by Lily Tuck


by Lily Tuck


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“Tuck’s prose is elegant.” — New York Times Book Review

Lily Tuck’s critically-lauded, bestselling I Married You for Happiness was hailed by the Boston Globe as “an artfully crafted still life of one couple’s marriage.” In her singular new novel Sisters, Tuck gives a very different portrait of marital life, exposing the intricacies and scandals of a new marriage sprung from betrayal.

Tuck’s unnamed narrator lives with her new husband, his two teenagers, and the unbanishable presence of his first wife—known only as she. Obsessed with her, our narrator moves through her days presided over by the all-too-real ghost of the first marriage, fantasizing about how the first wife lives her life. Will the narrator ever equal she intellectually, or ever forget the betrayal that lies between them? And what of the secrets between her husband and she, from which the narrator is excluded? The daring and precise build up to an eerily wonderful denouement is a triumph of subtlety and surprise.

With Sisters, Lily Tuck delivers riveting psychological portrait of marriage, infidelity, and obsession; charting with elegance and insight love in all its phases.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780802127112
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Publication date: 09/05/2017
Pages: 176
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 7.20(h) x 1.00(d)

About the Author

Lily Tuck is the author of six novels: The Double Life of Liliane; I Married You for Happiness; Interviewing Matisse or the Woman Who Died Standing Up; The Woman Who Walked on Water; Siam, or the Woman Who Shot a Man, nominated for the PEN/Faulkner Award; The News From Paraguay, winner of the National Book Award; the short story collections The House at Belle Fontaine and Limbo, and Other Places I Have Lived; and the biography Woman of Rome: A Life of Elsa Morante.


New York, New York

Date of Birth:

October 10, 1939

Place of Birth:

Paris, France


B.A., Radcliffe (Harvard); M.A., Sorbonne, Paris

Read an Excerpt

In one of the photos I saw of her as a young woman, she is pushing a baby carriage – an old-fashioned big black baby carriage – down a city street in Paris. The street is shaded by large chestnut trees and, in addition to pushing the carriage, she is holding a little dog on a leash. The dog, a black terrier, is straining at the leash.

“Heel,” she could be telling the dog. “Heel, damn-it,” but the dog pays her no attention.

“She didn’t like dogs much,” my husband once told me. “She liked cats. I hate cats,” he adds.

“I love dogs,” I told my husband.


At first I had pictured her in a house full of cats. Cats everywhere. Cats stretched out on the sofa, on the chairs, lying on top of the kitchen table, sitting on the window sill licking themselves clean, eating from bowls on the floor. A mess. I was reminded of the book I had just read about poor Camille Claudel, Rodin’s discarded mistress, made mad by neglect and poverty. Her apartment on the Quai de Bourbon in Paris, a home for feral cats.

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