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Salvation City

Salvation City

3.3 31
by Sigrid Nunez

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From the critically acclaimed author of The Last of Her Kind, a breakout novel that imagines the aftermath of pandemic flu, as seen through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old boy uncertain of his destiny.

His family's sole survivor after a flu pandemic has killed large numbers of people worldwide, Cole Vining is lucky to have found refuge with the


From the critically acclaimed author of The Last of Her Kind, a breakout novel that imagines the aftermath of pandemic flu, as seen through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old boy uncertain of his destiny.

His family's sole survivor after a flu pandemic has killed large numbers of people worldwide, Cole Vining is lucky to have found refuge with the evangelical Pastor Wyatt and his wife in a small town in southern Indiana. As the world outside has grown increasingly anarchic, Salvation City has been spared much of the devastation, and its residents have renewed their preparations for the Rapture.

Grateful for the shelter and love of his foster family (and relieved to have been saved from the horrid, overrun orphanages that have sprung up around the country), Cole begins to form relationships within the larger community. But despite his affection for this place, he struggles with memories of the very different world in which he was reared. Is there room to love both Wyatt and his parents? Are they still his parents if they are no longer there? As others around him grow increasingly fixated on the hope of salvation and the new life to come through the imminent Rapture, Cole begins to conceive of a different future for himself, one in which his own dreams of heroism seem within reach.

Written in Sigrid Nunez's deceptively simple style, Salvation City is a story of love, betrayal, and forgiveness, weaving the deeply affecting story of a young boy's transformation with a profound meditation on the meaning of belief and heroism.

Editorial Reviews

Abraham Verghese
Nunez tells a fine tale, avoiding clichés and providing powerful insights. To our surprise, we are drawn equally to the Wyatt family and to Cole's dead parents…By the end of this satisfying, provocative and very plausible novel, Cole doesn't believe that the world is about to end. Instead "he saw himself living a long time and going many places and doing many different things. 'Your whole life ahead of you'—never more than just an expression before—now came to him with the ring of a blessing."
—The New York Times
Publishers Weekly
The intellectually rigorous and grimly prophetic latest from Nunez (The Last of Her Kind) initially resembles any number of coming-of-age yarns, except that most adolescences don't coincide with apocalyptic flu pandemics and the rise of insular church-cities. Cole Vining, however, is not so fortunate: already struggling with a relocation from Chicago to penny-ante Indiana and the mystery of sexual desire, the near destruction of the human race (Cole's parents among them) launches Cole into a rudderless future of nightmarish orphanages and angelic "rapture children." Rescued by the charismatic and deceptive Pastor Wyatt, Cole is brought to Salvation City, a Christian Mission closed off from the crumbling world. There, Cole's education will resume with religious indoctrination in place of his parents' secular cynicism, and his evolving sense of self will collide with the corruption and hypocrisy lurking beneath Salvation's sanctified facade. The great success of Nunez's book is that the end of the world is filtered through Cole's imperfect perspective, so that the collapse of society is no more devastating than first love, and deeply felt conflict rages as a young man tries to find something worth preserving in a place determined to obliterate the past. (Sept)
From the Publisher
"The great success of Nunez's book is that the end of the world is filtered through Cole's imperfect perspective, so that the collapse of society is no more devastating than first love, and deeply felt conflict rages as a young man tries to find something worth preserving in a place determined to obliterate the past. " ---Publishers Weekly
Library Journal
When a flu pandemic wipes out most of the population, teenager Cole Vining is adopted by the pastor of a small evangelical community in southern Indiana. As Cole's parents had been atheists, he finds his new life—which involves lots of prayer, Bible study, and anticipation of the Rapture—pretty disorienting. He is eventually tracked down by his aunt, who, appalled at his conservative environment, offers him a much different life, giving him some serious choices to make. Narrator Stephen Hoye shines in his portrayals of the characters, especially the charismatic Pastor Wyatt. But while the slow-motion apocalypse that unfolds in PEN/Hemingway Award nominee Nunez's (www.sigridnunez.com) sixth novel is well told, the outcome following some extended Christian soul-searching may trouble certain listeners, limiting its appeal. A marginal purchase. [The Riverhead: Penguin Group (USA) hc was described as being similar to but "lighter" than Cormac McCarthy's The Road and was recommended for YA readers as well as fans of medical thrillers, LJ 8/10.—Ed.]—John Hiett, Iowa City P.L.
Kirkus Reviews

An adolescent orphan finds a home with an evangelical Christian community after his parents perish in an influenza pandemic, in the latest from Nunez (The Last of Her Kind, 2005, etc.).

In this not-so-unfathomable scenario, the American health-care system is woefully ill-equipped to cope with a long-predicted worldwide influenza outbreak. Caught in the chaos are Serena and Miles Vining, bourgeois-bohemian academics forced to leave Chicago for Indiana when Miles couldn't get tenure. Their only son Cole has had a secular upbringing—Miles and Serena scorn fundamentalism of all stripes. When "panflu" suddenly overtakes their small town, Miles dies at home, and after several days of delirium Cole awakens in a hospital, only to learn that his mother has died, as well as his only other next-of-kin, Serena's twin sister Addy, who lived in Berlin. He's sent to an orphanage (the sheer number of newly parentless children has revived the need for such institutions) dominated by bullies right out ofLord of the Flies, one of many books Cole had refused to read, much to his parents' disappointment. Rescued by Pastor Wyatt, a reformed alcoholic turned charismatic minister of a Christian enclave called Salvation City, Cole adjusts gradually to drastically different guardians: PW and his wife Tracy, like most Salvation City families, practice home schooling and exalt only one text, the Bible. Cole is surrounded by endearing born-again characters: Boots, a local radio host, Mason, a disfigured former skinhead with a heart of gold, and Starlyn, Tracy's jailbait niece, considered a "rapture child" marked for early ascension into heaven. Although Salvation City is on full Apocalyptic alert, Cole's domestic life with PW and Tracy is distinctly less fraught than with his parents. (Serena and Miles were divorce-bound; PW and Tracy never fight.) When Addy, not dead after all, arrives from Germany to claim him, Cole has to choose between diametrically opposed social milieus—no longer such a clear choice.

Class, not cure, is Nunez's preoccupation, and she handles it with fine-tuned irony and no small measure of profundity.

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Penguin Publishing Group
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Penguin Group
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252 KB
Age Range:
18 Years

Read an Excerpt

Part One

The best way to remember people after they've passed is to remember the good about them.

The first time Cole hears Pastor Wyatt say this he remembers how his mother hated when people said passed, or passed away. He'd come home from school one day and repeated the teacher's announcement: Ruthie Lind was absent that day because her grandmother had passed.

"Died. Say died, pumpkin," his mother said. "Passed sounds so silly."

She had called him pumpkin and she did not seem to be angry with him, but he had felt obscurely ashamed. Later he was told that people were afraid to say died because they were afraid of dying. Passed was just a euphemism. The funny-sounding word was new to Cole and for a time it kept recurring, floating into his head for no apparent reason. But the first time he saw the word in a book he did not recognize it, he was so sure it began with a u. Followed by an f, of course.

Pastor Wyatt does not always say passed. More often he says went home. ("Had a great-aunt went home at a hundred and three.") It all depends on whether the person he is talking about was saved or unsaved.

When he is preaching, Pastor Wyatt never says passed.

Pastor Wyatt is not afraid of dying.

"That's my job in a nutshell. I've got to teach people not to be afraid. We're all going to die, that's for certain. And the thing for folks to do is stop wasting their energy being all headless and fearful like a herd of spooked cattle."

At first, whenever Pastor Wyatt spoke directly to him, Cole would watch Pastor Wyatt's hands. He was not yet comfortable looking Pastor Wyatt in the face. Cole was keeping so much in—he had so many secrets—he did not like to look anyone in the face if he could help it. He knew this gave the impression he'd done something wrong, and that is just how he felt: as if he'd done something wrong and was trying to hide it.

He still feels this way much of the time. He thinks he will always feel this way.

Pastor Wyatt himself has a way of looking at people that Cole would call staring. His mother would have called it fucking rude. But from what he can tell, other people are not at all disturbed by the way Pastor Wyatt looks—or stares—at them.

Cole understands that Pastor Wyatt is thought to be handsome, though Cole himself has no opinion about this. But he has observed that people are delighted to have Pastor Wyatt's attention on them, especially if they are women. Pastor Wyatt always looks right into the face of the person he is talking to, and his eyes are almost like hands that reach out and hold you so you can't turn away. Somewhere Cole has read about a person giving someone else a searching look. He thinks this is a good description of what Pastor Wyatt does, too. But with Pastor Wyatt it's not something that happens once, or once in a while, but more like every time, and in the beginning Cole hated it.

He has never known anyone who looks so hard at other people. (He's got Holy Spirit high beams, members of the congregation like to say.) Cole has never known anyone who smiles so much, either. He smiles even when he preaches and when he is preaching about bad things, like temptation and sin. He smiles so that people won't be afraid. He is a tall man with a wide neck and naturally padded shoulders, and around shorter people he tends to slouch, bending his knees if need be—he does not like the feeling of towering over anyone. (Cole always thinks of this when Pastor Wyatt tells him to stand up straight, or not to hunch at the table.) When he is among children, Pastor Wyatt will sometimes do a full knee bend, balancing on the balls of his feet. It would break his heart to know that any child was afraid of him.

Pastor Wyatt still shakes hands with people. He pays no attention to the warning to switch to the elbow bump. Cole remembers learning about this while he was still in regular school. Public health officials were trying to get people to switch because touching elbows did not spread infection the way touching hands did. Cole knows there are many people who have switched, but he sees the elbow bump only when he is around strangers. The people he sees every day make fun of the elbow bump. They shake hands and they hug one another, even though Pastor Wyatt says the disease that spared them all this time around is neither the last nor the worst of its kind. Other plagues are coming, he says, smiling. And he thinks they will be here soon.

Pastor Wyatt's hands are of a whiteness and a softness that make Cole think of milk, of goose down, of freshly washed and bleached flannel sheets. It is impossible to imagine flu germs, or germs of any kind, lurking on such clean hands. Pastor Wyatt has never been sick a day in his life. If anyone else made such a claim, Cole would surely doubt it. But if Pastor Wyatt says it, he thinks it must be true.

Most marvelous are the fingernails, each tipped with a perfect little white crescent moon. He knows these nails are the work of Tracy, Pastor Wyatt's wife. He has caught her giving Pastor Wyatt manicures. Not that they try to hide it. They do the manicures right at the kitchen table, usually while listening to the radio. There is a television in the house, but Pastor Wyatt disapproves of television—the idiot box, he calls it—and Cole isn't allowed to watch much. But the radio is often on, playing Christian twang (Tracy's thing; Cole and Pastor Wyatt prefer Christian rock), or tuned to some talk show or sermon. Pastor Wyatt himself is a regular guest on the local station, on a weekly program called Heaven's A-Poppin'!

When he sees Tracy doing Pastor Wyatt's nails, Cole is embarrassed, almost as if he'd caught them having sex. He has no idea if Pastor Wyatt and Tracy have sex; he chooses to think they do not. He is a hundred percent certain he will never catch them having sex. He will never see either of them naked. It simply must not be allowed to happen. If it happens, he will have to die.

He thinks of the time he saw his parents lying naked on top of their covers, in broad daylight—the shades were up, sun fell across the bed—and how it was one of the worst moments of his life. He would have given all his toys to undo it.

First his parents pretended it never happened. Then something—most likely his behavior—must have changed their minds, and they insisted on talking about it. Which Cole would not do. Worst of all was when they tried teasing him about it. He would have given all his toys a second time for them just to forget it. Secretly he had vowed that no one would ever see him naked.

About sex he knew then just enough to feel shame. Certain photos he'd seen—ripped from magazines and passed around at school—had left him with images of unhealthy-looking grayish-pink flesh, like meat that had turned, and hideous tufts of dark hair where hair shouldn't even be, images that soured his stomach. It would have taken a miracle to connect them with the time he stumbled on Jade Korsky during a game of hide-and-seek. In the dark closet their teeth had clicked together like magnets, and they had tongued her cherry cough drop back and forth till it was the size of a lentil.

The moment he heard what intercourse was, instinct told him it was true. The knowledge had brought an anxious and bewildering sorrow, a feeling that would return when he learned what his mother's box of tampons was for. He did not share the excitement about these matters other boys couldn't hide. From what he could tell, his responses weren't normal, and he would not dream of revealing them.

Sometime—he cannot say exactly how long, maybe a year—sometime after he'd walked in on his parents lying naked, he walked in on them fighting and heard his mother say, "We never fuck anymore anyway, what the fuck do you care?" When they saw him they tried to explain, but only halfheartedly. And it was this half-heartedness that had enraged him, moving him to perhaps his first real effort at sarcasm. "Sure. I know. You guys were just rehearsing for a play."

No one had tried to stop him as he turned on his heel. He remembers his cold satisfaction, leaving them speechless behind him. He remembers thinking, Now they'll know how much I've grown up.

But he is not sure anymore if in fact it was his mother he heard that day. Maybe it was his father. This has become a familiar problem. Cole gets mixed up. He is never completely sure of anything he remembers anymore. He was told that after his fever broke he did not even remember his own name. It wasn't exactly amnesia, but the illness had damaged his brain. He was not the only one to whom this had happened. It happened to many other people as well. It happened to the president of the United States.

Even now there are important things Cole knows he should remember that he cannot remember at all. He has resigned himself to perhaps never remembering them again. He knows he is lucky to know his name, lucky not to have worse damage, lucky to be alive. Though he wishes ardently to learn not to be afraid to die, he cannot help being glad—even if it sometimes makes him feel base—that he survived.

It was his mother, he decides. Both his parents used swear words all the time, but it was more like his mother to swear twice in one sentence.

Pastor Wyatt uses a cream that makes his hands smell like cookie dough.

Cole has nightmares. Some contraption is crushing him, some ferocious animal is about to devour him, an object he cannot live without is lost or taken away. He cries out, doggy-paddling in the dark. Then there is light, impossibly bright, stabbing his eyes. It is always Pastor Wyatt who comes, never Tracy. Because Tracy never says anything about these nights, Cole thinks maybe she sleeps right through his screams and Pastor Wyatt getting out of bed. He knows married people don't always tell each other everything.

Pastor Wyatt sits with him for a while, stroking his head, praying with him. Jesus is here, he croons. But it is the smell of those hands that soothes Cole most.

In the upstairs bathroom one day, he uncaps every bottle and jar till he finds it. The cookie-dough smell is vanilla. It is one of his secrets, how much he loves that smell, and how he sometimes goes into the bathroom just to take a deep whiff. He believes that if he tells anyone, the smell won't have the same effect anymore. It is a secret also because he thinks of it as a girly thing. He pictures Les Wilbur and Peter Druzzi jeering.

Les Wilbur. Peter Druzzi. Cole wonders about them, as he wonders about all the other kids from school. He thinks he remembers that Les was sick, but it could have been Pete. Or it could have been both of them. He wonders if they have passed.

Died. Say died.

Ruthie Lind has passed, that he knows for sure. It happened before Cole himself got sick. Ruthie was one of the first to pass. Jade Korsky? He doesn't know. He and Jade hadn't been in the same school anymore. The closet, the cherry cough drop—all that was back in the city. Ages ago. When was the last time he'd played hide-and-seek?

His mother and his father, both of whom were afraid of dying, have passed.

The best way to remember them is to remember the good about them.

He knows that Pastor Wyatt is right. He does not know why it is so hard.

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher
"The great success of Nunez's book is that the end of the world is filtered through Cole's imperfect perspective, so that the collapse of society is no more devastating than first love, and deeply felt conflict rages as a young man tries to find something worth preserving in a place determined to obliterate the past. " —-Publishers Weekly
Gary Shteyngart
Sigrid Nunez has long been one of my favorite authors because she writes with the deepest intelligence, the truest heart and the most surprising sense of humor. Salvation City is a tale of an American near-apocalypse that brings out the best of all these qualities. It reads beautifully, at time joyously, and it makes one reconsider the ordering of our world. (Gary Shteyngart, author of Super Sad True Love Story)
Ron Rash
Salvation City is a wonderful, great-hearted novel that finds love and hope in the unlikeliest of circumstances. Cole Vining is a latter-day Huck Finn, and we grieve and cheer for him as he makes his journey, both physical and spiritual, through a devastated world. (Ron Rash, author of Serena)

Meet the Author

Sigrid Nunez is the author of the novels The Last of Her Kind, A Feather on the Breath of God, and For Rouenna, among others. She has been the recipient of several awards including a Whiting Writers' Award, the Rome Prize in Literature, and a Berlin Prize Fellowship. She lives in New York City.

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Salvation City 3.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 31 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Heh. That just amuses me. Anyway, vey good. As usual. :D Keep going!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I parked the car in the shadowy Greenwood Abuse Clinic parking lot, all the while thinking, why am l doing this? Why am l doing this? Why am l doing this?<br> It's ten o' clock at frigg<e>in' night. Am l officially going crazy?<p> I got out of my car and walked across the parking lot, opening the door as though it were perfectly normal for a dude in punk clothes to walk in this late at night. The lights were still on inside the building, and l could see the halls were entirely empty, but l noticed the receptionist at the front desk, sorting papers.<p> "How may l help you?" She asked tiredly, as though helping me would take up a few precious minutes of her sleep time.<br> "Amee," l blurted, then scolded myself mentally for sounding like a dunce, trying to correct myself. "She lives here."<br> The receptionist turned on her computer and typed a few keys.<br> "Amee Blackson?"<br> "Yes." Really, l had no idea. I guessed.<br> "Visitors are not allowed at this hour. You may visit her tomorrow, if you would like. I'm sorry."<br> "Stuck-up bit<e>ch." The words slithered out of my mouth like a poisonous snake. It must have been the cans of beer l drank at the party.<br> The receptionist's eyes widened, and she puffed up with fury. "You will leave now," she hissed. "Out!"<br> I backed away, intimidated.<p> Then l saw her angry expression soften. She was looking over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at.<p> Amee stood there, her silky hair falling down her back, wearing black jeans, a black tee and a scarf.<br> I felt embarrassment rise a flush to my face. Who knows how long Amee had been standing there, listening in on the words spoken in my sick alcohol-daze?<br> "Hello!" The receptionist said cheerfully, almost childishly, borderline speaking in a baby voice that was probably meant to sound gentle and loving but really sounded as though it was meant for little ones and the severely retar<e>ded. "You have a visitor!"<br> Amee looked at me. I reddened deeper. Her hand reached out and touched mine, took mine. It was soft.<br> We walked down the long, empty halls. Amee's combat boots had a zipper that tinkled softly as she walked, and l listened to her footsteps. Thump, clink, jingle, thump, thump. Thump, clink, clink, thump, thump. Amee led me to a room on the second floor and turned the doorknob.<br> It was a small, plain room with two cots and a table. A ginger-haired girl snored in one bed. Amee walked silently across the room and opened a tiny freezer next to the table, looking quizzically at me.<br> "Coke," l said, and she withdrew a Coke and a Sprite and sat down with me at the table.<br> Amee took a sip, then dipped her finger into the drink and wrote on the table.<p> I've seen you around. What is your name?<p> "Jaden," l said aloud. She smiled.<br> You work here, right?<p> I nodded.<br> Why are you here?<p> My eyes widened.<br> "I guess," l said slowly, "l've made an indentity for myself as a bad boy. But that's not who l want to be anymore."<br> She looked at me.<br> "And l wanted to meet you."<br> She bit her lip and smiled, like she understood.
Mombi More than 1 year ago
The book was great...all the way up until the last page.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great, thought provoking read. Wish it had been longer!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
anovelreview_blogspot_com More than 1 year ago
Flu pandemic breaks out and orphans Cole Vining, a thirteen year old boy, and changes the face of America. Cole is one of the lucky orphans and is placed into a home where he may be potentially adopted by Pastor Wyatts and his wife Tracey. The Wyatts live in Salvation City, a small town in rural Indiana. It¿s here where they introduce Cole to God and a new way of life. Cole easily accepts this new lifestyle even though he grew up in an atheist home. Though truthfully, he remembers very little about his former life¿a complication from the flu he had. The entire story is told by Cole¿s perspective: before the flu, during the flu and after the flu. He easily adjusts to his new surroundings and forms relationships with his new family. There is a definite back and forth struggle between his old and new life. After a disappearance in Salvation City, Cole comes to the realization of the future he wants for himself. Nunez writing is very articulate, but I found the story to be slow. There isn¿t a whole lot of action, as I thought there would be. This is really a coming of age story more than a story of surviving the pandemic. I never really connected with any of the characters, so I never sympathized with them. I felt like I was ¿waiting¿ for something to happen the entire time I was reading. Overall, the book was good just not my thing.
Cecilia Sublette More than 1 year ago
Though there were places in the novel that seemed to drag a bit as the author sought to describe Christian community, the novel is an interesting story of survival and self-forgiveness.
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