgressions and that they would be made to atone for thoughtless deeds by the use of witchery. One fool went so far as to send Franny a bottle of wine, hoping to win her favor, but she sent it right back, with a note scribbled on a napkin. Be faithful to your wife and you have nothing to fear.

Jet, on the other hand, was delighted to see her neighbors, many of whom had found their way to the Owenses' front door over the years in search of tonics and remedies, receiving their fair share of green magic, horseradish and cayenne for coughs, Fever Tea for flu, black mustard seed for those plagued by nightmares. Several members of the waitstaff had waved, delighted to see her, for many had been clients as well.

\\\"I wish someone had told me you were coming for dinner,\\\" Sally murmured to Gillian.

\\\"I thought you knew. Anyway, we're here now and we're staying the night.\\\"

\\\"I'm never included,\\\" Sally said, stealing a glance at her daughters.

\\\"You could be if you wanted to be,\\\" Gillian said. \\\"You're always working.\\\"

\\\"Of course, I want to be.\\\" It was true, Sally had been more and more distant, and she regretted it. She was grouchy and had become something of a loner, and that was not who she wanted to be. \\\"Let's kick the girls out of the attic and sleep up there.\\\" Long ago, Sally and Gillian had shared the attic; they'd sat out on the roof on summer nights counting stars.

\\\"Don't you look wonderful,\\\" Jet said to Antonia, who frankly was relieved that there was something to eat set out on the table. She didn't understand how it was possible for her to be so hungry, but she was and she spooned up the macaroni and cheese.

\\\"I'm uber-healthy,\\\" Antonia told her aunt. \\\"No sugar, no coffee, no alcohol.\\\"

\\\"You don't wish there was someone to help you when the baby comes?\\\" Jet wanted to know.

\\\"Women have been having babies on their own since the beginning of time, Jetty. And besides, I have Scott and Joel. We're in this together, and they're constantly on my case. I don't eat enough, apparently.\\\" Antonia took note of the worry on Jet's face. \\\"I don't need someone special, if that's what you're thinking. I'm too busy to fall in love. Besides, I'm not even sure I believe in it.\\\"

\\\"You will,\\\" Jet assured her. \\\"It will make a mess of things and your life will never be the same, but it will happen. No one is immune.\\\"

It was lovely to all be together, but as time wore on, Jet realized that the beetle had followed her and was now directly beneath her chair. She could hear it chirping, more softly now, as if it barely had any energy. The time had nearly come.

Jet would never know the end of Kylie's story, her darling great-niece who had been such a charming, awkward child, who loved to work in the garden and get dirty, who borrowed Jet's novels and sprawled out on the window seat below Maria Owens's portrait to read Wide Sargasso Sea and Jane Eyre. She would never get to meet Antonia's child, or spend summer afternoons with her beloved Gillian, canning tomatoes or making soap as they did every year in the old cauldron they set up at the rear of the garden. She wouldn't get to see Sally fall in love, the sort of love that would take up her whole heart, so that she didn't hold anything back the way she had even with that wonderful Gary, the kind of love Jet had found with Rafael, despite the fact that they were forced to hide from the curse. Life was like a book, Jet thought, but one you would never finish. You would never know how people would wind up; the good often suffered and the wicked prospered and there was no explanation for the way in which fate was meted out as there was in novels. Fiction made sense of the world, perhaps that was why Jet had been a fanatical reader as a girl. When Levi Willard died, so tragically and before his time, novels had saved her. Sometimes, when the world looked especially gloomy, Jet returned to the ones that had helped her through her darkest hours. Wuthering Heights, The Scarlet Letter, and Fahrenheit 451, her favorite, a love letter to books.

\\\"I'm tired.\\\" Jet explained as she called for the check. \\\"We've had a long day.\\\"

Franny paled when she heard this. It was the evening of the seventh day, the time she had dreaded ever since the bees appeared. They left through the bar and perhaps Jet couldn't quite bear for their night to end. She stopped to order a whiskey. For what was to come, she needed strength.

\\\"Good idea,\\\" Gillian said, calling over the bartender, a fellow named Jed who swore they had dated in high school, though Gillian, for the life of her, couldn't remember him.

\\\"Seriously?\\\" Sally said to Jet, disbelieving. \\\"You don't drink.\\\"

\\\"Now and then.\\\" Jet shrugged. \\\"It helps me sleep.\\\" As a matter of fact, the whiskey was delightful, tasting of smoke and wood.

\\\"Why not?\\\" Franny, who had never once ordered anything at the bar of the Black Rabbit, relented and joined her sister in a toast. It was their last night after all. They might as well do as they pleased. \\\"To us,\\\" Franny said.

Jet nodded. \\\"Always and forever.\\\"

Antonia and Kylie stood at the bar, Antonia because her belly wouldn't fit in the space allotted when perched on a barstool, and Kylie to keep her company.

\\\"Something for you, ladies?\\\" Jed the bartender asked, though he was still gazing at Gillian.

\\\"I'm pregnant and she's underage,\\\" Antonia answered. \\\"So, no.\\\"

\\\"Thanks,\\\" Kylie said to her sister. \\\"I was just about to get my first Black Rabbit martini.\\\"

Gillian overheard and came over to order one, letting Kylie have a sip. \\\"Happy now?\\\" Gillian asked. The martinis at the Black Rabbit were especially dreadful.

Kylie made a face and pushed the glass away. \\\"Why do people drink these?\\\"

\\\"To get drunk,\\\" Gillian said. \\\"There's no other reason.\\\"

\\\"Do you get the feeling something isn't right?\\\" Antonia asked their aunt.

Gillian looked past Sally, who was paying for the drinks, to the end of the bar where the aunts were on their second round of whiskeys.

\\\"It all ends,\\\" she said for some reason. There was no point in getting moody, so she shook her head, snapped her fingers, and grinned. \\\"Even a night at the Black Rabbit.\\\"

By the time they turned onto Magnolia Street, the aunts were tipsy. The magnolias had bloomed early this year, the white and mauve cups of petals high above them in the dark on twisted black branches.

How lucky, Jet thought. How I wish I had all the time in the world.

Franny and Jet walked slowly, their arms linked, taking so long to reach their corner, Sally had a feeling of dread when she turned to look over her shoulder. Her beloved aunts were old. She'd thought they were old when she was a little girl, for back then anyone over forty had seemed ancient. Now she was nearly to the middle of her forties, likely the age the aunts had been when she and Gillian arrived, and Jet and Franny were in their eighties. Franny carried an umbrella these days for she'd be damned if she used a cane and her knee had been bothering her, despite applications of lavender oil. As for Jet, she seemed both exhausted and jittery, a worrisome combination.

\\\"I'll just have a little rest,\\\" Jet said once they reached home.

\\\"What is wrong with her?\\\" Gillian asked Sally after Jet had retired to her room, the Reverend's dog at her heels. It was barely seven.

\\\"I don't know,\\\" Sally said. \\\"I'm worried.\\\" If she had allowed herself to call up the sight, she might have known exactly what was happening, but it had been many years since she'd accessed any magic, and like all things that aren't used, her talent had begun to waste away.

Franny reached to stroke Sally's hair, which was not at all like her. She was not the touchy-feely sort. Not one bit. \\\"She just needs some peace and quiet.\\\"

Jet was already behind her locked bedroom door, sitting at her desk, another woman's spell book open before her, a rare occurrence, for such books were meant to be burned upon the death of the writer, unless there was a family member to inherit the text. Jet understood that the Owens family beginnings were in England, in a rural area they referred to as the first Essex County since they lived in the second, which had been named by the Pilgrims for the home across the sea they had left.

The Book of the Raven had escaped destruction since the time it had been hand-printed in London, in 1615. On the first page, in sloping script, was the name Faith Owens, for Faith had found the volume in a New York City market. It begins at the beginning, had been written on the very first page. Below that line there was a quote from William Shakespeare, who had written of his admiration and desire for Amelia Bassano.

Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

How to exact revenge, how to break another's heart, how to cause a rival to fall ill, how to escape from a cruel man, how to set fires without touching a candle, how to make figures of wax and cloth and blackthorn and scarlet thread that would cause grave results to an intended enemy, how to bring on a curse, and more important, how to end it. Near the end of the book, there was a warning. To end a curse, be prepared to give up everything. There was always a price to pay, one higher than anyone might have imagined. All the same, there would always be women in such dire situations they were willing to yield to the left side, those who had no choice, who had been trapped, chained, reviled, cast aside, cursed.

There were blisters on Jet's fingers that had risen from touching the last page. A line of invisible writing revealed itself.

When you are ready and have nothing to lose. When you are unafraid. When you wish to save someone else more than you wish to save yourself.

It was only when Jet read the last line of the curse-breaker that she realized just how dangerous the book was. The price of using it was far too dear for most practitioners. In good faith, she could not leave this book in her room for Franny to find. She wished she could be the one to break the curse, but because it was her seventh day, only someone else could complete what she had begun. She did what she must with great haste, knowing that time would not wait. She took a pot of paste she used whenever she attached samples of herbs or plants to the Grimoire. It was strong stuff, made of bird bones and black stones and, once it had set, was impossible to remove unless you knew the secret to doing so. She glued the last two pages together, so that the dangerous remedy would be hidden, and set a privacy spell upon the last section of the book so that no one would accidentally stumble upon it. At last, she scrawled a note that she folded in between the pages of The Poems of Emily Dickinson, always kept on her night table. If Franny ever did use the curse-breaker, she would have to search for it, and perhaps it would be better if The Book of the Raven was never found again.

Jet left the dog behind and went downstairs, and while Sally was asking Franny what might have caused Jet to retire so early, with Gillian assuring her that it was likely the effects of the whiskey, and Franny keeping her knowledge of the future to herself, Jet lifted her coat from the peg in the hallway. She could hear the deathwatch beetle clacking at her feet as she swept up Sally's set of keys to the library before stepping outside. Jet felt she had never been as wide awake nor as focused on her surroundings. The rustling of the gauzy leaves on the trees. The birds in the thickets, waking as she passed by. She hurried as fast as she could. The beautiful world was already slipping away.

Jet was gone less than an hour, the beetle following along on the dark, windy street, a shadow it was impossible to dodge. Franny was waiting at the gate when her sister returned. Daisy was beside her waiting as well, barking, comforted only when Jet lifted her up. Both Sally and Gillian had gone up to bed, sharing the attic room where they'd grown up, with Kylie and Antonia each taking spare bedrooms on the second floor that were usually considered too fancy for family, not that they ever had any other guests.

Franny had been out on the porch the entire time, pacing. \\\"You weren't in your bed,\\\" she said accusingly. She didn't usually fuss, but her deep worry showed now.

\\\"One last look around town. Remember the day we first came here with Vincent? When everyone on the street stared at us?\\\"

\\\"We were worth staring at,\\\" Franny said. \\\"We were marvelous.\\\"

They went into the garden. There were the old wicker chairs, near the herb garden. There was the beehive, empty now. Long ago their aunt Isabelle had raised brown and white chickens and they'd loved to collect the blue speckled eggs, warm in their hands. They'd had a dozen cats, every single one black, but all had grown old and died. The greenhouse was padlocked shut and the cloudy glass shone. Everything was white as parchment in the light of the moon. They held hands and scanned the sky as pale moths flitted up from the damp grass. Once upon a time there were two sisters, as different from each other as night and day. In their family a sister was everything, your heart and soul, and here they were together on the last evening of Jet's life, grateful to be so. Oh, seven days. Oh, beautiful world. Oh, how lucky they were.
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Chapter I

Some stories begin at the beginning and others begin at the end, but all the best stories begin in a library. It was there that Jet Owens saw her fate in a mirror behind the reference desk. Even in her eighties, Jet was still beautiful. Each day she washed with the black soap the family prepared in March during the dark phase of the moon, with every bar then wrapped in crinkly cellophane. Jet had no aches or pains and had never been ill a day in her life, but fate is fate and it can often be what you least expect it to be. On this day, when the daffodils had begun to bloom, Jet saw that she had seven days to live.

The deathwatch beetle had begun to call from within the walls of the Owens Library, a sound that often went unnoticed until it was so loud it was all a person could hear. When your time came, the black beetle would withdraw from hiding and follow you everywhere, no matter where you went. Its presence meant that the past was over and the future no longer existed. This was the moment that revealed how you had walked through the world, with kindness or with fear, with your heart open or closed. It had taken this long for Jet to appreciate that every instant was a marvel. Now everything she saw was illuminated. The sun streaming through the library windows in fierce bands of orange light. A moth tapping at the glass. The sweep of the branches of one of the last elm trees in the commonwealth, which shadowed the library’s lawn. Some people unravel or run for shelter when their time has come, they curse their fate or hide under their beds, but Jet knew exactly what she wished to do in the last days she’d been granted. She didn’t have to think twice.

Long ago, the library had been a jail where Maria Owens, the first woman in their family to set foot in Massachusetts in 1680, had been confined until the judges announced she would be hanged. Those were the days when witchery was forbidden and women were harshly punished, judged to be dangerous creatures if they talked too much, or read books, or did their best to protect themselves from harm. People said Maria could turn herself into a crow, that she had the ability to enchant men without ever speaking to them directly and to compel other women to do as they pleased, so that they were willing to forsake their proper place in society and in their own families. The court set out to destroy Maria and nearly did, but she could not be drowned, and she did not back down. She blamed love for her undoing, for she’d chosen the wrong man, with dire consequences. Just before the rope that was meant to end her life snapped, and she was miraculously saved, Maria called out a curse upon love.

Beware of love, she had written on the first page of her journal, now exhibited in the library, a display mothers in town often brought their teenaged daughters to view before they started dating. Beware of love that was dishonest and disloyal, love that would lie to you and trick you, love that could break you and condemn you to sorrow, love that could never be trusted. If Maria Owens had been less rash, she might have realized that when you curse another, you curse yourself as well. Curses are like knots, the more you struggle to be free, the tighter they become, whether they’re made of rope or spite or desperation. Maria invoked an enchantment to protect the generations to follow, with her daughters’ and great-granddaughters’ best interests at heart. For their own safety, they must avoid love. Those who failed to abide by this rule would find that engagements would be tragic, and marriages would end with funerals. Over the years, many of those in the Owens family had found ways to outwit the curse, always an intricate and risky endeavor. All the same, a person could trick fate if she dared, she could change her name, never admit her love, skip a legal union, vanish from view, or, for those who were careless and wild, simply plunge in and hope for the best, knowing that sooner or later everyone had to face her own destiny.

Maria’s journal pages had been up on the wall of the library for more years than anyone could remember. Certainly, they had been there when Jet and her sister, Franny, were girls, and came here on muggy heat-laden summer days, waiting for their lives to begin, learning the truth about themselves from the town records and from their beloved aunt Isabelle. The family had a history of witchery, inherited in every generation, and had practiced the Nameless Art. They were bloodline witches, genetically predisposed to magic, with a lineage to ancestors who possessed the same sacred gifts. For those who tried to escape their heritage, it soon became clear that they couldn’t run away from who they were. A person could do her best to be ordinary and fit in, but the past could not be refuted, even when it was hidden from children thought to be too tender to know the truth. You didn’t choose magic, it chose you; it bloomed inside you, blood and bones. And a curse, once spoken, could not be denied. All the same, fate was what you made of it. You could make the best of it, or you could let it make the best of you. On this evening when she saw the truth in the library, Jet Owens decided she would do her best to change her family’s destiny.

It was dusk when Jet and her niece Sally walked home from the library, as they did nearly every evening. Sally and her husband and daughters had moved into the old family house when the aunts’ aging became noticeable, and she had been happy to settle into the place she couldn’t wait to escape from as a girl. Sally had two wonderful girls, Kylie and Antonia, but both were now off at school, and her sister, Gillian, lived in Cambridge quite near to the girls, where she worked in a lab at MIT, so it was only Sally, now a widow, who still resided with her aunts in that big tilted house with the black shutters on Magnolia Street, where a fierce iron fence circled an enormous parcel of land the gardeners in town all envied, for it was here that the first daffodils pushed through the earth and where herbs grew between patches of ice in March, a month before they appeared anywhere else. Already the bramble of blackberries along the gate was beginning to green, and the lilacs, which would bloom in shades of violet and deep purple and white, were filling in with their flat heart-shaped leaves.

Unfortunately, Sally Owens couldn’t hold on to love and everyone knew it. She’d been a victim of her family’s curse, not once but twice. She was quite young when she first married, a forbidden act that could only end badly. Her husband Michael, a school friend and the father of her girls, had been a local boy and the first to ask her out; he was cursed with an untimely death, a victim of bad luck and bad weather, struck by lightning. Sally didn’t speak for a year after his death, but she tried again with her second husband, Gary Hallet, a man she could depend on until he’d passed on a few years after their marriage. Gary had been afflicted with a childhood congenital heart disease that had finally caught up to him, but Sally was convinced his death had been activated by the family curse, for Gary had always seemed to be as healthy as he was strong. He had come from Arizona to work on the local police force, preferring a horse to a patrol car, and he and his tall good-natured bay, Jack, were known and beloved in town. Gary would rather give someone a second chance than arrest him, and the children in town begged to visit old Jack at the police stable on the far side of Endicott Street, bringing sugar cubes and carrots.

How was it possible for a man like Gary Hallet to kiss his wife good night, close his eyes, and never wake again? His horse had died of grief two nights later, lying down on the earthen floor of the stable. Sally was stunned and devastated, and some people said she had lost a piece of her heart. Certainly, she seemed transformed. When she did say hello to her neighbors, which was rare, she made it perfectly clear she preferred to be left in peace. Sally had returned to school for her degree in library science at Simmons University, and now, at the age of forty-four, she was the director of the Owens Library. The only other employee was Sarah Hardwick, who had worked at the library for over sixty years, and who still made it a point of leaving every day at five o’clock on the dot, which allowed her to stop by the Black Rabbit Inn and have a cocktail at her regular time. Often, she didn’t report back until ten in the morning, especially if she’d had more than one drink. Sally didn’t begrudge Miss Hardwick the need to come in late and leave early at her age, and she didn’t mind the hours she spent working alone in the library, late into the evenings. She did her best to be helpful when she checked out books, or assisted students from the local high school, but everyone knew Sally Owens was embittered, and even more standoffish than she’d been as a girl.

The curse had ruined Sally’s life, and she had decided not to reveal the Owens fate to her daughters. They knew bits, of course, and there was a scrim of magic over the house on Magnolia Street; the famous garden, the dangerous plants locked away in the greenhouse, the sparrow that arrived at midsummer. Still, the word witchery was never spoken out loud. Sally knew that her great-grandmother Susannah Owens had also kept the truth of their heritage from her children, setting out a series of rules to ensure they would avoid magic. Sally felt a kinship with Susannah, and when she found her great-grandmother’s rules jotted down in an old diary, she made use of them. No swimming, no books about magic, no candles, no sitting out on the roof and gazing at stars, no wearing black, no walking in the moonlight. In Sally’s opinion a life without magic was preferable, and she had done her best to ensure that her daughters wouldn’t live with the cloud of the curse above them, spying danger in every kiss. When the time came, if and when one of the girls teetered on the verge of falling in love, Sally would step in and put a stop to it, as she wished she had done when her sister, Gillian, had fallen for the man whose name was never said aloud for fear he’d be called back from the dead. Thankfully, neither Antonia nor Kylie seemed to have any romantic inclinations. Perhaps the curse would never be a problem for them and they’d be safe after all. Kylie spent all her time with her best friend, Gideon Barnes, and Antonia was clearly a workaholic, even now that she was pregnant. There was no partner in the picture and when asked who the father of her unborn child was, Antonia merely shrugged and said it was a long story, which in truth it was not. She had dated Scott Morrison in high school, but she had always preferred women and had several girlfriends, many of whose hearts were broken without Antonia even trying to accomplish that task. Antonia was a confident, calm young woman of twenty-three, a redhead who didn’t possess the same fierce temperament as Franny, the sort of person you would want beside you in an emergency, and no one was surprised when she announced that emergency medicine was the specialty she wished to pursue. Whenever she heard a siren on the street, she broke into a run, ready to offer help, for she was and always had been a natural healer; the more urgent the problem, the more focused she was on a cure.

Antonia didn’t understand why people thought she was a bit tone deaf in matters of the heart when she was simply more preoccupied by her studies. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if she believed in love, but she definitely believed in children, as did Scott, who was two years ahead of her at med school, in a long-term relationship with another doctor, Joel McKenna. They agreed they would all make terrific parents, especially if they raised the child together.

As for Sally, she had worn black ever since her husband Gary’s death and had a closet filled with dark, austere dresses, cotton for spring and summer, wool for the colder seasons. With her silky black hair pinned up, and her black coat flaring out behind her, Sally looked like a ghost on evenings when she walked home from the Owens Library with her aunt, with heaps of new leaves falling from the trees as she passed by. She closed the shutters on sunshiny days and favored large dark glasses that made her expression impenetrable. When she lingered on the porch in the evenings, not wishing to go up to her lonely bedroom, she rocked back and forth in an old wicker chair as the dusk settled around her, not realizing that she was frightening the neighborhood children who came upon her in the falling dark. The children who glimpsed Sally Owens on cold, crisp evenings shared their opinion that she was a witch who could turn herself into whatever she wished to be—a cat or a crow or a she-wolf—and that they had best not talk too much or have too much fun when she had them in her sights. Most people in town considered Sally to be unpredictable and irritable and there were those who insisted it was best not to cross her or she would hex you in the blink of an eye. Sally paid no attention. Let the neighbors gossip, let them cross the street when they spied her, she couldn’t care less. The Owens women had a habit of doing as they pleased no matter what people might say, and she would continue to do so.

This week, as spring neared, Sally had decided to turn out the light on the porch, which had been kept on for three hundred years, assuring women in need of assistance that they were welcome to call. Enough was enough, in Sally’s estimation. Let the neighbors go elsewhere for cures. Soon after, the gate was latched, the front door bolted, and thorny vines clung to the skirts of anyone who tried to pass by on the bluestone path. If a remedy was needed, for health or love or revenge, the best clients could do was wait on the sidewalk outside the fence, hoping that Franny Owens, or more likely dear Jet, would venture out on the way to the market or the drugstore and stop long enough to listen to their woes. Perhaps, if they were lucky, one of the aunts would grant them an elixir, stored in the pantry or in the greenhouse, well out of Sally’s sight. Star tulip to decipher dreams, blue beads for protection, garlic, salt, and rosemary to dispel evil, or the most sought-after cure, Love Potion Number Nine, which consisted of anise, rosemary, honey, and cloves, all simmered for nine hours and always costing $9.99. Jet would never charge a penny more, and she made certain to remind the buyer that the spell worked best on the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month. On some nights, neighborhood women stood in the dark in front of the Owens house, their hands clutching the iron fence, with jewelry or cash in their purses, in need of assistance in matters of love or health or revenge. Often the aunts were already in bed, still the women stayed, ever hopeful, and there were times when Sally had to step over them on her way to work in the morning, for some truly desperate clients fell asleep on the sidewalk, dreaming of cures they would never receive.

Sally had become so closed off that she had recently lost the ability to see the color red, a side effect of severing one’s emotions. One morning she woke and that color was simply gone from the palette of her vision. Anything that had once been scarlet or crimson or cherry or coral had turned a splotchy gray. As far as Sally was concerned, good riddance. She didn’t mind the loss of red in her life one bit. Who needed a color as bright and disturbing as red? Red blossoms, red heart, red magic, red love. Even though spring had begun, for Sally the month of March was muted and blurry, a world of black and white. She didn’t care that she could no longer spy cardinals perched in the trees, or that the red tulips in the greenhouse forced into an early bloom were the color of dust. Sally felt quite sensible observing the world through a scrim of gloom.

Though Jet didn’t work in the library officially, she was a great favorite with the youngest patrons. She had the ability to know what people were thinking, and therefore understood that boys who were rude were usually fearful and that quiet girls often had a lot to say. She frequently stopped by to help young people choose books, guiding them to stories that contained magic of the best sort, practical magic that was folded into the everyday world, tales in which people stumbled into enchantments, often while walking down the street in their own hometown, or when they stepped into closets that contained other worlds, or waited for a train that would take them to a place they’d never before imagined.

“All you need is patience,” Jet told Sally when she threw up her hands each time she was faced with disruptive behavior from middle-school visitors who gathered in groups, lounging at the tables as if they were in their own homes.

Sally had been an excellent mother, but nowadays she was strict and rarely smiled anymore, and children are always put off by a rigid sensibility. Her own daughters had chafed under the household rules, but the rules were the rules, and Sally would not have them be broken. She’d taped up a laminated list at the reference desk in the library. No running, no shouting, no gathering in groups, no pets, no bare feet, no crying when you didn’t get the book you most wanted to read. She didn’t blame the children for avoiding her, preferring Jet or Miss Hardwick. She had turned away from the world and its sorrows and there were times when she walked past a mirror and could have sworn she saw the image of her aunt Franny rather than her own. Those cold gray eyes; that frown. Surely, she had inherited Frances Owens’s no-nonsense attitude; she was curt and didn’t easily suffer fools. She sometimes heard Franny’s voice inside her head, or worse, she heard herself speaking phrases Franny had long ago imparted to her, blunt advice that pulled no punches. Courage or caution? Why on earth would you want to be normal? What fun would that be?

When their parents had died, and Sally and Gillian had come to the house on Magnolia Street, they’d both been terrified of Franny, intimidated by her wild hair and her red boots and her freckled complexion and her clipped conversation, and they’d secretly called her the mean aunt. But when Sally wept in bed at night, it was Franny who came upstairs to sit beside her. She didn’t offer silly, meaningless words of comfort, but instead stroked Sally’s long, dark hair and told her that in the morning they would have chocolate cake for breakfast, and they always did.

Although Sally considered herself to be a logical woman, she knew there was more to this world than could be seen with the naked eye. Ever since childhood she’d been convinced that a dark brand of bad luck followed at her heels, a wicked spell she couldn’t diffuse, not with sage or garlic or salt. It was after her, there was no doubt about it. The Owens curse stalked her even though she was determined to avoid magic. Oh, she had tried, but no matter how ordinary her life might be, the curse hung on as if it were an obstinate dog that refused to loosen its bite even when she tried to shake it off. Now, as Sally and Jet walked through town, Sally realized that a little dog was, indeed, pursuing them, as though it had read her mind, validating her theory that a hex and a wild dog were equally difficult to be rid of. The one following them was a scraggly white thing with sharp black eyes. Sally soon recognized it as the stray that had been hanging around trash barrels behind the library for several days, one wily enough to escape every time animal control was called in.

“I can’t seem to catch that dog,” Sally said. Now that her girls were grown, with Kylie a sophomore and Antonia in her second year of medical school, both at Harvard, and with Antonia pregnant, nearly a mother herself, Sally often stayed at the library after hours. What was the point of leaving? She would have preferred to eat a sandwich at her desk and would likely have forgotten to come home entirely, choosing to work through the night, had Jet not come for her at the end of the day.

“I think it’s Daisy,” Jet said thoughtfully as she observed the dog.

Once you knew that death was walking alongside you, things came into focus, as they now did for Jet. With only seven days left she had best pay attention to every detail. She had already taken note that the lines on her right palm, showing the fate that she’d been given, and those on the left hand, the fate she had made for herself, were exactly the same; they had converged, as they always do at the end of a life. Jet’s gift of the sight had intensified. She could envision the dog’s heart beating under its tangled fur, just as she saw the slow unfolding of black leaves on the last surviving elm trees in Essex County. The Reverend Willard had owned a dog resembling this one before he’d been forced into residing at the retirement home on Endicott Street. The Willards and the Owenses were all descendants of a witch-finder and a witch, John Hathorne and Maria Owens on the Owens’ side, and a granddaughter of Hathorne and a relation of John Proctor, hanged as a witch when he tried to protect an innocent woman brought to trial, on the Willards’ side. Although there had been centuries of distrust, Jet had managed to change that after her beloved Levi Willard’s death when she knocked at the Reverend’s door, refusing to allow him to turn her away until they set the situation right. The Reverend had passed his hundredth birthday and could no longer care for himself, let alone a dog, and it was said that his little Maltese had run off and was now dodging around town, eating from garbage cans, sleeping on porches, begging for food from children exiting the school bus. Wary, the dog ducked beneath the thickets, but Jet stopped and waved cheerfully. “Come here, Daisy,” she called. “I think she belongs to the Reverend.”

“You don’t want a dog,” Sally reminded her aunt. “You’re a cat person.”

True enough. Jet had had a series of adored black cats when she was younger, all named for birds, including Magpie and Goose and Crow. Yet when Daisy, if indeed it was she, began to approach, Jet felt something prick her heart. She bent to pick up the dog and when she held it she could feel its jumpy heartbeat next to her own. She remembered being told that you didn’t choose a familiar, it chose you. In truth, Jet felt comforted by Daisy’s presence. Life of any sort was marvelous. She saw that now.

“Are you sure?” Jet murmured to the dog. She had only a few days left, after all, and couldn’t pledge to oversee Daisy’s future. All the same, the Reverend’s dog settled in against her, clearly pleased to be carried along, although it didn’t make eye contact. That was curious. A familiar saw inside you. It was then Jet realized she was only a temporary caretaker. Daisy was meant for someone else.

“Here we go.” Sally’s tone was gloomy. She had no patience for anything these days. Although she looked far younger than her age, likely due to the miraculous black soap the Owenses had concocted from a family recipe since the 1600s, when it had been useful in treating those infected with the plague in a time when simply washing one’s hands made a world of difference, with ingredients that were disinfectants, including rosemary, lavender, and mint. Sally distrusted the world, an attitude that aged a person beyond her years. Soap couldn’t fix that. “One thing will lead to another,” Sally told her aunt, “and the end result will likely be fleas.”

Jet patted the dog and didn’t argue. She had always loved the month of March, though it was wild and unpredictable, evoking hope as the wintry brown world began to flourish. Jet felt extremely grateful to experience it this one last time. Everything was greening and the hedges had a fresh, peppery scent. There was a chill in the blue air, yet daffodils were pushing up through the damp, black earth, and in the Owenses’ garden they had already bloomed. Oh, what a beautiful, unexpected world this was.

“Be prepared. Franny will have a fit if you bring a dog home,” Sally continued to warn her aunt as they walked along past the Black Rabbit Inn. Tonight the special was chicken pot pie, but most of the regulars were concentrating on whiskey. A fiddler was playing enthusiastically in the bar. It was the kind of rousing, rowdy song Gary would have liked. Once he’d moved to Massachusetts, he’d missed the desert where he’d grown up, and the untamed country he’d known. He enjoyed standing outside with Sally before they went to bed to gaze at the stars and point out constellations, even in the dead of winter. Gary had never believed in curses or bad luck, and he’d considered fairy tales to be stories for children. Sally had loved his fearless attitude and the way he’d made her feel so safe, even though she knew that the world was, and always had been, a dangerous place. What was wicked grew with the ferocity of the bramble; cut it down, and it rose up again with even deeper roots.

Now, on the way home, Sally linked an arm through Jet’s. She always softened when in the presence of her aunt Jet, who was the most kindhearted among them. Gillian had voiced a hunch that there must be an irregularity in Jet’s DNA, and some unexpected genes had rendered her a huge heart, absent in most of their relations. Gillian should know; she worked in a lab at MIT researching genetics, a subject that had come to obsess her. She was convinced that somewhere in their past there had been an ancestor who had been as kind as their aunt, perhaps the same person from whom Jet had inherited her striking good looks.

Warmer weather was predicted for the rest of the week, and Jet’s seven days marked the start of a season that was always a delight in Massachusetts. All through the long winter people waited for a sign for the first surge of spring. The green bark of a lilac. The murmur of a dove in the yard. While there was still a scrim of ice on Leech Lake, people came down with spring fever that made them act as if they were young again; they took risks, they stayed out late, they fell in love unexpectedly. This was the month when teams began to play softball in the high school field and music flooded out from open windows as children practiced scales at pianos that had been ignored all winter long. There was an extra hour of daylight, so glorious and so needed after the many months of darkness.

Jet could hear the hum of the first of the season’s bees as they neared the house on Magnolia Street with its black shutters and tilted roof slates and dozens of windows made of old, wavering green glass. She came to a halt when they turned a corner, well aware that people had long believed that whenever bees swarmed outside a house, a resident was sure to die. Hundreds were now circling the porch in a buzzing whirlwind of yellow. There was Franny, out in the chilly dusk without a coat, a broom in her hands, doing her best to bat them away.

“You’re going to be stung!” Sally called to her tall, fearsome aunt who had always shone with a beauty all her own. Franny Owens was in her eighties but her hair had a red tone, and although people whispered she had it dyed in a salon in Boston or magicked away the gray with a mixture of blood and potent herbs, all it took to keep the color was a rinse of madder root every once in a while.

Jet set down the dog and went directly to her sister. “We need the bees,” Jet said in a no-nonsense voice. She pried the broom from Franny’s hands and let it drop to the ground. “Franny, that’s enough.”

The sisters gazed into one another’s eyes. They’d always been able to read each other but now Franny was baffled by what she saw. She glimpsed herself in the future, there in their garden alone, and then, with a quickening breath, she understood.

“No,” she said.

This is how it happened, on an ordinary night when Franny had planned to read a book after supper, she had Virginia Woolf’s The Waves on her night table, then go early to bed. She had assumed life would remain as it was, with nothing daring to change, but all at once it had become an anguished night of bees, of a mad swarm around them, of her sister already wrested away from her, gazing into the world to come that was written in the constellations spinning above them. There was the Winter Triangle, which would fade away by the end of the month, as it always did at this time of year. Franny understood this was how loss began. She had been here before, but then, like anyone else, she had forgotten this is what happened, that things ended when you least expected them to, that you could not protect those you loved from nature and fate.

Sally had come up beside her aunts. She would likely have to call the exterminator in the morning, for once bees got into a house they might just decide to stay there and then honey would be dripping through the ceiling and down the walls. In the garden, the sprouting herbs were already letting off clouds of scent: marjoram, lavender, rosemary. There was always plenty of Spanish garlic, traditional to harvest in great abundance. There was chickweed, and feverfew, and juniper with the last of its berries. The dog was sniffing around, making itself at home.

“Did you see what we picked up on the way home?” Sally asked Franny. When her aunt looked blank, Sally laughed. Franny did have a way of ignoring the townspeople, as did she, and she’d likely never noticed the dog before. “Daisy. The Reverend’s dog?”

“To hell with the Reverend’s dog,” Franny said, turning to stalk past the plumy weeds on her way into the rear of the garden where they kept a beehive. It was empty. When she tapped on the sides it rattled and then Franny knew. Their very own bees had announced the death to come. There was no denying what would happen. One of their family. One of their own.

“I told you she wouldn’t be happy about this.” Sally glared at the dog, but Jet was no longer beside her. She had gone after her sister, her dear Franny, who was as different from her as night was from day, but whom she had always loved beyond all reason.

On the first day of her last week on earth, Jet went to New York, taking the train from Boston’s South Station. Because it was a lovely afternoon when she arrived in Manhattan, she walked uptown to the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street. She’d brought Daisy along, tucked into a shoulder bag on the train, now leashed and free to gleefully smell the scents that greeted her when they left Penn Station. Jet had made this trip once a month for the past sixty years, and the older employees who worked at the hotel always recognized her and were happy to greet her. When she’d first come here, the Oak Room had refused to serve women at lunch, but that all changed in 1969 when Betty Friedan and fifteen other members of National Organization for Women decided enough was enough and refused to leave. For years afterward, Jet would frequent the Oak Bar, lingering until it was time to go upstairs for the one night she waited for all month long.

When she walked in with the dog under her arm, no one behind the desk asked any questions. They never had. She was always without a suitcase, and simply packed a nightgown, some undergarments, and a change of clothes into her purse. This time she had brought along a tote bag containing dog food. She always paid cash.

More than six decades earlier, Jet had been a bewitching, dark-haired girl who had registered at this very hotel in order to do away with herself. She had lost her first love, Levi, the Reverend’s son, in a car accident that seemed triggered by the curse, a horrific collision that had claimed her parents’ lives as well. She’d seen no reason to go on and was certain that the world no longer was a place in which she wished to reside.

Her fate changed when a young bellman noticed she had checked into the Plaza without a suitcase. People without luggage most often had one of two things in mind: an affair or suicide, although occasionally there was a third possibility when a novelist arrived, desperate for inspiration, and always asking for the cheapest room. Rafael Correa was the bellman who had noticed Jet. He had stopped her, begging her to reconsider her plans and have room service with him instead. Jet told him from the start she would never belong to him; she mentioned a curse, but he was head over heels after their first encounter, and he didn’t argue. When you save someone’s life, they belong to you, no matter what they might say.

This time Jet had reserved the room for two nights. If she didn’t do as she pleased this week, when would she ever? The one good thing about her death to come was that the curse could no longer claim the man she loved. She had taken a suite, damn the expense, and for two nights and days they could pretend they lived together, or maybe it wasn’t pretense, maybe this was the realest time they had ever known.

Rafael had been a principal of a high school in Queens and since his retirement he had tutored ESL students in his neighborhood. He had a wide social circle, but he went home alone every night. Despite his friends’ concerns about the solitary life he led, Rafael never married. He’d wanted more, but it wasn’t possible, and in many ways they were more fortunate than most. They never quarreled and any disagreements were brief; they wanted to make the best of the time they had together and use it wisely. But when Rafael arrived at the Plaza, his instinct that there was bad news kicked in, left over from his years as a principal. For one thing, Jet had brought a stray dog along, a white scruffy pup who sat at Rafael’s feet when he took off his shoes, staring into his eyes as if he were a long-lost friend.

“She’ll cheer you up,” Jet said.

“All I need is you,” Rafael said mournfully, sensing that something wasn’t right.

Jet sat down beside him and took his hand. For all these years she had been protecting Rafael every time she claimed she didn’t love him, but now Jet told him the truth. She had loved him and only him.

“I know,” Rafael assured her.

“And that’s why Daisy is here. She’ll be a companion.”

That was when he’d known something terrible and unbreakable was about to befall them. They considered getting married that afternoon, since the curse could no longer do them any harm, but in the end they decided they didn’t need a witness to their love. Instead, they did things any couple might have done on an ordinary day. That was what Jet wanted most. To be just another couple on the streets of New York. Oh, she knew it wasn’t really possible, it never had been, but during this last time they spent together, she wanted them to be people who weren’t afraid of love, who believed that the future belonged to them.

The next morning they walked through Central Park to Belvedere Castle, with Daisy tugging at her leash. From the height of the castle’s craggy ledge they observed the greening canopy below. The sky turned lemon-colored, and they huddled in the castle during a quick blast of rain. Then they went arm in arm to the Boathouse for brunch, the dog hidden in Jet’s purse and fed bits of toast. Jet went so far as to kiss Rafael in public, curse be damned. After that, they took the subway to Queens so that Jet could see the high school in Forest Hills where Rafael had worked. He’d had a life without her, he’d made a world for himself as a teacher and as a man, but on the train back into Manhattan she could see how lonely he would be once she was gone.

In the evening, they left the dog at the hotel and took a taxi to Waverly Place, where they sat holding hands at the best Italian restaurant in the Village. When they could eat and drink no more, they did so anyway, and ordered the famous olive oil cake with gelato. There was a mackerel sky dotted with clouds as they walked down Greenwich Avenue to number 44, the small townhouse where Jet had lived with Franny and their much-loved brother Vincent when they were young and anything seemed possible. The literary agent who’d had an office there after they’d moved out was now sadly gone, but there were still scraggly lilacs in the tiny yard. Jet closed her eyes and remembered everything. Her room on the third floor where she read so many novels, including Wuthering Heights, which she devoured three times over, Franny sitting at the kitchen table sorting out how to pay the bills when she was all of nineteen, Vincent playing guitar in his room, his reedy voice echoing.

When Jet and Rafael looked at each other in bed, they saw one another as they had been when they were young and beautiful, both with dark hair and flushed olive skin. Perhaps this was why they were still burning for each other. Or perhaps it was that the last time is beautiful and somber when it’s finally understood every instant counts.

Whenever they were together, Jet thought of their first time, when she was certain that she’d lost everything and that life wasn’t worth living. Each time Jet encountered young women crying in the library, or on the porch of the house on Magnolia Street, convinced there was no point in going on, she always told them that you never knew who might walk through the door. Fate worked that way. Some of what was to come was fixed, true enough, as shown in the lines on your right hand. But the lines on your left hand changed, day by day, for that was the fate you made for yourself.

When it was time to leave, Jet couldn’t bring herself to wake Rafael. She wished she could stay all week, but if she remained with him for too long her heart would break; it was breaking already. She watched him sleep for a few moments, grateful to have known love despite the curse. She wasn’t normal, she never could be, but Rafael hadn’t seemed to mind. She left a note on the bedside table, a quote from her favorite poet. Rafael would understand. He always had. They would never be parted.

Unable are the Loved to die

For Love is Immortality.

On the train back to Boston, Daisy sat on Jet’s lap and gazed out the window as they passed through the pale green marshes in Connecticut. “Service dog,” Jet told the conductor, and who would argue with such a dear, old lady who appeared to be crying black tears, the tears that witches cry no matter that lore says they have no hearts and are incapable of love. There were osprey nests on the tallest utility poles and one huge bird with a wingspan of five feet swooped over the lowering tide in search of fish. Tall tawny grass was growing in the rivulets, and the clouds reflected in the water. Had there ever been a marsh as beautiful? Everything you did for the last time was a miracle, no matter how ordinary. Jet had been beside Rafael while he brushed his teeth, she had taken the subway with him to Queens, she had seen the way he looked at her, as if nothing else mattered. This is the way their real life might have been if she hadn’t been forced to keep vigil over the curse.

“You don’t have to worry about the curse anymore,” she’d reassured him as they’d walked along the landscape of their past, so that it almost seemed as if they were young again and had all the time in the world.

“I was never worried,” Rafael told her. “I’ve been lucky and I know it.”

Franny came in from the garden with a basket of fresh parsley and mint. She stopped when she saw that her sister had returned. She could see an ashy shadow around Jet, visible only if you knew what death looked like, if you dared to peer into a black mirror and see the future of those you loved most. It was the evening of the second day and by tomorrow the color of the shadow would be more ink than ash.

“Back at last,” Franny said crisply. Her heart was breaking, but what good would it do to let it show?

“Here I am,” Jet replied. “Yours for the next five days.”

Mine alone, Franny thought. Beautiful, darling, dear sister. “Then we should make supper,” she said. We should make the most of every minute we have.

They spent nearly every moment together during the next few days, linked in thought and deed, as sisters often are. Who can you trust if not your sister? Who knows your story better than she? If you saw one Owens sister at the grocery, the other would be right beside her. If one was working in the garden, making certain the rows of herbs were weeded, her sister would be there as well, carrying a basket to collect the dandelion greens. When Jet went to visit Reverend Willard at the retirement home, Franny tagged along, even though she was the least social creature in town and had certainly never visited anyone there before. Daisy was with them, and no one at the retirement home considered giving them any trouble concerning a canine visitor, knowing if they did they’d have Franny to deal with, who had already cast a domination spell in the entry hall to ensure that people on the premises would bend to her will.

The Reverend had performed the marriage ceremony for Franny and her beloved Haylin Walker soon after Haylin was diagnosed with cancer, and due to that kindness, Franny had made allowances for the way he’d treated Jet when she was a girl, which, in point of fact, had been all but unforgivable. But forgiveness was one thing, a social call was another, and Franny simply couldn’t fathom holding a cheerful conversation wedged in between emergency alerts going off for failing residents and Reverend Willard’s labored breathing, for spring always affected his asthma. Franny remained on the threshold while Jet went to sit at the Reverend’s bedside. That was as social as Franny got. She pursed her lips as she gazed at Reverend Willard. Things didn’t look good for the old man and he had been despondent for some time. Once you are over a hundred you stop counting days. Once you’ve lost your son you glimpse death everywhere. All the same the Reverend let out a whoop when Daisy jumped onto his bed.

“Here’s my girl.” He patted the dog, wholly absorbed, turning to Jet only when she politely coughed. “And my other girl!”

“She’s a grown woman.” Franny reminded the Reverend, still not venturing any farther than the doorway. “An old one at that.” One who was spending precious time with a man who had made her life miserable long ago, but that was clearly water under the bridge to everyone but Franny. The Reverend hadn’t wanted his son to have any dealings with an Owens girl because of her family, but he’d realized he’d been a bigot and over these many years he’d come to think of Jet as a daughter. Today she looked sadder than usual.

“Am I dying?” he asked her. They had loved the same person, that was their lasting bond.

“Not yet,” Jet told him. “It’s me this time.”

“So, you won’t be coming to visit anymore?” The Reverend was struck by emotion, his eyes and nose running.

“No.” Jet smiled at him with tenderness. “That will be Franny from now on.”

“What!” Franny said sharply. She’d only been half listening, but she’d paid attention when she heard her sister’s remark. “Not me. I’m not one for social calls.”

“Then one of my grand-nieces will come,” Jet reassured the Reverend. “Kylie or Antonia. Someone will always look in on you. And don’t worry about Daisy. I’ve found her the perfect home.”

As Jet was leaving, Reverend Willard seized her hand. “Make sure it’s not your sister.” He spoke in a low voice, eyeing the fearsome figure at the door who was gesturing for Jet to hurry. Jet ignored Franny rushing her and took her time. Why not? She had grown to love this old man who, if fate had taken a different route, would have been her father-in-law.

“It won’t be,” she promised.

“Whoever it is, she won’t be as good as you.”

Franny looped her arm through her sister’s as they were leaving. The world was still beautiful and they stood in the front yard of the retirement home while Daisy nosed around. There were old people sitting on wooden benches, gazing at the pink-tinged sky. “Did you ever imagine you’d forgive him?” Franny asked, remembering how the Reverend had made Jet’s and Levi’s lives intolerable when he flatly refused to allow his son to see her. He’d been a fool who judged Jet by her family’s history of witchery.

“I still can’t forgive myself.” Levi had loved her and she had brought the curse to him. “Forgiveness is the most difficult undertaking.”

“I forgave you for being the better sister,” Franny said bluntly.

“Nonsense,” Jet said, and because she didn’t have all the time in the world, she threw her arms around her sister even though Franny was always uncomfortable in an embrace. “Dear sister, that was always you.”

On the fourth day, Jet and Franny went out to the greenhouse to read through the Grimoire, the thick book that was the repository of the family’s magical knowledge. Their treasured Grimoire had been created in Essex, England, by Maria Owens’s adopted mother, Hannah, a birthday gift when Maria was ten, old enough to study magic. The cover was the cool green-black skin of some strange leather that was said to be toad skin, a material that was both delicate and strong. Maria’s original cures and spells could be found in these pages, learned in England and Curaçao, and it was here in this book that the original curse had been written down years after it had been set when Maria stood upon the gallows, having been judged to be a witch by the man she imagined she loved. There were also several pages written by Maria’s daughter, Faith, who had assisted her mother in opening the library and a well-respected girls’ school, thanks to the most loyal wealthy patron, Thomas Brattle, the treasurer of Harvard College who had helped to thwart the witchcraft trials, publicly refuting Cotton Mather’s unprovable beliefs in spectral evidence, calling the entire episode a delusion, a man who was also rumored to be the father of Faith’s two little girls, Avis and Violet.

The women in the following generations had added to the family’s knowledge, including their cherished aunt Isabelle, who had invited Franny and Jet to Magnolia Street when they had no idea who they were. They’d been kept in the dark by their mother, Susannah, who had abandoned the family and its history when she was little more than a girl. The most recent pages in the Grimoire had been written over a period of fifty years by Franny and Jet, and there were remedies and enchantments Gillian had added, even though Gillian had always had less talent for magic than the others and had been mortified by her lack of skill. She was frankly jealous that magic had come to Sally so naturally, when Sally clearly had no use for such things and only craved to be normal. Sally had never written a word in the Grimoire. “I’m not interested,” she always said when the topic of magic was broached. “I’ve got better things to do.”

Stored beside the book was the black mirror Jet and Franny had been shown during their first summer on Magnolia Street. It was possible to see the future in this mirror, if you dared. You’d know if you had the sight when the mirror was presented; you’d see your future in bits and pieces and begin to unravel the story of your life. But stories change, depending on who tells them, and stories are nothing if you don’t have someone to tell them to. Fortunately, they’d had each other. When they put the book away, they held hands and listened to the riotous birdsong in the trees. How lucky to have a sister.

They had a brother as well, one they loved dearly, the darling of their family, wild and talented, the sort of man who could do no harm and dared to fall in love when everything in their history told him he should not. That evening Jet wrote a letter to Vincent, who had disappeared after being called up to fight in Vietnam. He had managed to avoid the curse with a false death, tricking fate and setting off with his beloved William to a life that couldn’t be shared with his family. Jet kept a photograph of Vincent in her bedside table drawer, along with her treasured packet of letters from Rafael. She took out her best stationery and a pen with red ink that made the white paper flush the color of roses.

Darling boy, Jet began, we have missed you every day. Whenever you can come home, do.

She addressed the letter to Vincent’s great friend Agnes Durant, in Paris, then slipped the key to the house on Magnolia Street into the envelope. She and Franny walked through the gusty night to the post office, where the letter was sent off in the mailbox.

“Unlikely he’ll get the letter,” Franny chimed in. She had written to Vincent several times and had never heard a word in return, although every year she received a card from Agnes with a bright greeting—All is fine here in France—which she supposed meant Vincent was well.

“I don’t know about that,” Jet responded. “He could always find anything. He had that talent.”

“When he wanted to use it,” Franny sniffed. Her brother’s absence still pained her. “He never found us.”

“He couldn’t, darling,” Jet said. “There was the curse. He had William to think of.”

On the fifth day, after Sally had gone off to the library, Jet turned on the porch light and threw open the door. When the news got out that Jet was available to her neighbors, a line formed along the path and down the street. People wanted cures for rashes and indigestion, enchantments for runaway daughters and for sons who had made a wrong turn, tinctures for forgetfulness and for mean-spirited husbands, and, as always, they came for love. Jet was so busy that she enlisted Franny, who grumbled but set about gathering ingredients from the garden: leaves from their ginkgo tree, one of the oldest varieties on earth, for anxiety; turmeric as an anti-inflammatory; primrose, whose essence would be pressed into an oil that helped skin conditions and lifted the spirits; echinacea, best for the common cold; lavender, to bring wayward children home. In tall glass jars in the pantry there was mandrake, belladonna, mushrooms of all sorts, blue beads, black feathers, apple seeds, the hollow bones of birds, dove’s hearts. The rush lasted until five, and by the time it was through most of the daffodils had been trampled by people who wanted to make certain they got their turn bringing their problems to Jet. Before Sally arrived home to chastise them for practicing magic, Franny chased the last of the visitors from the path and once they were gone, she switched off the light. She agreed with Sally; let the porch light be turned down forevermore.

Jet sat at the table, exhausted, in need herself of a cup of Courage Tea.

“I hope you’re happy,” Franny said. “Half the neighborhood has been here today.”

Jet smiled and poured more tea. She was, indeed, happy, and because Franny couldn’t fight that, she had a cup of tea as well, for courage was what they both needed now.

On the sixth day, the aunts fell silent, in a haze of disbelief. The future was less than forty-eight hours away. Still, no one had ever called them lazy, and they made good use of their time, setting about cleaning the house, which, frankly, had not been seen to for some time, so that the woodwork and drapes were dusty and the carpets had to be taken out to the porch and beaten with a broom. It was traditional to do so after a death, to prepare for the mourners and clear out anything the deceased might wish to keep private, but knowing what they knew, they had the opportunity to complete the task together before the funeral. They covered the mirrors and opened the windows to let in fresh air. Sparrows were nesting in the shrubbery and buds had appeared on the magnolias that lined the street. The sisters packed up Jet’s clothing and her collection of novels, along with the batch of letters Levi had sent her when she was a girl, mostly concerning how they might manage to meet without the Reverend catching on. There was another correspondence that Jet treasured, letters tied up with blue ribbon. These were Rafael’s. She gazed at them, on the brink of tears.

“His?” Franny said. She’d never questioned Jet about her love life. Still, she’d been curious.

Jet nodded. She thought about what might have happened if Rafael hadn’t taken a part-time job as a bellman while he was going to college. “Life is luck.”

“That it is,” Franny agreed.

When they were through with the house, and the woodwork shone and the cobwebs were all swept away with a broom, they had a picnic lunch that included splurging on all of their favorite childhood foods which were too rich for them now: jam sandwiches, scones with lavender honey, cheese and chive biscuits, sliced apples with cream. Later, they walked to the cemetery where Jet wrote out a check, the final payment for the plot beside Levi Willard, whom she had loved when she was so young and hadn’t any idea of what love meant. Then they went out grocery shopping for the ingredients they needed. In the morning, when Sally came into the kitchen, ready to head to the library, her aunts were baking a Chocolate Tipsy Cake, a family tradition for birthdays, weddings, and funerals ever since Maria Owens’s time.

“Do you know how many calories are in that?” Sally said. All the same, she sat down at the table and ate the leftover batter with a spoon. “What are we celebrating?” she asked.

Sally looked exhausted, with dark bluish circles under her eyes. She worked too much and she hadn’t conditioned her hair for ages, but she was still beautiful and, in the aunts’ eyes, still their little girl.

“If you can’t eat chocolate cake for breakfast, what is the point of being alive?” Franny said.

On the morning of the seventh day, when the ashy circle around Jet closed so that she was surrounded by a black aura and time was running out, they did exactly that. For reasons Sally could never explain to herself, nor understand, she joined her aunts at the breakfast table, and instead of her usual yogurt and blueberries, she had the biggest slice of all.

Jet insisted they all have dinner in the taproom at the Black Rabbit Inn that evening. She’d already phoned Gillian, who would fetch Kylie and Antonia and drive them up from Cambridge. Jet had made reservations as well, the rear table, far away from the fiddler who played there after six, whose mother had often come to them for a success elixir for her son, though, due to the level of his talent, there was none to be had.

“Are you certain you want them all here on the seventh day?” Franny asked with concern.

“They’ll need to be here on the eighth day, won’t they? I don’t want you to have to handle everything alone.”

Franny had little choice but to agree. She couldn’t yet bring herself to think about the eighth day and a world without Jet. Perhaps just this one time, she might need help dealing with what was to come. Although the Black Rabbit certainly would not have been her choice for a last supper; she couldn’t stand the cheerful dining room, with its red-checked tablecloths and a menu of second-rate New England food: boiled potatoes, baked cod, macaroni and cheese, always burned on top, along with salads that included only shredded iceberg lettuce, and all manner of puddings for dessert, the specialty being something called cheesecake upside-down, which the kitchen had been serving to mixed reviews for more than a hundred years.

At the close of the afternoon, before the others arrived, Jet grabbed her spring coat and set out for the library.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Franny wanted to know. The truth was she didn’t wish to let her sister out of her sight. The deathwatch beetle had situated itself in the linen closet on the second floor and its clacking was louder all the time. Franny had used bug spray and set out traps laced with sugar with no success. When it came down to it, she knew this was one insect it was impossible to be rid of.

“What I want most is for this to be an ordinary day,” Jet explained. “On an ordinary day I’d go get Sally to be certain she left the library at a decent hour.”

“Fine. But be at the inn by five. I’ll bring the girls. Don’t leave me stranded there.”

Time was everything, and there was so little of it. Jet walked the long way around, stopping at the cemetery to visit Levi Willard, bringing a bunch of daffodils from the garden, yellow with orange centers dotted with inky black marks. She lay down in the grass next to his headstone and looked up at a sky clotted with clouds. She was beginning to say good-bye to the world, to all the things she loved, grass and sky, the lanes in town that were so shady and green, the library where she and Franny and Vincent would go on sultry days during their first summer in town. When she arrived, Sally was still working even though it was nearly five and they certainly didn’t want to keep Franny waiting at the inn.

“I need fifteen minutes to close up,” Sally called when Jet came through the door. Sally was in a hurry, as always, but something made her stop and gaze into Jet’s eyes. They seemed darker than usual, the pale gray flecked with black. Dear Jet, whose love and good heart were constant, appeared to be quite exhausted. “Are you all right?” Sally smoothed down her aunt’s hair. “Is that mud on your shoes?”

“I’ve been for a walk in the cemetery.” On Jet’s last night in the world she saw everything with clear eyes, including her beloved niece. How kindhearted Sally was. How vulnerable beneath all that bluster. Sally had been the one who had found the aunts listed in their mother’s phone book, and had called clear across the country to inform them that she and Gillian would be coming to stay. Their aunts had loved them beyond measure ever since.

Sally narrowed her eyes, wondering if Jet was trying to pull a fast one. She had always been wary, certain that Jet wasn’t exactly what she seemed to be. Once, in the year when she’d turned thirteen, Sally had gone so far as to follow Jet into Manhattan, breaking into a run to catch up with her outside Penn Station. Jet had surprised her by being furious.

“I want one day a month to myself,” Jet had said as they stood on Eighth Avenue, nearly deafened by the roar of the traffic. “If I want to go to a museum or take a walk in Central Park, it’s no one’s business but my own.”

Sally had been embarrassed and had quickly apologized. They’d gone to a coffee shop where Sally had been treated to an ice-cream soda, then she had taken the train home, leaving Jet to do as she pleased. But Sally had the sight, and she knew there was more to the story, then and now. She so rarely used her bloodline talents, that the sight came to her in little sparks, almost as if she’d had a slight electric shock. She blinked and took a step closer to her aunt. There was the scent of smoke and the ceiling above them was shadowed with a black smudge. Could it be that the room needed to be repainted? Hadn’t they had the Merrill brothers do so only two years earlier?

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Sally mused.

“Gillian and the girls are joining us for the evening,” Jet explained. “Isn’t that a lovely surprise?”

“Why didn’t you mention it this morning? I have nothing to serve for dinner other than canned soup!” Antonia was such a picky eater now that she was pregnant and Kylie was a vegetarian, and lately Sally and the aunts had mostly eaten pasta and tomato soup, quick easy meals that took no care or thought.

“We’re meeting Franny and having dinner at the inn.”

“Franny loathes the inn,” Sally said, even more suspicious.

“We want it to be a special night,” Jet explained. “We’ll all be together.”

“Well, then, the inn it is,” Sally agreed.

While Sally saw to her end of the day’s duties, Jet sat down and observed the room. She took in everything she usually would have ignored: the skittering sound of mice beneath the floorboards, the clock ticking off seconds, the wind hitting against the cloudy windows. There were fingerprints on the glass cases of the rare books, and the ceiling fan spun in a cockeyed circle. She noticed that the hems of the curtains that were original to the library were decorated with an intricate pattern of moons in every phase. Funny how she’d never seen that before; she’d never looked deeply enough. Jet gazed around the room, wondering what else she had never noticed, and there it was. The bricks directly beneath Maria’s framed journal page were not fitted properly. The mortar was a dark crimson. Jet crossed the room so she might place a hand on the wall. You can live a whole lifetime without knowing what was right in front of you. Seeing has little to do with opening your eyes; it’s what you feel inside that counts, it’s what you know without anyone telling you.

Behind the bricks there was a steady rhythm, the pulse of a book that had been hidden for more than three hundred years. Jet loosened one of the bricks by scraping a pen against mortar. She wriggled the brick back and forth until it gave way and could be pried loose. The space behind the wall was dank and icy cold. It appeared to be empty until Jet reached her hand inside. A shiver ran through her as she brought forth a small black book. The Book of the Raven.

Maria Owens might have rid the world of this slim volume, for it had nearly ruined her daughter Faith’s life, but to destroy a book seemed an unnatural act, especially one written by a woman of great talent and skill. Instead of burning it, Maria had come here to the library, then set to work hiding The Book of the Raven, a dark spell book that had brought her daughter to the left-handed side of magic long ago. She’d deposited this Grimoire behind the loose bricks, mixing in three drops of her blood to seal the mortar, well aware that some things should stay hidden until they were meant to be found, for the knowledge this book held was so dark it was intended for a reader who possessed the ability to handle its power. Maria had just had a child with the man she loved and was in no position to use The Book of the Raven. In time, however, an Owens woman would discover the book, and use it as it should be used, with love and courage.

This was that time. The seventh day. Jet’s last day on earth.

When she reached for the book, the binding scalded her fingertips. She could feel the darkness within the text. She knew left-handed magic when she saw it, black magic so perilous that every page was inflamed. She thought of the time her brother, Vincent, had discovered The Magus, a compilation of the history of magic first published in 1801. The Magus had shaken the bureau drawer whenever it was locked away, as if it had a life and a mind of its own. At the turn of the century it had been deemed so fearsome that copies had been burned on bonfires in Washington Square.

The Book of the Raven had been written by the first woman to publish a book in England, Amelia Bassano. Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum, her volume of poems, had been written from a woman’s point of view, defending Eve, thought to have caused sin in the mortal world. Bassano had gone largely unrecognized due to her gender, but that hadn’t stopped her from writing. Jet had now rediscovered this second book no one but its users knew about, Amelia Bassano’s private Grimoire, an ode to the Dark Art sometimes referred to as a Book of Shadows. It was a volume made up of equal parts love and revenge, meant to help a woman in need, a woman who’d been cursed, who was in love, who was desperate, who was at the end of her life and the end of her rope. On the very first page Un desiderio was written in pale blue ink. One wish. That was what the book promised to grant its reader.

Amelia Bassano was the daughter of a Jew from Venice, from a family of musicians who had lived on the outskirts of power, attached to the court of England, where she learned more than most educated men about politics and falconry and music and myth. At the age of thirteen she’d been a mistress to Lord Hunsdon, the Queen’s patron of the theater, said to be Anne Boleyn’s son, and she was said to have had an affair with Christopher Marlowe, who had taught her the art of writing for the theater. Language was everything. Trust was for fools. Love came and went. Words could be stolen. There were those who said she was the Dark Lady William Shakespeare wrote about and that it was she who taught him to write plays. There had always been rumors that he had loved her, but in this book she claimed even more. She had not only taught him how to write, she had written the plays.

The last chapter of The Book of the Raven was titled “How to End a Curse.”

I didn’t know that what you sent into the world came back to you threefold, and that I would be the one to suffer. To begin a curse is done with ease, to break it takes a great sacrifice.

Everything worthwhile is dangerous.

Jet could hear Sally returning books to the shelves in the travel section; fortunately she was too far away for her to observe Jet slip the slim volume into her coat pocket, then hastily replace the brick in the wall, her hands now stained with blood and mortar. Sally might have seen the abnormality in the wall had she been able to see the color red, but as it was, she was still disconnected from her emotions, and had walked past it daily without a glance. She’d never once noticed what was right in front of her.

Gillian and her nieces drove up from Cambridge, leaving before rush-hour traffic set in. The sky was bright and blue and the magnolias were so spectacular that people from all over the commonwealth came to gawk as soon as the buds began to bloom in creamy cups.

“Home sweet home,” Gillian said when she and Antonia and Kylie unfolded themselves from her black and white Mini, which, considering how huge Antonia was in the seventh month of her pregnancy, could not have fit anything more than the three women and a tray of heirloom tomato seedlings called Blue Zebra that Gillian had brought for her aunt Jet.

Jet had always been especially fond of Gillian, despite the fact that Gilly had been a wild girl who had looked for trouble in her youth, and had made certain to find it. Sally had pulled her back from the brink, and Gillian would always be grateful to her sister.

But that was long ago, and Gillian had learned her lesson. She blushed when recalling her mistakes and all those dreadful men she’d taken up with; she had long ago come to understand she was entitled to kindness and comfort. Gillian had thought she was through with love, until she’d met Ben Frye. He’d been her niece’s science teacher, the opposite of the men she’d gone for in the past, steady and earnest and kindhearted. She still laughed to think he’d been attracted to her because of her ability to work complex figures in her head. Halfway through her life, she’d been lucky in love. She’d avoided the curse by following the rules. Don’t live together, don’t declare your love, no wedding rings, no displays of affection in public. Ben had been puzzled and somewhat hurt by these strange traditions.

“Your aunt Franny didn’t hide the fact that she was married,” he reminded her.

Yes, but that was after her beloved Haylin had been diagnosed with stage four cancer, and once there was no cure the curse couldn’t touch them.

“And Sally!” Ben had said. “She was married twice.”

And look at her, twice a widow and brokenhearted. And look at me, without a daughter, what I want most in the world.

To do their best to trick the curse, Gillian and Ben had wed simply and quietly at the courthouse and Gillian refused to have their marriage officially recorded. Whether or not they were legally married was up for debate; certainly Gillian refused to wear a ring. They lived in a two-family house in Central Square, where Gillian resided on the ground floor, while Ben took the upstairs apartment. Whenever he asked why they must live separately—neither earned much of a salary—Ben was a science teacher at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School and MIT didn’t pay lab technicians a fortune and clearly it would have made more sense to live in one apartment and rent out the other—Gillian asserted that too much togetherness was certain to ruin a relationship, especially in the Owens family. In truth, they spent most nights together, and when they didn’t Ben would often spy Gillian out in their small garden, sleepless and shivering, scanning the heavens, as if she might find an answer there in the night sky above them as to how the curse had found her despite her deception.

When she saw Antonia blooming in the last trimester of her pregnancy, her red hair pinned up, her freckled skin rosy and flushed, Gillian felt her heart jolt. Her one wish was to have a daughter, but now that she was forty-three she’d begun to wonder if her inability to have a child was the work of the curse. She had been to infertility specialists at Mass General and when that didn’t work, she’d begged the aunts for a cure. Franny and Jet had done their best, attempting any number of traditional botanical remedies. Myrrh, juniper berries, licorice, skullcap, pennyroyal, hemlock, chamomile flowers, unicorn root taken in small doses, butterfly weed, a tea of stinging nettle to strengthen the uterus, motherwort to bolster Gillian’s immune system. She had tried red clover and evening primrose oil, and the oddly named chasteberry, along with black cohosh. She ate pomegranates and olive oil, honey and cinnamon, and had even tried the ancient ritual of bringing a toad to sleep in her bed, all to no avail. Now, to explain her brimming eyes as they stood in front of the old house, Gillian told her nieces she was affected by the spring pollen in the air. Antonia and Kylie exchanged a look, for both had read that the pollen count on this day was zero.

Franny was out on the porch waiting, which wasn’t at all like her. Usually, she was the last to be ready for anything. “Come in. Come in,” she called.

Antonia held on to Kylie’s arm so she wouldn’t trip on the bluestone path that led through the falling shadows. “Why do they keep turning off the porch light?” Antonia muttered.

“That’s your mother’s decision,” Gillian informed them. “No neighbors need come to call.”

“Call for what?” Kylie asked. The family had kept secrets from Kylie and Antonia, at Sally’s insistence. To them, magic was little more than a story in a book of fairy tales.

A small dog came out, yapping at them.

“What’s going on here?” Antonia wanted to know. “Who is this creature?”

It was explained that Jet was watching over Reverend Willard’s dog, and that she had gone to fetch Sally and would meet them at the inn. The tomato seedlings were left in the garden, and they all traipsed into the kitchen, where half a Chocolate Tipsy Cake sat on a platter on the marble counter.

“Why wait for dinner?” Gillian grinned, getting some cake plates from the cabinet. “We can have chocolate cake as an appetizer.”

“I can’t eat that,” Antonia scolded. “All that rum? It’s much too alcoholic.”

“Sorry.” Gillian felt like a fool. Of course, a pregnant woman couldn’t have rum, not the amount that was in this recipe. In many ways Antonia reminded her of Sally, so sure of herself, so logical and matter-of-fact, always wanting clear-cut evidence before she made a decision. “Of course you can’t,” Gillian apologized.

“I can,” Kylie said, looping one arm around Gillian’s waist. “I’ll have her slice, too.”

Dear Kylie, who had grown so tall so fast, reaching her full height by the time she was ten, coming to her aunt Gillian to ask in a small voice if she might be a giant. In fact, she was a true beauty, with long hair that glinted copper in certain slants of light, and gray-green eyes, but she had a nervous disposition and couldn’t sit still. She had been a runner in high school and it often seemed as if she might take off at a fast clip at any given moment. Men stopped on the street when they saw her, mouths open, but she never even noticed.

Kylie ate her cake with her fingers, as she had when she was five years old, in heaven from the very first bite. She still considered Chocolate Tipsy Cake to be the best dessert in the world. She wished that Gideon were here with her. He would have probably finished the rest of the cake with ease.

“What are you thinking about?” Franny asked her great-niece. “Your face is all lit up.”

“Nothing,” Kylie was quick to say. She was discreet about all things, taught to be so by living in a town where people tended to judge the Owenses and gossip was rampant. Her love life was her own business, not that she was making that sort of admission to anyone, not even to members of her own family. “No one,” she insisted even though Franny was giving her that stern look she always had when she didn’t believe a word you said.

They had the best table in the dining room, thanks to Jet having helped the host with his love life several years ago. When the fiddler started up they could barely hear him, which was all for the best. “Yoo-hoo,” Jet called when the family arrived. “We’ve already ordered the macaroni and cheese as a starter.”

There was a great deal of hugging, but Franny was out of sorts. “Seriously? The macaroni and cheese?”

“We never eat that,” Sally said, agreeing with her aunt. “It’s totally unhealthy.”

“Well, just tonight, as a lark,” Jet said. “Just this once.”

Jet was so apologetic and sweet, Franny felt guilty complaining about the food, which was known far and wide to be terrible, and she buried her head in the oversized menu, lest anyone see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the inn, and most of the customers were nervous in her presence, convinced she could perceive their wrongdoings and transgressions and that they would be made to atone for thoughtless deeds by the use of witchery. One fool went so far as to send Franny a bottle of wine, hoping to win her favor, but she sent it right back, with a note scribbled on a napkin. Be faithful to your wife and you have nothing to fear.

Jet, on the other hand, was delighted to see her neighbors, many of whom had found their way to the Owenses’ front door over the years in search of tonics and remedies, receiving their fair share of green magic, horseradish and cayenne for coughs, Fever Tea for flu, black mustard seed for those plagued by nightmares. Several members of the waitstaff had waved, delighted to see her, for many had been clients as well.

“I wish someone had told me you were coming for dinner,” Sally murmured to Gillian.

“I thought you knew. Anyway, we’re here now and we’re staying the night.”

“I’m never included,” Sally said, stealing a glance at her daughters.

“You could be if you wanted to be,” Gillian said. “You’re always working.”

“Of course, I want to be.” It was true, Sally had been more and more distant, and she regretted it. She was grouchy and had become something of a loner, and that was not who she wanted to be. “Let’s kick the girls out of the attic and sleep up there.” Long ago, Sally and Gillian had shared the attic; they’d sat out on the roof on summer nights counting stars.

“Don’t you look wonderful,” Jet said to Antonia, who frankly was relieved that there was something to eat set out on the table. She didn’t understand how it was possible for her to be so hungry, but she was and she spooned up the macaroni and cheese.

“I’m uber-healthy,” Antonia told her aunt. “No sugar, no coffee, no alcohol.”

“You don’t wish there was someone to help you when the baby comes?” Jet wanted to know.

“Women have been having babies on their own since the beginning of time, Jetty. And besides, I have Scott and Joel. We’re in this together, and they’re constantly on my case. I don’t eat enough, apparently.” Antonia took note of the worry on Jet’s face. “I don’t need someone special, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m too busy to fall in love. Besides, I’m not even sure I believe in it.”

“You will,” Jet assured her. “It will make a mess of things and your life will never be the same, but it will happen. No one is immune.”

It was lovely to all be together, but as time wore on, Jet realized that the beetle had followed her and was now directly beneath her chair. She could hear it chirping, more softly now, as if it barely had any energy. The time had nearly come.

Jet would never know the end of Kylie’s story, her darling great-niece who had been such a charming, awkward child, who loved to work in the garden and get dirty, who borrowed Jet’s novels and sprawled out on the window seat below Maria Owens’s portrait to read Wide Sargasso Sea and Jane Eyre. She would never get to meet Antonia’s child, or spend summer afternoons with her beloved Gillian, canning tomatoes or making soap as they did every year in the old cauldron they set up at the rear of the garden. She wouldn’t get to see Sally fall in love, the sort of love that would take up her whole heart, so that she didn’t hold anything back the way she had even with that wonderful Gary, the kind of love Jet had found with Rafael, despite the fact that they were forced to hide from the curse. Life was like a book, Jet thought, but one you would never finish. You would never know how people would wind up; the good often suffered and the wicked prospered and there was no explanation for the way in which fate was meted out as there was in novels. Fiction made sense of the world, perhaps that was why Jet had been a fanatical reader as a girl. When Levi Willard died, so tragically and before his time, novels had saved her. Sometimes, when the world looked especially gloomy, Jet returned to the ones that had helped her through her darkest hours. Wuthering Heights, The Scarlet Letter, and Fahrenheit 451, her favorite, a love letter to books.

“I’m tired.” Jet explained as she called for the check. “We’ve had a long day.”

Franny paled when she heard this. It was the evening of the seventh day, the time she had dreaded ever since the bees appeared. They left through the bar and perhaps Jet couldn’t quite bear for their night to end. She stopped to order a whiskey. For what was to come, she needed strength.

“Good idea,” Gillian said, calling over the bartender, a fellow named Jed who swore they had dated in high school, though Gillian, for the life of her, couldn’t remember him.

“Seriously?” Sally said to Jet, disbelieving. “You don’t drink.”

“Now and then.” Jet shrugged. “It helps me sleep.” As a matter of fact, the whiskey was delightful, tasting of smoke and wood.

“Why not?” Franny, who had never once ordered anything at the bar of the Black Rabbit, relented and joined her sister in a toast. It was their last night after all. They might as well do as they pleased. “To us,” Franny said.

Jet nodded. “Always and forever.”

Antonia and Kylie stood at the bar, Antonia because her belly wouldn’t fit in the space allotted when perched on a barstool, and Kylie to keep her company.

“Something for you, ladies?” Jed the bartender asked, though he was still gazing at Gillian.

“I’m pregnant and she’s underage,” Antonia answered. “So, no.”

“Thanks,” Kylie said to her sister. “I was just about to get my first Black Rabbit martini.”

Gillian overheard and came over to order one, letting Kylie have a sip. “Happy now?” Gillian asked. The martinis at the Black Rabbit were especially dreadful.

Kylie made a face and pushed the glass away. “Why do people drink these?”

“To get drunk,” Gillian said. “There’s no other reason.”

“Do you get the feeling something isn’t right?” Antonia asked their aunt.

Gillian looked past Sally, who was paying for the drinks, to the end of the bar where the aunts were on their second round of whiskeys.

“It all ends,” she said for some reason. There was no point in getting moody, so she shook her head, snapped her fingers, and grinned. “Even a night at the Black Rabbit.”

By the time they turned onto Magnolia Street, the aunts were tipsy. The magnolias had bloomed early this year, the white and mauve cups of petals high above them in the dark on twisted black branches.

How lucky, Jet thought. How I wish I had all the time in the world.

Franny and Jet walked slowly, their arms linked, taking so long to reach their corner, Sally had a feeling of dread when she turned to look over her shoulder. Her beloved aunts were old. She’d thought they were old when she was a little girl, for back then anyone over forty had seemed ancient. Now she was nearly to the middle of her forties, likely the age the aunts had been when she and Gillian arrived, and Jet and Franny were in their eighties. Franny carried an umbrella these days for she’d be damned if she used a cane and her knee had been bothering her, despite applications of lavender oil. As for Jet, she seemed both exhausted and jittery, a worrisome combination.

“I’ll just have a little rest,” Jet said once they reached home.

“What is wrong with her?” Gillian asked Sally after Jet had retired to her room, the Reverend’s dog at her heels. It was barely seven.

“I don’t know,” Sally said. “I’m worried.” If she had allowed herself to call up the sight, she might have known exactly what was happening, but it had been many years since she’d accessed any magic, and like all things that aren’t used, her talent had begun to waste away.

Franny reached to stroke Sally’s hair, which was not at all like her. She was not the touchy-feely sort. Not one bit. “She just needs some peace and quiet.”

Jet was already behind her locked bedroom door, sitting at her desk, another woman’s spell book open before her, a rare occurrence, for such books were meant to be burned upon the death of the writer, unless there was a family member to inherit the text. Jet understood that the Owens family beginnings were in England, in a rural area they referred to as the first Essex County since they lived in the second, which had been named by the Pilgrims for the home across the sea they had left.

The Book of the Raven had escaped destruction since the time it had been hand-printed in London, in 1615. On the first page, in sloping script, was the name Faith Owens, for Faith had found the volume in a New York City market. It begins at the beginning, had been written on the very first page. Below that line there was a quote from William Shakespeare, who had written of his admiration and desire for Amelia Bassano.

Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.

How to exact revenge, how to break another’s heart, how to cause a rival to fall ill, how to escape from a cruel man, how to set fires without touching a candle, how to make figures of wax and cloth and blackthorn and scarlet thread that would cause grave results to an intended enemy, how to bring on a curse, and more important, how to end it. Near the end of the book, there was a warning. To end a curse, be prepared to give up everything. There was always a price to pay, one higher than anyone might have imagined. All the same, there would always be women in such dire situations they were willing to yield to the left side, those who had no choice, who had been trapped, chained, reviled, cast aside, cursed.

There were blisters on Jet’s fingers that had risen from touching the last page. A line of invisible writing revealed itself.

When you are ready and have nothing to lose. When you are unafraid. When you wish to save someone else more than you wish to save yourself.

It was only when Jet read the last line of the curse-breaker that she realized just how dangerous the book was. The price of using it was far too dear for most practitioners. In good faith, she could not leave this book in her room for Franny to find. She wished she could be the one to break the curse, but because it was her seventh day, only someone else could complete what she had begun. She did what she must with great haste, knowing that time would not wait. She took a pot of paste she used whenever she attached samples of herbs or plants to the Grimoire. It was strong stuff, made of bird bones and black stones and, once it had set, was impossible to remove unless you knew the secret to doing so. She glued the last two pages together, so that the dangerous remedy would be hidden, and set a privacy spell upon the last section of the book so that no one would accidentally stumble upon it. At last, she scrawled a note that she folded in between the pages of The Poems of Emily Dickinson, always kept on her night table. If Franny ever did use the curse-breaker, she would have to search for it, and perhaps it would be better if The Book of the Raven was never found again.

Jet left the dog behind and went downstairs, and while Sally was asking Franny what might have caused Jet to retire so early, with Gillian assuring her that it was likely the effects of the whiskey, and Franny keeping her knowledge of the future to herself, Jet lifted her coat from the peg in the hallway. She could hear the deathwatch beetle clacking at her feet as she swept up Sally’s set of keys to the library before stepping outside. Jet felt she had never been as wide awake nor as focused on her surroundings. The rustling of the gauzy leaves on the trees. The birds in the thickets, waking as she passed by. She hurried as fast as she could. The beautiful world was already slipping away.

Jet was gone less than an hour, the beetle following along on the dark, windy street, a shadow it was impossible to dodge. Franny was waiting at the gate when her sister returned. Daisy was beside her waiting as well, barking, comforted only when Jet lifted her up. Both Sally and Gillian had gone up to bed, sharing the attic room where they’d grown up, with Kylie and Antonia each taking spare bedrooms on the second floor that were usually considered too fancy for family, not that they ever had any other guests.

Franny had been out on the porch the entire time, pacing. “You weren’t in your bed,” she said accusingly. She didn’t usually fuss, but her deep worry showed now.

“One last look around town. Remember the day we first came here with Vincent? When everyone on the street stared at us?”

“We were worth staring at,” Franny said. “We were marvelous.”

They went into the garden. There were the old wicker chairs, near the herb garden. There was the beehive, empty now. Long ago their aunt Isabelle had raised brown and white chickens and they’d loved to collect the blue speckled eggs, warm in their hands. They’d had a dozen cats, every single one black, but all had grown old and died. The greenhouse was padlocked shut and the cloudy glass shone. Everything was white as parchment in the light of the moon. They held hands and scanned the sky as pale moths flitted up from the damp grass. Once upon a time there were two sisters, as different from each other as night and day. In their family a sister was everything, your heart and soul, and here they were together on the last evening of Jet’s life, grateful to be so. Oh, seven days. Oh, beautiful world. Oh, how lucky they were.
\"},{\"id\":\"132806678T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Beloved author Alice Hoffman brings the Owens family saga to its enchanting conclusion with book four in the Practical Magic series. Spanning the globe, The Book of Magic is a must-read finale that celebrates the power of love and family.

\"},{\"id\":\"132806677T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"This reading group guide for The Book of Magic includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Alice Hoffman. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

Introduction

Master storyteller Alice Hoffman brings us the conclusion of the Practical Magic series in a spellbinding and enchanting final Owens novel brimming with lyric beauty and vivid characters.

The Owens family has been cursed in matters of love for more than three hundred years, but all of that is about to change. The novel begins in a library, the best place for a story to be conjured, when beloved aunt Jet Owens hears the deathwatch beetle and knows she has only seven days to live. Jet is not the only one in danger—the curse is already at work.

A frantic attempt to save a young man’s life spurs three generations of the Owens women, and one long-lost brother, to use their unusual gifts to break the curse as they travel from Paris to London to the English countryside where their ancestor Maria Owens first practiced the Unnamed Art. The younger generation discovers secrets that have been hidden from them in matters of both magic and love by Sally, their fiercely protective mother. As Kylie Owens uncovers the truth about who she is and what her own dark powers are, her aunt Franny comes to understand that she is ready to sacrifice everything for her family, and Sally Owens realizes that she is willing to give up everything for love.

The Book of Magic is a breathtaking conclusion that celebrates mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers, and anyone who has ever been in love.

Topics & Questions for Discussion

1. Centuries before the events in The Book of Magic, the Owens family matriarch, Maria Owens, invoked an enchantment meant to protect generations of her family to come. Discuss how the generations within The Book of Magic each deal with the curse and its restrictions. What other legacies did her family inherit?

2. The Book of Magic is both contemporary fiction and magical realism. How does Alice Hoffman blend both genres? What are examples from each genre in the book?

3. Libraries play a critical role throughout the novel, and the Owens children were taught to find their way to a library if they were ever lost. What are some libraries, literal or otherwise, which have been havens for you? What do you seek out when feeling lost?

4. Sally is fiercely protective of her daughters, and keeps the truth of their magical inheritance and Maria’s curse from them. Do you think Sally had a right to keep the truth from her daughters? How does Sally evolve throughout the novel?

5. A few of the characters have a particular talent when it comes to their magical gifts, Vincent, for example, is a finder, and Kylie can see auras. Consider all the specialized talents detailed throughout the novel. Is one more valuable than another? If you could choose to have a particular ability, which would it be and why?

6. Antonia is a scientist and the most logical of all the Owens women. How does she fit into the rest of the family? What was the significance of having her unlock the secret to breaking the curse?

7. In one of Jet’s last messages before passing on she writes, “Everything worthwhile is dangerous.” What does she mean by this? Do you consider this a warning or encouragement?

8. Another piece of advice Jet leaves for Kylie, and one which is invoked by others throughout the novel, is to trust no one. How is this advice valuable? Was it ever detrimental?

9. Baking is used throughout the novel as its own form of magic, one that attracts goodwill and loved ones. Margaret welcomes her son home with favorites like ploughman’s pasties and ginger pudding, while the Owenses make pies to draw Kylie to them. What other food and drink play a role in the novel? How does the novel’s fare affect the characters and their relationships? Do you have any recipes which act as magic in your own home or family?

10. Consider Tom and Ian; both were exposed to the “Crooked Path” early in life, each with drastically different outcomes. What else is similar about these two men? Discuss what led to their contrasting conclusions.

11. One of the family traditions is making Chocolate Tipsy Cake (at one point Franny even says, “If you can’t eat chocolate cake for breakfast, what is the point of being alive?”). What other traditions are mentioned throughout the novel? Share your own family or community’s traditions with the group.

12. “Ian was covered with ink, nineteen tattoos in all, and every one told a story.” Do you have any tattoos? If you’re comfortable doing so, share the story or inspiration behind them, or whether you’ve ever considered getting a tattoo. What would you have inked if you decided to get one?

13. “Love was inside every story,” Franny thinks toward the end of the novel. Discuss the different ways and different types—familial, romantic, mania, etc.—of love in this book and how it shaped the story.

Enhance Your Book Club

1. The Book of Magic begins and ends in a library, and Alice Hoffman references many book titles throughout the novel. Check out the list of referenced titles after the final chapter and discuss which of them are familiar. Does anyone have a favorite? Are you planning to read one or more on the list? Make a list of your own favorite books and share them with the group.

2. Although each novel can be read on their own, The Book if Magic is a culmination of a series which first introduced characters in Practical Magic. Split up the other novels in the series (Practical Magic and its prequels, The Rules of Magic and Magic Lessons) among the group and go around presenting a case for which novel your group should read together next. If you’ve already read them, discuss the themes which are carried throughout the novels or craft your own story about the next (or a past!) Owens generation.

3. On both sides of the Atlantic, Antonia, Sally, and Gillian make “Lost Daughter” pies to draw Kylie to them. Search for a recipe and try making your own pie, apple or another favorite fruit, to enjoy with a pot of tea.

4. Watch the film adaption of Practical Magic starring Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. Does the film’s setting live up to what you imagine the Owens family house to look like? Imagine casting The Book of Magic, which actors do you imagine would play each character in an adaption?

5. Visit alicehoffman.com to sign up for Alice’s newsletter, where she shares behind-the-scenes looks at her writing, updates on events, exclusive giveaways, recipes, and more!

A Conversation with Alice Hoffman

You’ve said in previous interviews that you always start writing with a question in mind. What was the question that you asked before writing this book, and did you find your answer?

AH: My question was, what is the end of the story for the Owens family? I found many of my answers, and there was closure, but I realized that when I finished writing their stories will continue as they move into the future.

The Book of Magic is rich with details in its setting, enchantments, and historical references, especially as the characters traveled to different cities. What was the process behind your research? Have you spent any time in the locations described in the novel?

AH: My research process is usually to do an initial amount of research and begin to create a world for the characters to move into. I have visited many of the places in the book, but some of them I only know through the characters travels.

Jet leaves a note with a reminder to Vincent saying, “Live a lot,” which is a phrase repeated by other Owens family members throughout the novel. Does this advice have any real-life inspiration? Do you have any pieces of advice that you consider in your day-to-day life, or advice for any aspiring writers?

AH: I think this is good advice for everyone. It’s a reminder that we only live once. My advice for aspiring writers is to keep writing!

Witches and familiars traditionally go hand in hand, and there’s a line from The Book of Magic saying, “When you had a familiar you had a soul mate.” Can you tell us about an animal that has been special in your life?

AH: I have had many animals that have been special to me, but the one I was closest to was a German Shepherd dog named Houdini, whom I still miss every day.

“The best stories begin in a library.” How have libraries played a role in your life? Do you have any special memories from libraries?

AH: Libraries completely changed my life. When I was growing up, I became a huge reader, and I am still grateful for the Malverne Public Library which allowed me to have a library card even though I didn’t live in that town.

Do you ever have chocolate cake for breakfast?

AH: Whenever possible!

By the end of The Book of Magic, readers have met new Owens family members and said goodbye to others. Did you know where each of the characters would end up when you began writing? Were there any whose journeys surprised you while the novel came together?

AH: I always think that I know how a character’s journey will end, and I am always surprised. The Book of Magic surprised me every day, and that was part of the pleasure of writing it.

Do you have a favorite line from The Book of Magic?

AH: My favorite line is the first line of the novel, “Some stories begin at the beginning and others begin at the end, but all the best stories begin in a library.”

The detailed historical note about Amelia Bassano at the end of the book is fascinating! How were you inspired to incorporate a true historical figure? Are there any parallels between Amelia and characters in The Book of Magic?

AH: Amelia Bassano was the first woman to publish a book of poems in the United Kingdom. She is the author of the imaginary Grimoire that is discovered by the Owens family in Magic Lessons. I think she reflects the difficulties that women who have ambition face and those who may be viewed as different.

You’ve written more than thirty novels. Where do you find your inspiration? Is there a moment when you know a story is ready to be written, or will become a novel?

AH: I find my inspiration in different places. Sometimes in a museum as I did with The Marriage of Opposites, sometimes while traveling which happened with The World That We Knew, and sometimes I am lucky and a story just presents itself to me as it did with Practical Magic, the first book in the Practical Magic series.

What have you learned from these characters since first imagining them more than twenty-five years ago? What do you hope readers will take away from the Owens family?

AH: I have learned that love is the only thing that matters, and I hope that my readers take that message to heart.

Can you tell us what you’re working on now?

AH: I don’t like to talk about a book until a book is ready to be published. I can only say that the book I am working on now happens in ancient times, centered on a woman who wasn’t able to tell her own story.\"},{\"id\":\"132806684T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Alice Hoffman is the author of thirty works of fiction, including Practical Magic, Practical Magic 2, The Dovekeepers, and Magic Lessons. Visit her website: AliceHoffman.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"132806688T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Alice Hoffman is the author of thirty works of fiction, including Practical Magic, The Dovekeepers, Magic Lessons, and The Book of Magic. Visit her website: AliceHoffman.com.\"},{\"id\":\"114740871T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Alice Hoffman is the author of more than thirty works of fiction, including The Book of Magic, Magic Lessons, The World That We Knew, Practical Magic, The Rules of Magic (a Reese Witherspoon Book Club Pick), the Oprah’s Book Club Selection Here on Earth, The Red Garden, The Dovekeepers, The Museum of Extraordinary Things, The Marriage of Opposites, and Faithful. She lives near Boston.\"},{\"id\":\"132806681T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

Alice Hoffman is the author of thirty works of fiction, including Practical Magic, Practical Magic 2, The Dovekeepers, and Magic Lessons. Visit her website: AliceHoffman.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"132806682T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

Alice Hoffman is the author of thirty works of fiction, including Practical Magic, Practical Magic 2, The Dovekeepers, and Magic Lessons. Visit her website: AliceHoffman.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"132806685T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"Alice Hoffman is the author of thirty works of fiction, including Practical Magic, The Dovekeepers, Magic Lessons, and The Book of Magic. Visit her website: AliceHoffman.com.\"}]",{"_41":3475,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2010,"_1974":3476},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656787411185","Practical-Magic-2/Alice-Hoffman",{"_41":3478,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2014,"_1974":3479},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656783511793","1150444887",{"_41":3481,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2018,"_1974":2019},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656785281265",{"_41":3483,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1978,"_1974":3326},"gid://shopify/Metafield/83727530033393",{"_41":3485,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1981,"_1974":3429},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656780792049",{"_41":3487,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2026,"_1974":2027},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39656785772785",{"_41":3489,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2217,"_1974":2844},"gid://shopify/Metafield/71298236186865",{"_41":3491,"_1990":2030,"_1992":2031,"_1974":2623},"gid://shopify/Metafield/60640080101617",{"_1923":1924,"_41":3493,"_72":3494,"_1927":3428,"_831":3495,"_1930":3496,"_1932":3497,"_1934":3498,"_1941":3502,"_1949":59,"_1950":3505,"_1956":3508,"_1978":3517,"_1981":3519,"_1983":3520,"_1985":-5,"_1986":3521},"gid://shopify/Product/8836411556081","Sense and Sensibility","9780141439662","Jane Austen's first published work, meticulously constructed and sparkling with her unique witA Penguin ClassicMarianne Dashwood wears her heart on her sleeve, and when she falls in love with the dashing but unsuitable John Willoughby she ignores her sister Elinor's warning that her impulsive behaviour leaves her open to gossip and innuendo. Meanwhile Elinor, always sensitive to social convention, is struggling to conceal her own romantic disappointment, even from those closest to her. Through their parallel experience of love - and its threatened loss - the sisters learn that sense must mix with sensibility if they are to find personal happiness in a society where status and money govern the rules of love. This edition also includes explanatory notes and textual variants between first and second edition. Penguin Classics is the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world, representing a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.","Jane Austen's first published work, meticulously constructed and sparkling with her unique wit

A Penguin Classic

Marianne Dashwood wears her heart on her sleeve, and when she falls in love with the dashing but unsuitable John Willoughby she ignores her sister Elinor's warning that her impulsive behaviour leaves her open to gossip and innuendo. Meanwhile Elinor, always sensitive to social convention, is struggling to conceal her own romantic disappointment, even from those closest to her. Through their parallel experience of love - and its threatened loss - the sisters learn that sense must mix with sensibility if they are to find personal happiness in a society where status and money govern the rules of love. This edition also includes explanatory notes and textual variants between first and second edition.

Penguin Classics is the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world, representing a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.",{"_41":3499,"_54":3500,"_56":3501,"_50":1939,"_1940":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47645041000689","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780141439662_p0.jpg?v=1765266299",1304,{"_1943":3503},{"_1945":3504,"_1947":1948},"9.0",{"_1943":3506,"_1954":3507},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1945":2050,"_1947":1948},{"_1958":3509},[3510],{"_41":3511,"_1949":59,"_1962":59,"_1963":-5,"_711":3512,"_1966":3513,"_1968":3514,"_1970":3515,"_1976":3495,"_72":1975,"_1977":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46233077612785",{"_41":3499,"_54":3500,"_1940":-5,"_56":3501,"_50":1939},{"_1945":3504,"_1947":1948},{"_72":3494,"_831":3495},[3516],{"_802":1973,"_1974":1975},{"_1974":3518},"[\"Classroom Literature & Nonfiction (p5500)\"]",{"_1974":3495},{"_1974":3428},[3522,3525,-5,3528,3530,-5,3532,3534,3537,3540,3543,-5,3545,3547,-5,3549,3551,3553],{"_41":3523,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1993,"_1974":3524},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160980439281","[{\"contributorId\":159952,\"fullName\":\"Jane Austen\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":242296,\"fullName\":\"Ros Ballaster\",\"jobName\":\"Introduction\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",{"_41":3526,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2190,"_1974":3527},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160980799729","Penguin Classics Series",{"_41":3529,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1997,"_1974":3428},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160981324017",{"_41":3531,"_1990":1991,"_1992":1983,"_1974":3428},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160979849457",{"_41":3533,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2002,"_1974":3470},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160981422321",{"_41":3535,"_1990":1991,"_1992":2006,"_1974":3536},"gid://shopify/Metafield/39160982962417","[{\"id\":\"5959993T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Chapter I
(Continues…)

Excerpted from "Sense and Sensibility"
by .
Copyright © 2003 Jane Austen.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

\"},{\"id\":\"121151166T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"10\",\"text\":\"Sense and Sensibility, the first of those metaphorical bits of \\\"ivory\\\" on which Jane Austen said she worked with \\\"so fine a brush,\\\" jackhammers away at the idea that to conjecture is a vain and hopeless reflex of the mind. But I'll venture this much: If she'd done nothing else, we'd still be in awe of her. Wuthering Heights alone put Emily Brontë in the pantheon, and her sister Charlotte and their older contemporary Mary Shelley might as well have saved themselves the trouble of writing anything but Jane Eyre and Frankenstein. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is at least as mighty a work as any of these, and smarter than all three put together. And it would surely impress us even more without Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), and Emma (1815) towering just up ahead. Austen wrote its ur-version, Elinor and Marianne, when she was nineteen, a year before First Impressions, which became Pride and Prejudice; she reconceived it as Sense and Sensibility when she was twenty-two, and she was thirty-six when it finally appeared. Like most first novels, it lays out what will be its author's lasting preoccupations: the \\\"three or four families in a country village\\\" (which Austen told her niece, in an often-quoted letter, was \\\"the very thing to work on\\\"). The interlocking anxieties over marriages, estates, and ecclesiastical \\\"livings.\\\" The secrets, deceptions, and self-deceptions that take several hundred pages to straighten out-to the extent that they get straightened out. The radical skepticism about human knowledge, human communication, and human possibility that informs almost every scene right up to the sort-of-happy ending. And the distinctive characters-the negligent or overindulgent parents, the bifurcating siblings (smart sister, beautiful sister; serious brother, coxcomb brother), the charming, corrupted young libertines. Unlike most first novels, though, Sense and Sensibility doesn't need our indulgence. It's good to go.

In the novels to come, Elinor Dashwood will morph into Anne Elliott and Elizabeth Bennet (who will morph into Emma Woodhouse); Edward Ferrars into Edmund Bertram, Mr. Knightley, Henry Tilney, and Captain Wentworth; Willoughby into George Wickham and Henry Crawford. But the characters in Sense and Sensibility stand convincingly on their own, every bit as memorable as their later avatars. If Austen doesn't have quite the Caliban-to-Ariel range of a Shakespeare, she can still conjure up and sympathize with both Mrs. Jennings-the \\\"rather vulgar\\\" busybody with a borderline-unwholesome interest in young people's love lives, fits of refreshing horse sense, and a ruggedly good heart-and Marianne Dashwood, a wittily observed case study in Romanticism, a compassionately observed case study in sublimated adolescent sexuality, and a humorously observed case study in humorlessness. \\\"I should hardly call her a lively girl,\\\" Elinor observes to Edward, \\\"-she is very earnest, very eager in all she does-sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation-but she is not often really merry.\\\" Humorlessness, in fact, may be the one thing Marianne and her eventual lifemate, Colonel Brandon, have in common. (Sorry to give that plot point away; it won't be the last one, either. So, fair warning.) The minor characters have the sort of eidetic specificity you associate with Dickens: from the gruesomely mismatched Mr. and Mrs. Palmer to Robert Ferrars, splendidly impenetrable in his microcephalic self-complacency. The major characters, on the other hand, refuse to stay narrowly \\\"in character\\\"; they're always recognizably themselves, yet they seem as many-sided and changeable as people out in the nonfictional world.

Elinor makes as ambivalent a heroine as Mansfield Park's notoriously hard-to-warm-up-to Fanny Price. She's affectionately protective of her sister Marianne yet overfond of zinging her: \\\"It is not every one who has your passion for dead leaves.\\\" She's bemused at Marianne's self-dramatizing, yet she's as smug about suffering in silence as Marianne (who \\\"would have thought herself very inexcusable\\\" if she were able to sleep after Willoughby leaves Devonshire) is proud of suffering in Surround Sound. She can be treacherously clever, as when Lucy Steele speculates (correctly) that she may have offended Elinor by staking her claim to Edward: \\\" 'Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,' and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, 'nothing could be farther from my intention, than to give you such an idea.' \\\" Yet she can also be ponderously preachy: \\\"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story-that all Willoughby's difficulties, have arisen from the first offense against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents.\\\" (In the rest of Austen, only the intentionally preposterous Mary in Pride and Prejudice strikes just this note: \\\"Unhappy as the event may be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable . . .\\\"). Is Elinor simply an intelligent young woman overtaxed by having to be the grown-up of the family? Or is she an unconsciously rivalrous sibling, sick of hearing that her younger, more beautiful sister will marry more advantageously? Or both? Or what? It's not that Austen doesn't have a clear conception of her-it's that she doesn't have a simple conception. Elinor is the character you know the most about, since Austen tells most of the story from her point of view, and consequently she's the one you're least able to nail with a couple of adjectives or a single defining moment.

Edward bothers us, too. He's a dreamboat only for a woman of Elinor's limited expectations: independent-minded yet passive and depressive, forthright and honorable yet engaged in a book-long cover-up. (It's a tour de force on Austen's part to present a character so burdened with a secret that we see his natural behavior only long after we've gotten used to him.) At his strongest and most appealing-to Elinor, at least-he's a clear-your-mind-of-cant kind of guy: \\\"I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. . . . A troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world.\\\" But he can also be a Hamlet-like whiner, complaining about his own idleness and vowing that his sons will be brought up \\\"to be as unlike myself as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing.\\\" For my money, Edward is the least likable of Austen's heroes, while his opposite number, Willoughby, is the most sympathetic of her libertines: smarter than Pride and Prejudice's Wickham (a loser who gets stuck with the \\\"noisy\\\" and virtually portionless Lydia Bennet) and more warmhearted than Mansfield Park's textbook narcissist Henry Crawford. Willoughby may strike trendy Wordsworthian poses with his effusions on cottages (\\\"I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness is attainable\\\"), but at least he has enough sense to abhor his own callowness, and enough sexy boldness to discompose even the rational Elinor. \\\"She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess . . .\\\" His opening line when he at last explains to her what he's been up to (\\\"Tell me honestly, do you think me most a knave or a fool?\\\") is one of those Byronic flourishes that make him the person in Sense and Sensibility you'd most want to dine with and least want to trust.\"},{\"id\":\"5055843T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"11\",\"text\":\"Sense and Sensibility, the first of those metaphorical bits of "ivory" on which Jane Austen said she worked with "so fine a brush," jackhammers away at the idea that to conjecture is a vain and hopeless reflex of the mind. But I'll venture this much: If she'd done nothing else, we'd still be in awe of her. Wuthering Heights alone put Emily Brontë in the pantheon, and her sister Charlotte and their older contemporary Mary Shelley might as well have saved themselves the trouble of writing anything but Jane Eyre and Frankenstein. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is at least as mighty a work as any of these, and smarter than all three put together. And it would surely impress us even more without Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), and Emma (1815) towering just up ahead. Austen wrote its ur-version, Elinor and Marianne, when she was nineteen, a year before First Impressions, which became Pride and Prejudice; she reconceived it as Sense and Sensibility when she was twenty-two, and she was thirty-six when it finally appeared. Like most first novels, it lays out what will be its author's lasting preoccupations: the "three or four families in a country village" (which Austen told her niece, in an often-quoted letter, was "the very thing to work on"). The interlocking anxieties over marriages, estates, and ecclesiastical "livings." The secrets, deceptions, and self-deceptions that take several hundred pages to straighten out-to the extent that they get straightened out. The radical skepticism about human knowledge, human communication, and human possibility that informs almost every scene right up to the sort-of-happy ending. And the distinctive characters-the negligent or overindulgent parents, the bifurcating siblings (smart sister, beautiful sister; serious brother, coxcomb brother), the charming, corrupted young libertines. Unlike most first novels, though, Sense and Sensibility doesn't need our indulgence. It's good to go.

In the novels to come, Elinor Dashwood will morph into Anne Elliott and Elizabeth Bennet (who will morph into Emma Woodhouse); Edward Ferrars into Edmund Bertram, Mr. Knightley, Henry Tilney, and Captain Wentworth; Willoughby into George Wickham and Henry Crawford. But the characters in Sense and Sensibility stand convincingly on their own, every bit as memorable as their later avatars. If Austen doesn't have quite the Caliban-to-Ariel range of a Shakespeare, she can still conjure up and sympathize with both Mrs. Jennings-the "rather vulgar" busybody with a borderline-unwholesome interest in young people's love lives, fits of refreshing horse sense, and a ruggedly good heart-and Marianne Dashwood, a wittily observed case study in Romanticism, a compassionately observed case study in sublimated adolescent sexuality, and a humorously observed case study in humorlessness. "I should hardly call her a lively girl," Elinor observes to Edward, "-she is very earnest, very eager in all she does-sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation-but she is not often really merry." Humorlessness, in fact, may be the one thing Marianne and her eventual lifemate, Colonel Brandon, have in common. (Sorry to give that plot point away; it won't be the last one, either. So, fair warning.) The minor characters have the sort of eidetic specificity you associate with Dickens: from the gruesomely mismatched Mr. and Mrs. Palmer to Robert Ferrars, splendidly impenetrable in his microcephalic self-complacency. The major characters, on the other hand, refuse to stay narrowly "in character"; they're always recognizably themselves, yet they seem as many-sided and changeable as people out in the nonfictional world.

Elinor makes as ambivalent a heroine as Mansfield Park's notoriously hard-to-warm-up-to Fanny Price. She's affectionately protective of her sister Marianne yet overfond of zinging her: "It is not every one who has your passion for dead leaves." She's bemused at Marianne's self-dramatizing, yet she's as smug about suffering in silence as Marianne (who "would have thought herself very inexcusable" if she were able to sleep after Willoughby leaves Devonshire) is proud of suffering in Surround Sound. She can be treacherously clever, as when Lucy Steele speculates (correctly) that she may have offended Elinor by staking her claim to Edward: " 'Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,' and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, 'nothing could be farther from my intention, than to give you such an idea.' " Yet she can also be ponderously preachy: "One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story-that all Willoughby's difficulties, have arisen from the first offense against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents." (In the rest of Austen, only the intentionally preposterous Mary in Pride and Prejudice strikes just this note: "Unhappy as the event may be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable . . ."). Is Elinor simply an intelligent young woman overtaxed by having to be the grown-up of the family? Or is she an unconsciously rivalrous sibling, sick of hearing that her younger, more beautiful sister will marry more advantageously? Or both? Or what? It's not that Austen doesn't have a clear conception of her-it's that she doesn't have a simple conception. Elinor is the character you know the most about, since Austen tells most of the story from her point of view, and consequently she's the one you're least able to nail with a couple of adjectives or a single defining moment.

Edward bothers us, too. He's a dreamboat only for a woman of Elinor's limited expectations: independent-minded yet passive and depressive, forthright and honorable yet engaged in a book-long cover-up. (It's a tour de force on Austen's part to present a character so burdened with a secret that we see his natural behavior only long after we've gotten used to him.) At his strongest and most appealing-to Elinor, at least-he's a clear-your-mind-of-cant kind of guy: "I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. . . . A troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world." But he can also be a Hamlet-like whiner, complaining about his own idleness and vowing that his sons will be brought up "to be as unlike myself as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing." For my money, Edward is the least likable of Austen's heroes, while his opposite number, Willoughby, is the most sympathetic of her libertines: smarter than Pride and Prejudice's Wickham (a loser who gets stuck with the "noisy" and virtually portionless Lydia Bennet) and more warmhearted than Mansfield Park's textbook narcissist Henry Crawford. Willoughby may strike trendy Wordsworthian poses with his effusions on cottages ("I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness is attainable"), but at least he has enough sense to abhor his own callowness, and enough sexy boldness to discompose even the rational Elinor. "She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess . . ." His opening line when he at last explains to her what he's been up to ("Tell me honestly, do you think me most a knave or a fool?") is one of those Byronic flourishes that make him the person in Sense and Sensibility you'd most want to dine with and least want to trust.\"},{\"id\":\"123826778T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Chapter I

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The last owner but one of this estate, was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for, to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth. To him, therefore, the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life interestin it.

The old Gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;-but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;-but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:-he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;-more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He thenreally thought himself equal to it. The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.-\\\"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\\\"-He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;-but in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence. She hadan excellent heart;-her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent. The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished. They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction. The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again. They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself. She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with every proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoredwell-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.\"},{\"id\":\"125070482T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Chapter I

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The last owner but one of this estate, was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for, to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth. To him, therefore, the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life interestin it.

The old Gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;—but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:—he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He thenreally thought himself equal to it. The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.—\\\"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\\\"—He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence. She hadan excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent. The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished. They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction. The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again. They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself. She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with every proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoredwell-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.\"},{\"id\":\"68736124T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Chapter I

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The last owner but one of this estate, was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for, to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth. To him, therefore, the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life interestin it.

The old Gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;—but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:—he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He thenreally thought himself equal to it. The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.—\\\"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\\\"—He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence. She hadan excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent. The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished. They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction. The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again. They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself. She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with every proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoredwell-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.\"},{\"id\":\"101323121T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

Chapter I

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The last owner but one of this estate, was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for, to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth. To him, therefore, the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life interestin it.

The old Gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;—but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:—he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He thenreally thought himself equal to it. The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.—\\\"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\\\"—He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence. She hadan excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent. The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished. They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction. The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again. They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself. She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with every proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoredwell-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.\"},{\"id\":\"53598190T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"Chapter I

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The last owner but one of this estate, was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for, to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth. To him, therefore, the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life interestin it.

The old Gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;—but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:—he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He thenreally thought himself equal to it. The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.—\\\"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\\\"—He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence. She hadan excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent. The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished. They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction. The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again. They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself. She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with every proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Chapter I

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoredwell-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.\"},{\"id\":\"3000246T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"8\",\"text\":\"Sense and Sensibility, the first of those metaphorical bits of "ivory" on which Jane Austen said she worked with "so fine a brush," jackhammers away at the idea that to conjecture is a vain and hopeless reflex of the mind. But I'll venture this much: If she'd done nothing else, we'd still be in awe of her. Wuthering Heights alone put Emily Brontë in the pantheon, and her sister Charlotte and their older contemporary Mary Shelley might as well have saved themselves the trouble of writing anything but Jane Eyre and Frankenstein. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is at least as mighty a work as any of these, and smarter than all three put together. And it would surely impress us even more without Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), and Emma (1815) towering just up ahead. Austen wrote its ur-version, Elinor and Marianne, when she was nineteen, a year before First Impressions, which became Pride and Prejudice; she reconceived it as Sense and Sensibility when she was twenty-two, and she was thirty-six when it finally appeared. Like most first novels, it lays out what will be its author's lasting preoccupations: the "three or four families in a country village" (which Austen told her niece, in an often-quoted letter, was "the very thing to work on"). The interlocking anxieties over marriages, estates, and ecclesiastical "livings." The secrets, deceptions, and self-deceptions that take several hundred pages to straighten out-to the extent that they get straightened out. The radical skepticism about human knowledge, human communication, and humanpossibility that informs almost every scene right up to the sort-of-happy ending. And the distinctive characters-the negligent or overindulgent parents, the bifurcating siblings (smart sister, beautiful sister; serious brother, coxcomb brother), the charming, corrupted young libertines. Unlike most first novels, though, Sense and Sensibility doesn't need our indulgence. It's good to go.

In the novels to come, Elinor Dashwood will morph into Anne Elliott and Elizabeth Bennet (who will morph into Emma Woodhouse); Edward Ferrars into Edmund Bertram, Mr. Knightley, Henry Tilney, and Captain Wentworth; Willoughby into George Wickham and Henry Crawford. But the characters in Sense and Sensibility stand convincingly on their own, every bit as memorable as their later avatars. If Austen doesn't have quite the Caliban-to-Ariel range of a Shakespeare, she can still conjure up and sympathize with both Mrs. Jennings-the "rather vulgar" busybody with a borderline-unwholesome interest in young people's love lives, fits of refreshing horse sense, and a ruggedly good heart-and Marianne Dashwood, a wittily observed case study in Romanticism, a compassionately observed case study in sublimated adolescent sexuality, and a humorously observed case study in humorlessness. "I should hardly call her a lively girl," Elinor observes to Edward, "-she is very earnest, very eager in all she does-sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation-but she is not often really merry." Humorlessness, in fact, may be the one thing Marianne and her eventual lifemate, Colonel Brandon, have in common. (Sorry to give that plot point away; it won't be the last one, either. So, fair warning.) The minor characters have the sort of eidetic specificity you associate with Dickens: from the gruesomely mismatched Mr. and Mrs. Palmer to Robert Ferrars, splendidly impenetrable in his microcephalic self-complacency. The major characters, on the other hand, refuse to stay narrowly "in character"; they're always recognizably themselves, yet they seem as many-sided and changeable as people out in the nonfictional world.

Elinor makes as ambivalent a heroine as Mansfield Park's notoriously hard-to-warm-up-to Fanny Price. She's affectionately protective of her sister Marianne yet overfond of zinging her: "It is not every one who has your passion for dead leaves." She's bemused at Marianne's self-dramatizing, yet she's as smug about suffering in silence as Marianne (who "would have thought herself very inexcusable" if she were able to sleep after Willoughby leaves Devonshire) is proud of suffering in Surround Sound. She can be treacherously clever, as when Lucy Steele speculates (correctly) that she may have offended Elinor by staking her claim to Edward: " 'Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,' and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, 'nothing could be farther from my intention, than to give you such an idea.' " Yet she can also be ponderously preachy: "One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story-that all Willoughby's difficulties, have arisen from the first offense against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents." (In the rest of Austen, only the intentionally preposterous Mary in Pride and Prejudice strikes just this note: "Unhappy as the event may be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable . . ."). Is Elinor simply an intelligent young woman overtaxed by having to be the grown-up of the family? Or is she an unconsciously rivalrous sibling, sick of hearing that her younger, more beautiful sister will marry more advantageously? Or both? Or what? It's not that Austen doesn't have a clear conception of her-it's that she doesn't have a simple conception. Elinor is the character you know the most about, since Austen tells most of the story from her point of view, and consequently she's the one you're least able to nail with a couple of adjectives or a single defining moment.

Edward bothers us, too. He's a dreamboat only for a woman of Elinor's limited expectations: independent-minded yet passive and depressive, forthright and honorable yet engaged in a book-long cover-up. (It's a tour de force on Austen's part to present a character so burdened with a secret that we see his natural behavior only long after we've gotten used to him.) At his strongest and most appealing-to Elinor, at least-he's a clear-your-mind-of-cant kind of guy: "I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. . . . A troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world." But he can also be a Hamlet-like whiner, complaining about his own idleness and vowing that his sons will be brought up "to be as unlike myself as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing." For my money, Edward is the least likable of Austen's heroes, while his opposite number, Willoughby, is the most sympathetic of her libertines: smarter than Pride and Prejudice's Wickham (a loser who gets stuck with the "noisy" and virtually portionless Lydia Bennet) and more warmhearted than Mansfield Park's textbook narcissist Henry Crawford. Willoughby may strike trendy Wordsworthian poses with his effusions on cottages ("I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness is attainable"), but at least he has enough sense to abhor his own callowness, and enough sexy boldness to discompose even the rational Elinor. "She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess . . ." His opening line when he at last explains to her what he's been up to ("Tell me honestly, do you think me most a knave or a fool?") is one of those Byronic flourishes that make him the person in Sense and Sensibility you'd most want to dine with and least want to trust.

From the Paperback edition.

\"},{\"id\":\"126752945T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"9\",\"text\":\"Sense and Sensibility, the first of those metaphorical bits of \\\"ivory\\\" on which Jane Austen said she worked with \\\"so fine a brush,\\\" jackhammers away at the idea that to conjecture is a vain and hopeless reflex of the mind. But I'll venture this much: If she'd done nothing else, we'd still be in awe of her. Wuthering Heights alone put Emily Brontë in the pantheon, and her sister Charlotte and their older contemporary Mary Shelley might as well have saved themselves the trouble of writing anything but Jane Eyre and Frankenstein. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is at least as mighty a work as any of these, and smarter than all three put together. And it would surely impress us even more without Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), and Emma (1815) towering just up ahead. Austen wrote its ur-version, Elinor and Marianne, when she was nineteen, a year before First Impressions, which became Pride and Prejudice; she reconceived it as Sense and Sensibility when she was twenty-two, and she was thirty-six when it finally appeared. Like most first novels, it lays out what will be its author's lasting preoccupations: the \\\"three or four families in a country village\\\" (which Austen told her niece, in an often-quoted letter, was \\\"the very thing to work on\\\"). The interlocking anxieties over marriages, estates, and ecclesiastical \\\"livings.\\\" The secrets, deceptions, and self-deceptions that take several hundred pages to straighten out-to the extent that they get straightened out. The radical skepticism about human knowledge, human communication, and human possibility that informs almost every scene right up to the sort-of-happy ending. And the distinctive characters-the negligent or overindulgent parents, the bifurcating siblings (smart sister, beautiful sister; serious brother, coxcomb brother), the charming, corrupted young libertines. Unlike most first novels, though, Sense and Sensibility doesn't need our indulgence. It's good to go.

In the novels to come, Elinor Dashwood will morph into Anne Elliott and Elizabeth Bennet (who will morph into Emma Woodhouse); Edward Ferrars into Edmund Bertram, Mr. Knightley, Henry Tilney, and Captain Wentworth; Willoughby into George Wickham and Henry Crawford. But the characters in Sense and Sensibility stand convincingly on their own, every bit as memorable as their later avatars. If Austen doesn't have quite the Caliban-to-Ariel range of a Shakespeare, she can still conjure up and sympathize with both Mrs. Jennings-the \\\"rather vulgar\\\" busybody with a borderline-unwholesome interest in young people's love lives, fits of refreshing horse sense, and a ruggedly good heart-and Marianne Dashwood, a wittily observed case study in Romanticism, a compassionately observed case study in sublimated adolescent sexuality, and a humorously observed case study in humorlessness. \\\"I should hardly call her a lively girl,\\\" Elinor observes to Edward, \\\"-she is very earnest, very eager in all she does-sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation-but she is not often really merry.\\\" Humorlessness, in fact, may be the one thing Marianne and her eventual lifemate, Colonel Brandon, have in common. (Sorry to give that plot point away; it won't be the last one, either. So, fair warning.) The minor characters have the sort of eidetic specificity you associate with Dickens: from the gruesomely mismatched Mr. and Mrs. Palmer to Robert Ferrars, splendidly impenetrable in his microcephalic self-complacency. The major characters, on the other hand, refuse to stay narrowly \\\"in character\\\"; they're always recognizably themselves, yet they seem as many-sided and changeable as people out in the nonfictional world.

Elinor makes as ambivalent a heroine as Mansfield Park's notoriously hard-to-warm-up-to Fanny Price. She's affectionately protective of her sister Marianne yet overfond of zinging her: \\\"It is not every one who has your passion for dead leaves.\\\" She's bemused at Marianne's self-dramatizing, yet she's as smug about suffering in silence as Marianne (who \\\"would have thought herself very inexcusable\\\" if she were able to sleep after Willoughby leaves Devonshire) is proud of suffering in Surround Sound. She can be treacherously clever, as when Lucy Steele speculates (correctly) that she may have offended Elinor by staking her claim to Edward: \\\" 'Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,' and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, 'nothing could be farther from my intention, than to give you such an idea.' \\\" Yet she can also be ponderously preachy: \\\"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story-that all Willoughby's difficulties, have arisen from the first offense against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents.\\\" (In the rest of Austen, only the intentionally preposterous Mary in Pride and Prejudice strikes just this note: \\\"Unhappy as the event may be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable . . .\\\"). Is Elinor simply an intelligent young woman overtaxed by having to be the grown-up of the family? Or is she an unconsciously rivalrous sibling, sick of hearing that her younger, more beautiful sister will marry more advantageously? Or both? Or what? It's not that Austen doesn't have a clear conception of her-it's that she doesn't have a simple conception. Elinor is the character you know the most about, since Austen tells most of the story from her point of view, and consequently she's the one you're least able to nail with a couple of adjectives or a single defining moment.

Edward bothers us, too. He's a dreamboat only for a woman of Elinor's limited expectations: independent-minded yet passive and depressive, forthright and honorable yet engaged in a book-long cover-up. (It's a tour de force on Austen's part to present a character so burdened with a secret that we see his natural behavior only long after we've gotten used to him.) At his strongest and most appealing-to Elinor, at least-he's a clear-your-mind-of-cant kind of guy: \\\"I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. . . . A troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world.\\\" But he can also be a Hamlet-like whiner, complaining about his own idleness and vowing that his sons will be brought up \\\"to be as unlike myself as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing.\\\" For my money, Edward is the least likable of Austen's heroes, while his opposite number, Willoughby, is the most sympathetic of her libertines: smarter than Pride and Prejudice's Wickham (a loser who gets stuck with the \\\"noisy\\\" and virtually portionless Lydia Bennet) and more warmhearted than Mansfield Park's textbook narcissist Henry Crawford. Willoughby may strike trendy Wordsworthian poses with his effusions on cottages (\\\"I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness is attainable\\\"), but at least he has enough sense to abhor his own callowness, and enough sexy boldness to discompose even the rational Elinor. \\\"She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess . . .\\\" His opening line when he at last explains to her what he's been up to (\\\"Tell me honestly, do you think me most a knave or a fool?\\\") is one of those Byronic flourishes that make him the person in Sense and Sensibility you'd most want to dine with and least want to trust.\"},{\"id\":\"123826779T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"As nearly flawless as any fiction could be.\\\"
-Eudora Welty\"},{\"id\":\"121151167T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"As nearly flawless as any fiction could be.\\\"
-Eudora Welty\"},{\"id\":\"115041430T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\\\"Austen's genius lies in her style and elegance of mind\\\" -Amanda Craig, Independent

\\\"Austen's oeuvre is inviolable - it can never be unwritten\\\" -Francesca Segal, The Guardian

\"},{\"id\":\"116121202T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\\\"The technique of [Jane Austen's novels] is beyond praise . . . Her mastery of the art she chose, or that chose her, is complete.\\\" -Elizabeth Bowen

\\\"How could these novels ever seem remote . . . the gaiety is unextinguished today, the irony has kept its bite, the reasoning is still sweet, the sparkle undiminished, as comedies they are irresistibly and as nearly flawless as any fiction could be.\\\" -Eudora Welty

\\\"[Jane Austen] has a talent for describing the involvements of feelings and characters of ordinary life which is to me the most wonderful I ever met with.\\\" -Sir Walter Scott

\\\"Jane Austen is my favourite author.\\\" -E.M. Forster

\\\"The wit of Jane Austen has for partner the perfection of her taste.\\\" -Virginia Woolf

\\\"For those of us who suspect all the mysteries of life are contained in the microcosm of the family, that personal relationships prefigure all else, the work of Jane Austen is the Rosetta Stone of literature.\\\" -Anna Quindlen

\"},{\"id\":\"131542855T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

\\\"Austen's genius lies in her style and elegance of mind\\\" --Amanda Craig, Independent

\\\"Austen's oeuvre is inviolable - it can never be unwritten\\\" --Francesca Segal, The Guardian

\"},{\"id\":\"91011482T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Jane Austen at her perpetual best in this story of love and companionship, as told through the lens of a family arranging marriages for their daughters. Will it be Willoughby, Ferrars or Brandon? It’s a romance, it’s got Austen’s usual sharp wit and the characters are unforgettable.

\"},{\"id\":\"10044326T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"INTRODUCTION

It is now almost exactly two centuries since the first two of Jane Austen's six completed novels—Sense and Sensibility andPride and Prejudice—were published, and for much of that time writers and critics have passionately disagreed about the true caliber of her work. Austen's books received a few respectful reviews and lively attention from the reading public during her lifetime, but it wasn't until nearly thirty years after her death that some critics began to recognize her enduring artistic accomplishment—and others to debate it.

In 1843, the historian Thomas Macaulay called Austen the writer to \\\"have approached nearest to the manner of the great master\\\" Shakespeare; Charlotte Bronté felt, on the contrary, that \\\"the Passions are perfectly unknown to her.... Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman.\\\" Anthony Trollope made up his mind as a young man that \\\"Pride and Prejudice was the best novel in the language,\\\" while Mark Twain claimed to feel an \\\"animal repugnance\\\" for Austen's writing.

Austen herself would probably not have disagreed with many of her detractors' objections. She acknowledged that her themes and concerns were limited; she described them as \\\"human nature in the midland counties.\\\" \\\"Three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on,\\\" she wrote in a letter to her niece; and in another, now famous letter to her brother Edward, she described her art as \\\"the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as to produce little effect, after much labour.\\\"

It is true that great historical events and political concerns appear only obliquely, if at all, in the background of Austen's stories; that she deals with the spiritual condition of the human soul only insofar as it manifests itself in her characters' manners and taste in spouses; that the intellectual issues of her day appear in her novels primarily as a vehicle for revealing character and spoofing fashion. Even Austen's great early champion, the critic G. H. Lewes, had to admit the truth of Charlotte Bronté's objection that Austen's style lacked poetry, and that her \\\"exquisite\\\" work would appeal only to readers who didn't require \\\"strong lights and shadows.\\\" But in spite of these limitations, the particular genius and lasting appeal of Austen's writing has only become clearer and more certain as the decades pass and literary fashions come and go.

What is Austen's particular genius? And what might account for the renaissance of popular interest in her work today—one reflected in the recently acclaimed television and feature film productions of Sense and Sensibility (with an Oscar-winning screenplay by Emma Thompson), Pride and Prejudice (an A&E miniseries), the art house hit Persuasion, and the upcoming release of Emma, as well as the Emma-inspired Clueless, now atop video rental charts?

\\\"Of all great writers,\\\" Virginia Woolf said, \\\"she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness.\\\" But perhaps Austen herself gave us a clue to the standards for greatness she set herself, and a way to judge her achievement, when in Northanger Abbey she has a character say: \\\"'Oh! it is only a novel!' or, in short, only some work in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusion of wit and humour are to be conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.\\\"

Austen's delightful wit is certainly one of the great pleasures of her work. As to \\\"the best chosen language,\\\" while her writing conveys none of the lyricism of the Romantics (like Bronté) who would succeed her, it is full of intelligence and precisely crafted to convey its often subtle meaning. But Austen's strongest suit is her thorough knowledge and happy delineation of human nature. We can still, despite the vast differences between her society and our own, recognize ourselves in the ways her characters think and behave. We all know people as cleverly manipulative and outwardly affectionate as Lucy Steele or Miss Bingley; as self-involved as Fanny Dashwood or Lady Catherine de Bourgh; and as charming but as lacking in scruples as John Willoughby or Colonel Wickham. We are in turns impulsive and hyper-responsible like Marianne and Elinor Dashwood; conceal ourselves with arrogance like Mr. Darcy; assume we understand more than we do like Elizabeth Bennet; and revel in gossip, like Mrs. Jennings. And while the great events and philosophical movements of history play themselves out around us, it is our own nature and actions, and the nature and actions of the people around us, that most influence our lives.

In her own day, Austen's work signified a break with the Gothic and sentimental novels that had long been fashionable, in which heroines were always virtuous, romance was always sentimentalized, and unlikely but convenient coincidences and acts of God always occurred to bring about the dramatic climax. Instead Austen represented the ordinary world of men and women as it—sometimes mundanely—was, a place where love and romance were constrained by economics and human imperfection; where women had distinct and often sparkling personalities; where characters were never simply good or evil but more complicated amalgams, reflecting both their own moral nature and the virtues and failings of the families and society that shaped them.

In these ways, Austen seems very much in tune with today's sensibilities. We love her strong, unpretentious heroines (\\\"Pictures of perfection as you know make me sick & wicked,\\\" Austen said of them), who think for themselves and say what they mean when appropriate and don't take themselves too seriously. They are not, in today's parlance, victims. We are as interested as ever in Austen's favorite subjects of love and marriage, while also identifying with her steadfast refusal to romanticize romance; with her acknowledgment that money, class, and what other people think matter in the real world; that marriage does not result in a happy ending for everyone; and that it is dangerous to let passion blind us to reality. Living amidst the cultural fallout from the self-absorbed, sensibility-prone 1960s, we appreciate Austen's emphasis on reason, moderation, fidelity, and consideration for others.

Austen wrote her books at the dawn of the nineteenth century, when vast social changes were already encroaching on the way of life she so loved and rendered with such exquisite artistry. We read her books today on the cusp of a new century, with an unfathomable world creeping up on us, too—one globally interconnected, technologically complex, economically uncertain. Perhaps we find on Austen's rural estates and in her charming, insular society the same peace and pleasure she found there; and an analogue for the simpler, more circumscribed world of our own childhoods, itself passing quickly away into history.

About the Title

Marianne Dashwood, trusting the evidence of her senses, falls passionately in love with a man who in truth is less good than he seems. Elinor Dashwood quite sensibly \\\"thinks very highly of, greatly esteems, and likes\\\" a man whose worthiness in her eyes only increases when she learns why he cannot marry her. Through the sisters' stories, and the moral dilemmas they raise, Jane Austen explores in the form of a delightful and dramatically satisfying romance the limitations and pitfalls of the Romantic aesthetic in a world where money matters.

Though Northanger Abbey (originally called Lady Susan) was Austen's first novel to be accepted for publication, the publisher never issued it, and by the time Austen bought back the rights in 1816, she didn't think it was good enough to publish. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is considerably more ambitious than Northanger Abbey, both thematically and technically, and is generally considered Austen's first major novel.

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

Jane Austen, seventh of the eight children of Reverend George and Cassandra Leigh Austen, was born on December 16, 1775, in the small village of Steventon in Hampshire, England. Her childhood was happy: her home was full of books and many friends and her parents encouraged both their children's intellectual interests and their passion for producing and performing in amateur theatricals. Austen's closest relationship, one that would endure throughout her life, was with her beloved only sister, Cassandra.

From about the time she was twelve years old, Austen began writing spirited parodies of the popular Gothic and sentimental fiction of the day for the amusement of her family. Chock-full of stock characters, vapid and virtuous heroines, and improbable coincidences, these early works reveal in nascent form many of her literary gifts: particularly her ironic sensibility, wit, and gift for comedy. Attempts at more sustained, serious works began around 1794 with a novel in letters—a popular form at the time—called Lady Susan, and in the years immediately following with two more epistolary novels—one called Elinor and Marianne, the other First Impressions—that would evolve into Sense and Sensibilityand Pride and Prejudice. Lady Susan, later revised and entitled Northanger Abbey, also was begun in that period.

From 1799 to 1809, little is known of Austen's life or literary endeavors, other than that upon her father's retirement she moved unhappily from her beloved home in Steventon to Bath; that he died a few years thereafter and she moved to Southampton; and that she began, but did not complete, a novel called The Watsons. A move back to the country in 1808—to a cottage on one of her brother's properties in Chawton—seems to have revived her interest in writing.

Her revised version of Elinor and Marianne—Sense and Sensibility—was published, like all the work which appeared in print in her lifetime, anonymously, in 1811; and between the time Pride and Prejudice was accepted for publication and the time it actually appeared, she wrote Mansfield Park. Emma appeared in 1816 and was reviewed favorably by the most popular novelist of the day, Sir Walter Scott, who said:

The author's knowledge of the world, and the peculiar tact with which she presents characters that the reader cannot fail to recognize, reminds us something of the merits of the Flemish school of painting. The subjects are not often elegant, and certainly never grand; but they are finished up to nature, and with a precision which delights the reader.

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

Though all her novels were concerned with courtship, love, and marriage, Austen never married. There is some evidence that she had several flirtations with eligible men in her early twenties, and speculation that in 1802 she agreed to marry the heir of a Hampshire family but then changed her mind. Austen rigorously guarded her privacy, and after her death, her family censored and destroyed many of her letters. Little is known of her personal experience or her favorite subjects. However, Austen's reputation as a \\\"dowdy bluestocking,\\\" as literary critic Ronald Blythe points out, is far from accurate: \\\"she loved balls, cards, wine, music, country walks, conversation, children, and bad as well as excellent novels.\\\"

In 1816, as she worked to complete her novel Persuasion, Austen's health began to fail. She continued to work, preparingNorthanger Abbey for publication, and began a light-hearted, satirical work called Sanditon which she never finished. She died at the age of forty-two on July 18, 1817, in the arms of her beloved sister, Cassandra, of what historians now believe to have been Addison's disease.

The identity of \\\"A Lady\\\" who wrote the popular novels was known in her lifetime only to her family and a few elite readers, among them the Prince Regent, who invited Austen to visit his library and \\\"permitted\\\" her to dedicate Emma to him (unaware, no doubt, that she loathed him). But Austen deliberately avoided literary circles; in Ronald Blythe's words, \\\"literature, not the literary life, was always her intention.\\\" It was not until the December following her death, when Northanger Abbey andPersuasion were published, that \\\"a biographical notice of the author\\\" by Austen's brother Henry appeared in the books, revealing to the reading public for the first time the name of Jane Austen.

The time in which Jane Austen wrote her novels was a period of great stability just about to give way to a time of unimagined changes. At that time most of England's population (some thirteen million) were involved in rural and agricultural work: yet within another twenty years, the majority of Englishmen became urban dwellers involved with industry, and the great railway age had begun. Throughout the early years of the century the cities were growing at a great rate; the network of canals was completed, the main roads were being remade. Regency London, in particular, boomed and became, among other things, a great centre of fashion. On the other hand, England in the first decade of the nineteenth century was still predominantly a land of country towns and villages, a land of rural routines which were scarcely touched by the seven campaigns of the Peninsular War against Napoleon.

But if Austen's age was still predominantly one of rural quiet, it was also the age of the French Revolution, the War of American Independence, the start of the Industrial Revolution, and the first generation of the Romantic poets; and Jane Austen was certainly not unaware of what was going on in the world around her. She had two brothers in the Royal Navy and a cousin whose husband was guillotined in the Terror. And although her favourite prose writer was Dr. Samuel Johnson, she clearly knew the works of writers like Goethe, Worsdworth, Scott, Byron, Southey, Godwin and other, very definitely nineteenth-century, authors.

If Jane Austen seems to have lived a life of placid rural seclusion in north Hampshire, she was at the same time very aware of a whole range of new energies and impulses, new ideas and powers, which were changing or about to change England—and indeed the whole western world—with a violence, a suddenness, and a heedlessness, which would soon make Jane Austen's world seem as remote as the Elizabethan Age. It is well to remember that in the early years of the century, when Thomas Arnold saw his first train tearing through the Rugby countryside he said: \\\"Feudality is gone forever.\\\" So close was it possible then to feel to the immemorial, static feudal way of life; so quickly was that way of life to vanish as the modern world laboured to be born.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

This lighthearted romance, generally agreed to be Austen's earliest major novel, though it was not published until after her death, is also a high-spirited burlesque of the sentimental and Gothic novels of her day. When the charmingly imperfect heroine, Catherine Morland, visits Northanger Abbey, she meets all the trappings of Gothic horror, and imagines the worst. Fortunately, she has at hand her own fundamental good sense and irresistible but unsentimental hero, Henry Tilney. Real disaster does eventually strike, but doesn't spoil for too long the happy atmosphere of this delightful novel.

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

More varied in scene and conceived on a bigger scale than Austen's earlier books, Mansfield Park (1814) can be seen as an image of quiet resistance at the start of what was to be the most convulsive century of change in English history. In telling the story of Fanny Price, the quiet and sensitive daughter of a lower-middle-class Portsmouth family who is brought up in—and after much suffering eventually becomes mistress of—elegant Mansfield Park, Austen draws on her usual cool irony and psychological insight while also portraying a less immediately winning heroine in a more complex light.

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

Many writers and critics consider Emma (1816), the last of Austen's novels published in her lifetime, the climax of her genius. Dominating the novel is the character of Emma Woodhouse—vital, interesting, complex, and predisposed to playing power games with other people's emotions. Austen called her a heroine \\\"no one but myself would like,\\\" but she endures as one of Austen's immortal creations. Charting how Emma's disastrous foray as a matchmaker precipitates a crisis in the small provincial world of Highbury, and in her own heart, this novel of self-deceit and self-discovery sparkles with intelligence, wit, and irony.

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had met and separated years before. Their reunion forces a recognition of the false values that drove them apart. The characters who embody those values are the subjects of some of the most withering satire that Austen ever wrote. Like its predecessors, Persuasion (published after her death in 1818) is a tale of love and marriage, told with Austen's distinctive irony and insight. But the heroine—like the author—is more mature; the tone of the writing more somber.

Also included in this edition is the pioneering biography of Austen written fifty years after her death by her nephew, J. E. Austen-Leigh, which outlines the essential facts of Austen's life while also reflecting the Victorian era's limited comprehension of her achievements.

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

These three works—one novel unpublished in her lifetime and two unfinished fragments—reveal Austen's development as a great artist. Lady Susan is a sparkling melodrama, written in epistolary form, featuring a beautiful, intelligent, and wicked heroine. The Watsons, probably written when Austen resided unhappily in Bath and abandoned after her father's death, is a tantalizing fragment centering on the marital prospects of the Watson sisters in a small provincial town. Sanditon, Austen's last fiction, reflects her growing concern with the new speculative consumer society and foreshadows the great social upheavals of the Industrial Revolution.

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Emma 0-14-086106-8
Persuasion 0-14-086058-4
Pride and Prejudice 0-14-086060-6
Sense and Sensibility 0-14-086245-5
Boxed Set: Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice 0-14-771107-X

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

Joseph Duffy, \\\"Criticism 1814-70\\\"; Brian Southam, \\\"Criticism 1870-1940\\\" and \\\"Janeites and Anti-Janeites\\\"; A. Walton Litz, \\\"Criticism 1939-83\\\"; J. David Grey, \\\"Life of Jane Austen\\\"; all in The Jane Austen Companion, J. David Grey, Managing Editor; Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1986.

Lloyd W. Brown, \\\"The Business of Marrying and Mothering,\\\" and Norman Page, \\\"The Great Tradition Revisited,\\\" in Jane Austen's Achievement, edited by Juliet McMaster, Harper & Row Publishers, Inc., Barnes & Noble Import Division, New York, 1976.

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"68736123T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

INTRODUCTION

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"101323136T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"INTRODUCTION

It is now almost exactly two centuries since the first two of Jane Austen's six completed novels—Sense and Sensibility andPride and Prejudice—were published, and for much of that time writers and critics have passionately disagreed about the true caliber of her work. Austen's books received a few respectful reviews and lively attention from the reading public during her lifetime, but it wasn't until nearly thirty years after her death that some critics began to recognize her enduring artistic accomplishment—and others to debate it.

In 1843, the historian Thomas Macaulay called Austen the writer to \\\"have approached nearest to the manner of the great master\\\" Shakespeare; Charlotte Bronté felt, on the contrary, that \\\"the Passions are perfectly unknown to her.... Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman.\\\" Anthony Trollope made up his mind as a young man that \\\"Pride and Prejudice was the best novel in the language,\\\" while Mark Twain claimed to feel an \\\"animal repugnance\\\" for Austen's writing.

What is Austen's particular genius? And what might account for the renaissance of popular interest in her work today—one reflected in the recently acclaimed television and feature film productions of Sense and Sensibility (with an Oscar-winning screenplay by Emma Thompson), Pride and Prejudice (an A&E miniseries), the art house hit Persuasion, and the upcoming release of Emma, as well as the Emma-inspired Clueless, now atop video rental charts?

\\\"Of all great writers,\\\" Virginia Woolf said, \\\"she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness.\\\" But perhaps Austen herself gave us a clue to the standards for greatness she set herself, and a way to judge her achievement, when in Northanger Abbey she has a character say: \\\"'Oh! it is only a novel!' or, in short, only some work in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusion of wit and humour are to be conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.\\\"

About the Title

Though Northanger Abbey (originally called Lady Susan) was Austen's first novel to be accepted for publication, the publisher never issued it, and by the time Austen bought back the rights in 1816, she didn't think it was good enough to publish. Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811, is considerably more ambitious than Northanger Abbey, both thematically and technically, and is generally considered Austen's first major novel.

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

From about the time she was twelve years old, Austen began writing spirited parodies of the popular Gothic and sentimental fiction of the day for the amusement of her family. Chock-full of stock characters, vapid and virtuous heroines, and improbable coincidences, these early works reveal in nascent form many of her literary gifts: particularly her ironic sensibility, wit, and gift for comedy. Attempts at more sustained, serious works began around 1794 with a novel in letters—a popular form at the time—called Lady Susan, and in the years immediately following with two more epistolary novels—one called Elinor and Marianne, the other First Impressions—that would evolve into Sense and Sensibilityand Pride and Prejudice. Lady Susan, later revised and entitled Northanger Abbey, also was begun in that period.

Her revised version of Elinor and Marianne—Sense and Sensibility—was published, like all the work which appeared in print in her lifetime, anonymously, in 1811; and between the time Pride and Prejudice was accepted for publication and the time it actually appeared, she wrote Mansfield Park. Emma appeared in 1816 and was reviewed favorably by the most popular novelist of the day, Sir Walter Scott, who said:

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

In 1816, as she worked to complete her novel Persuasion, Austen's health began to fail. She continued to work, preparingNorthanger Abbey for publication, and began a light-hearted, satirical work called Sanditon which she never finished. She died at the age of forty-two on July 18, 1817, in the arms of her beloved sister, Cassandra, of what historians now believe to have been Addison's disease.

The identity of \\\"A Lady\\\" who wrote the popular novels was known in her lifetime only to her family and a few elite readers, among them the Prince Regent, who invited Austen to visit his library and \\\"permitted\\\" her to dedicate Emma to him (unaware, no doubt, that she loathed him). But Austen deliberately avoided literary circles; in Ronald Blythe's words, \\\"literature, not the literary life, was always her intention.\\\" It was not until the December following her death, when Northanger Abbey andPersuasion were published, that \\\"a biographical notice of the author\\\" by Austen's brother Henry appeared in the books, revealing to the reading public for the first time the name of Jane Austen.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

More varied in scene and conceived on a bigger scale than Austen's earlier books, Mansfield Park (1814) can be seen as an image of quiet resistance at the start of what was to be the most convulsive century of change in English history. In telling the story of Fanny Price, the quiet and sensitive daughter of a lower-middle-class Portsmouth family who is brought up in—and after much suffering eventually becomes mistress of—elegant Mansfield Park, Austen draws on her usual cool irony and psychological insight while also portraying a less immediately winning heroine in a more complex light.

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

Many writers and critics consider Emma (1816), the last of Austen's novels published in her lifetime, the climax of her genius. Dominating the novel is the character of Emma Woodhouse—vital, interesting, complex, and predisposed to playing power games with other people's emotions. Austen called her a heroine \\\"no one but myself would like,\\\" but she endures as one of Austen's immortal creations. Charting how Emma's disastrous foray as a matchmaker precipitates a crisis in the small provincial world of Highbury, and in her own heart, this novel of self-deceit and self-discovery sparkles with intelligence, wit, and irony.

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had met and separated years before. Their reunion forces a recognition of the false values that drove them apart. The characters who embody those values are the subjects of some of the most withering satire that Austen ever wrote. Like its predecessors, Persuasion (published after her death in 1818) is a tale of love and marriage, told with Austen's distinctive irony and insight. But the heroine—like the author—is more mature; the tone of the writing more somber.

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Emma 0-14-086106-8
Persuasion 0-14-086058-4
Pride and Prejudice 0-14-086060-6
Sense and Sensibility 0-14-086245-5
Boxed Set: Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice 0-14-771107-X

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

Joseph Duffy, \\\"Criticism 1814-70\\\"; Brian Southam, \\\"Criticism 1870-1940\\\" and \\\"Janeites and Anti-Janeites\\\"; A. Walton Litz, \\\"Criticism 1939-83\\\"; J. David Grey, \\\"Life of Jane Austen\\\"; all in The Jane Austen Companion, J. David Grey, Managing Editor; Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1986.

Lloyd W. Brown, \\\"The Business of Marrying and Mothering,\\\" and Norman Page, \\\"The Great Tradition Revisited,\\\" in Jane Austen's Achievement, edited by Juliet McMaster, Harper & Row Publishers, Inc., Barnes & Noble Import Division, New York, 1976.

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"71952018T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"INTRODUCTION

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"53598205T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

INTRODUCTION

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"53321382T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"INTRODUCTION

In 1843, the historian Thomas Macaulay called Austen the writer to \\\"have approached nearest to the manner of the great master\\\" Shakespeare; Charlotte Bronté felt, on the contrary, that \\\"the Passions are perfectly unknown to her.... Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman.\\\" Anthony Trollope made up his mind as a young man that \\\"Pride and Prejudice was the best novel in the language,\\\" while Mark Twain claimed to feel an \\\"animal repugnance\\\" for Austen's writing.

What is Austen's particular genius? And what might account for the renaissance of popular interest in her work today—one reflected in the recently acclaimed television and feature film productions of Sense and Sensibility (with an Oscar-winning screenplay by Emma Thompson), Pride and Prejudice (an A&E miniseries), the art house hit Persuasion, and the upcoming release of Emma, as well as the Emma-inspired Clueless, now atop video rental charts?

\\\"Of all great writers,\\\" Virginia Woolf said, \\\"she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness.\\\" But perhaps Austen herself gave us a clue to the standards for greatness she set herself, and a way to judge her achievement, when in Northanger Abbey she has a character say: \\\"'Oh! it is only a novel!' or, in short, only some work in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusion of wit and humour are to be conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.\\\"

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

From about the time she was twelve years old, Austen began writing spirited parodies of the popular Gothic and sentimental fiction of the day for the amusement of her family. Chock-full of stock characters, vapid and virtuous heroines, and improbable coincidences, these early works reveal in nascent form many of her literary gifts: particularly her ironic sensibility, wit, and gift for comedy. Attempts at more sustained, serious works began around 1794 with a novel in letters—a popular form at the time—called Lady Susan, and in the years immediately following with two more epistolary novels—one called Elinor and Marianne, the other First Impressions—that would evolve into Sense and Sensibilityand Pride and Prejudice. Lady Susan, later revised and entitled Northanger Abbey, also was begun in that period.

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

The identity of \\\"A Lady\\\" who wrote the popular novels was known in her lifetime only to her family and a few elite readers, among them the Prince Regent, who invited Austen to visit his library and \\\"permitted\\\" her to dedicate Emma to him (unaware, no doubt, that she loathed him). But Austen deliberately avoided literary circles; in Ronald Blythe's words, \\\"literature, not the literary life, was always her intention.\\\" It was not until the December following her death, when Northanger Abbey andPersuasion were published, that \\\"a biographical notice of the author\\\" by Austen's brother Henry appeared in the books, revealing to the reading public for the first time the name of Jane Austen.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had met and separated years before. Their reunion forces a recognition of the false values that drove them apart. The characters who embody those values are the subjects of some of the most withering satire that Austen ever wrote. Like its predecessors, Persuasion (published after her death in 1818) is a tale of love and marriage, told with Austen's distinctive irony and insight. But the heroine—like the author—is more mature; the tone of the writing more somber.

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Emma 0-14-086106-8
Persuasion 0-14-086058-4
Pride and Prejudice 0-14-086060-6
Sense and Sensibility 0-14-086245-5
Boxed Set: Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice 0-14-771107-X

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

Joseph Duffy, \\\"Criticism 1814-70\\\"; Brian Southam, \\\"Criticism 1870-1940\\\" and \\\"Janeites and Anti-Janeites\\\"; A. Walton Litz, \\\"Criticism 1939-83\\\"; J. David Grey, \\\"Life of Jane Austen\\\"; all in The Jane Austen Companion, J. David Grey, Managing Editor; Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1986.

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"49675492T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"7\",\"text\":\"

INTRODUCTION

In 1843, the historian Thomas Macaulay called Austen the writer to \\\"have approached nearest to the manner of the great master\\\" Shakespeare; Charlotte Bronté felt, on the contrary, that \\\"the Passions are perfectly unknown to her.... Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman.\\\" Anthony Trollope made up his mind as a young man that \\\"Pride and Prejudice was the best novel in the language,\\\" while Mark Twain claimed to feel an \\\"animal repugnance\\\" for Austen's writing.

What is Austen's particular genius? And what might account for the renaissance of popular interest in her work today—one reflected in the recently acclaimed television and feature film productions of Sense and Sensibility (with an Oscar-winning screenplay by Emma Thompson), Pride and Prejudice (an A&E miniseries), the art house hit Persuasion, and the upcoming release of Emma, as well as the Emma-inspired Clueless, now atop video rental charts?

\\\"Of all great writers,\\\" Virginia Woolf said, \\\"she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness.\\\" But perhaps Austen herself gave us a clue to the standards for greatness she set herself, and a way to judge her achievement, when in Northanger Abbey she has a character say: \\\"'Oh! it is only a novel!' or, in short, only some work in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusion of wit and humour are to be conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.\\\"

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

From about the time she was twelve years old, Austen began writing spirited parodies of the popular Gothic and sentimental fiction of the day for the amusement of her family. Chock-full of stock characters, vapid and virtuous heroines, and improbable coincidences, these early works reveal in nascent form many of her literary gifts: particularly her ironic sensibility, wit, and gift for comedy. Attempts at more sustained, serious works began around 1794 with a novel in letters—a popular form at the time—called Lady Susan, and in the years immediately following with two more epistolary novels—one called Elinor and Marianne, the other First Impressions—that would evolve into Sense and Sensibilityand Pride and Prejudice. Lady Susan, later revised and entitled Northanger Abbey, also was begun in that period.

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

The identity of \\\"A Lady\\\" who wrote the popular novels was known in her lifetime only to her family and a few elite readers, among them the Prince Regent, who invited Austen to visit his library and \\\"permitted\\\" her to dedicate Emma to him (unaware, no doubt, that she loathed him). But Austen deliberately avoided literary circles; in Ronald Blythe's words, \\\"literature, not the literary life, was always her intention.\\\" It was not until the December following her death, when Northanger Abbey andPersuasion were published, that \\\"a biographical notice of the author\\\" by Austen's brother Henry appeared in the books, revealing to the reading public for the first time the name of Jane Austen.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had met and separated years before. Their reunion forces a recognition of the false values that drove them apart. The characters who embody those values are the subjects of some of the most withering satire that Austen ever wrote. Like its predecessors, Persuasion (published after her death in 1818) is a tale of love and marriage, told with Austen's distinctive irony and insight. But the heroine—like the author—is more mature; the tone of the writing more somber.

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Emma 0-14-086106-8
Persuasion 0-14-086058-4
Pride and Prejudice 0-14-086060-6
Sense and Sensibility 0-14-086245-5
Boxed Set: Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice 0-14-771107-X

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

Joseph Duffy, \\\"Criticism 1814-70\\\"; Brian Southam, \\\"Criticism 1870-1940\\\" and \\\"Janeites and Anti-Janeites\\\"; A. Walton Litz, \\\"Criticism 1939-83\\\"; J. David Grey, \\\"Life of Jane Austen\\\"; all in The Jane Austen Companion, J. David Grey, Managing Editor; Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1986.

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.\"},{\"id\":\"46653036T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"8\",\"text\":\"INTRODUCTION

About the Title

ABOUT JANE AUSTEN

Scott also insightfully pointed out Emma's significance in representing the emergence of a new kind of novel, one concerned with the texture of ordinary life.

Adapted from the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Mansfield Park.

Related Titles

Northanger Abbey

Edited with an Introduction by Marilyn Butler

0-14-043413-5

Mansfield Park

Edited with an Introduction by Tony Tanner

0-14-043016-4

Emma

Edited with an Introduction by Ronald Blythe

0-14-043010-5

Persuasion

Edited with an Introduction by D.W. Harding

0-14-043005-9

Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon

Edited with an Introduction by Margaret Drabble

0-14-043102-0

Also available from Penguin Classics:

The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronté
Edited by Frances Beer

This collection provides the opportunity to discover the first examples of Austen's neoclassical elegance and Bronté's mastery of the romantic spirit.

0-14-043267-1

Available on audiocassette from Penguin Audiobooks:

Penguin Classics wishes to thank and credit the following writers and books for information used in creating this Penguin Classics Guide:

W. A. Craik, Jane Austen: The Six Novels, Barnes & Noble, Inc., New York, 1965.

\"},{\"id\":\"2752114T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"9\",\"text\":\"

1. Sense and Sensibility begins with a short history of Norland Park, the Dashwood family's estate. We learn that the late owner has bequeathed the property to his nephew, Henry Dashwood, since he himself was unmarried and without children. Describe Henry Dashwood's family. Who are its members? What is the dilemma that Henry's wife and daughters encounter upon his death?

2. The novel tells the story of two sisters who at first appear to be more different than similar. Elinor, the older sister, is governed by her good sense, whereas Marianne, the younger and less experienced sister, is ruled by a romantic sensibility. Compare the personalities of the two sisters further. To what do you attribute these differences? Are their personalities fixed, or do they change over the course of the novel?

3. In Chapter 13, Elinor is shocked to learn that Marianne allowed Willoughby to show her his house without a chaperon. Marianne defends her action by saying, "If there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong." Is this a valid defense? Does the novel, in the end, support or reject Marianne's notion of propriety?

4. Claire Tomalin has argued that Sense and Sensibility acts out a debate about behavior, in which Elinor represents discretion and privacy and Marianne represents emotional openness. Which side do you think wins this debate? Do you think the novel's attempts to resolve this debate are successful? Why or why not?

5. Over the course of the novel, both Elinor and Marianne experience romantic reversals: Elinor when she discovers Edward Ferrarsis engaged to Lucy Steele, and Marianne when she discovers Willoughby is to marry Miss Grey. What do these experiences teach Elinor and Marianne? Compare the reactions of each.

6. Sense and Sensibility presents a host of memorable minor characters, such as Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Ferrars, and Mrs. John Dashwood. Discuss the role minor characters play in the novel. What issues or ideas do they help illuminate for the protagonists?

7. In Chapter 17, Elinor says the following with regard to the notion of character: "I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes . . . in a total misapprehension of character in some points or other; fancying other people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why, or in what the deception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what they say of themselves, and very frequently by what others say of them, without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge." Discuss the theme of character in Sense and Sensibility. What does Elinor mean when she uses the word "character"? What, according to her, are good and bad judges of character? Does she follow her own advice? Which sort of character does the novel value?

8. Discuss the character of Lucy Steele. How would you describe her? What does she risk in telling Elinor of her engagement to Edward Ferrars? Does this seem shrewd or foolish to you?

9. At several points in the story, the characters discuss the value of "second attachments." For instance, in Chapter 17, Marianne makes plain that she does not believe a person can be in love more than once in his or her life. She says further, "At my time of life, opinions are tolerably fixed. It is not likely that I should see or hear anything to change them." Discuss the irony implicit in Marianne's statement. Does the novel itself share her views? Which characters come to have second attachments?

10. Discuss the character of Willoughby. How is he punished for his decision to marry for money, in a way that someone like Lucy Steele is not? Why might this be the case?

\"},{\"id\":\"125070617T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) was extremely modest about her own genius but has become one of English literature's most famous women writers. She is also the author of Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey.

Ros Ballaster is Professor of 18th Century Studies at Mansfield College, Oxford.

\"},{\"id\":\"118558046T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"10\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775–1817) is one of the most popular writers in English literature. Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, and her other novels are landmarks of Regency fiction.

\"},{\"id\":\"123826780T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"11\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) was born in Hampshire, England, to George Austen, a rector, and his wife, Cassandra. Like many girls of her day, she was educated at home, where she began her literary career by writing parodies and skits for the amusement of her large family. Although Austen did not marry, she did have several suitors and once accepted a marriage proposal, but only for an evening. Although Austen never lived apart from her family, her work shows a worldly and wise sensibility. Her novels include Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), Emma (1815), and Northanger Abbeyand Persuasion, published together posthumously in 1818.

Margaret Drabble is the highly acclaimed novelist, biographer, and editor of The Oxford Companion to English Literature. Her novels include The Gates of Ivory,The Seven Sisters, and The Red Queen.

Mary Balogh grew up in Wales and after graduating from University moved to Saskatchewan, Canada, to teach high school English. Her first Regency historical love story, A Masked Deception, was published in 1985. She has written more than seventy novels since then, including the New York Times bestselling Slightly sestet and Simply quartet.

\"},{\"id\":\"122227991T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"12\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) was extremely modest about her own genius but has become one of English literature's most famous women writers. She is also the author of Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion, and Northanger Abbey. Ros Ballaster is a Fellow and Tutor in English at Mansfield College, Oxford. Tony Tanner was a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, and Professor of English and American Literature at the University of Cambridge.

\"},{\"id\":\"118723612T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"13\",\"text\":\"

Born in 1775, Jane Austen published four of her six novels anonymously. Her work was not widely read until the late nineteenth century, and her fame grew from then on. Known for her wit and sharp insight into social conventions, her novels about love, relationships, and society are more popular year after year. She has earned a place in history as one of the most cherished writers of English literature.

\"},{\"id\":\"117964741T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"14\",\"text\":\"

Edward Copeland is Professor Emeritus of English Literature at Pomona College, California.

\"},{\"id\":\"115988632T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"15\",\"text\":\"

Edward Copeland is Professor Emeritus of English Literature at Pomona College, California.

\"},{\"id\":\"67050533T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"16\",\"text\":\"Jane Austen was born in 1775 at Steventon, Hampshire. She was the seventh child of the local rector and her life, by modern standards, was uneventful. In 1801 she moved with her parents to Bath but returned to Hampshire when her father died, settling in the village of Chawton. She remained there until 1817, when she moved to Winchester to be within easy reach of her doctor. She died that year, at age forty-one, and is buried in Winchester Cathedral, which also contains a plaque in honor of her memory. Four of her novels were published anonymously in her lifetime; two more, one of which was Persuasion, appeared posthumously.\"},{\"id\":\"5825058T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"17\",\"text\":\"John Mullan is Professor of English at University College London. He has previously edited editions of Daniel Defoe's Roxana (2008) and Samuel Johnson's The Lives of the Poets for Oxford World's Classics. He is the author of What Matters in Jane Austen? (Bloomsbury, 2012), Anonymity: A Secret History of English Literature (Faber & Faber, 2008), and How Novels Work (OUP, 2006).\"},{\"id\":\"94234884T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"18\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) is among the small handful of authors whose canonical standing in English fiction is effectively unquestioned: she is credited with perfecting free indirect discourse, the technique that lets a narrator render a character's private thought without quotation marks, and her influence runs continuously from George Eliot through Henry James to the contemporary novel of manners. Sense and Sensibility (1811) was her first published novel - issued anonymously, \\\"By A Lady,\\\" since Austen never put her own name on a book in her lifetime - and it already contains the close, ironic social observation that defines everything she wrote after it. Austen's inclusion case is less about her own biography, which is well documented and not obscure, than about what Sense and Sensibility is actually about: the real legal and economic precarity of unmarried women under English inheritance law. The novel opens with the Dashwood women losing their home because it passes by entail to a male relative, and the plot that follows is driven by exactly the kind of financial vulnerability Austen herself lived with as an unmarried woman dependent on her father and brothers. Read this way, Sense and Sensibility is social history as much as courtship comedy - a precise account of what property law did to women who had no independent income and no legal standing to inherit it. The novel's durable reader appeal needs little argument: it is funny, romantic, and psychologically exact, and it has sustained two centuries of readers, adaptations, and rereadings without slackening. This Clearview Editions large-print printing - 18-point Atkinson Hyperlegible Next, ragged-right, with no word-division - makes Austen's earliest published novel available to older readers and those with low vision who make up a large and loyal share of her continuing readership.

\"},{\"id\":\"130575187T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"19\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) was born in Steventon Rectory, a village in north-east Hampshire, England, on December 16, 1775. The Austen family later moved to Bath and then to Chawton in Hampshire. The seventh of eight children in a rector's family, Jane started writing a young age. She is now one of the most widely read and respected of all English language novelists, but was never publicly acknowledged as a writer during her lifetime. Her six major novels, now considered literary classics, are Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion.

\"},{\"id\":\"5931851T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Jane Austen (1775) was an English novelist whose works include Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Emma, Mansfield Park, and Northanger Abbey. Her biting social commentary and masterful use of both free indirect discourse and irony eventually made Austen one of the most influential and honored novelists in English Literature.

\"},{\"id\":\"125807900T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) wrote six novels, all influential comedies of manners, whose wit and satirical style forged the template for Regency fiction.

\"},{\"id\":\"115041431T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen was born in 1775 in rural Hampshire, the daughter of an affluent village rector who encouraged her in her artistic pursuits. In novels such as Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park and Emma she developed her subtle analysis of contemporary life through depictions of the middle classes in small towns. Her sharp wit and incisive portraits of ordinary people have given her novels enduring popularity. She died in 1817.

\"},{\"id\":\"121151168T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen was born in Steventon, Hampshire, on December 16, 1775. Her father, the Reverend George Austen, was rector of Steventon, where she spent her first twenty-five years, along with her six brothers (two of them later naval officers in the Napoleonic wars) and her adored sister, Cassandra. She read voraciously from an early age, counting among her favorites the novels of Samuel Richardson, Henry Fielding, and Fanny Burney, and the poetry of William Cowper and George Crabbe. Her family was lively and affectionate and they encouraged her precocious literary efforts, the earliest dating from age twelve, which already displayed the beginnings of her comic style. Her first novels, Elinor and Marianne (1796) and First Impressions (1797), were not published. The gothic parody Northanger Abbey was accepted for publication in 1803 but was ultimately withheld by the publisher.

In 1801 the family moved to Bath, where for four years Austen was able to observe the fashionable watering place that would later figure prominently in her fiction. Austen was sociable in her youth, and was briefly engaged in 1802. Two years later she began work on The Watsons, a novel that remained unfinished. After the death of her father in 1805, she lived with her mother and sister in Southampton for a few years before moving with them to a cottage at Chawton in Hampshire. This would be her home for the rest of her life, and she wrote many of her novels in its parlor. She continued to revise her earlier unpublished work, and in 1811 a version of Elinor and Marianne was published as Sense and Sensibility, followed two years later by Pride and Prejudice, a reworking of First Impressions. In the next few years she published Mansfield Park (1814) and Emma (1816).

Austen became ill in 1815, perhaps with Addison's disease, and she died on July 18, 1817. Persuasion, her last novel, and the earlier Northanger Abbey appeared the following year. Of her last days her brother wrote: 'She wrote whilst she could hold a pen, and with a pencil when a pen was become too laborious. The day preceding her death she composed some stanzas replete with fancy and vigour.' Although Austen received some praise from her contemporaries-notably Sir Walter Scott, who discerned in her work 'the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment'-her detractors included Charlotte Bronte ('very incomplete and rather insensible') and Ralph Waldo Emerson ('vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention'), and her books did not immediately find a wide readership. The turn in her reputation came late in the nineteenth century, and has been succeeded by an enduring popularity and widespread critical praise in the twentieth.

\"},{\"id\":\"121796826T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"118925305T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"7\",\"text\":\"

In the history of literature, few female authors have attained the enduring popularity of Jane Austen (1775-1817). Her exquisite, finely tuned novels have captivated readers for two hundred years, and her reputation shows no signs of diminishing, fuelled by high-profile TV and film adaptations of her writing. The substance of her work, and the source of her appeal, is quintessentially English. She takes the reader into the subtle cultural, linguistic and romantic codes of nineteenth-century English society, and in doing so creates some of literature's favourite heroes and heroines.

Judith John (Glossary) is a writer and editor specializing in literature and history. She has worked as an editor on major educational projects, including English A: Literature for the Pearson International Baccalaureate series. Judith's major research interests include Romantic and Gothic literature, and Renaissance drama.

\"},{\"id\":\"119819911T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"8\",\"text\":\"

Jane Austen (1775-1817) was an English novelist known primarily for her six major novels-Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion-which observe and critique the British gentry of the late eighteenth century. Her mastery of wit, irony, and social commentary made her a beloved and acclaimed author in her lifetime, a distinction she still enjoys today around the world.

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Jane Austen (1775-1817) is a renowned Regency novelist. Her other works include Emma (1816) and Pride and Prejudice (1813).

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George Hodgman

All Books By George Hodgman