The Deep is a vivid, accomplished tale of twin sisters caught up in the mania that was World War I. The year is 1918. Esther and Ruth, living a life privileged and protected, embark upon a journey to France that will profoundly affect their relationship with each other, those they leave behind and those they have yet to meet.
In France, their experiences bring them face to face with the horrors and tragedy of war, but also expose them to a world alive with drama. Mary Swan's ability to create the images and atmosphere of this strange world is her greatest strength.
|Publisher:||Porcupine's Quill, Incorporated|
|Product dimensions:||5.52(w) x 8.73(h) x 0.33(d)|
About the Author
A graduate of York University and the University of Guelph, Mary Swan has been published in numerous magazines and journals, including The Malahat Review in Canada, and Harper's in the United States. Her stories have also been published in several anthologies including Emergent Voices (Goose Lane 1990), Coming Attractions (Oberon 1999), Best Canadian Stories 92 (Oberon 1992) and The O. Henry Awards Prize Stories (2001). The Deep and Other Stories was published in the United States by Random House in the spring. Her novel Boys in the Trees was shortlisted for the Giller Prize in 2008. She lives in Guelph with her husband and daughter.
Read an Excerpt
'Try to imagine this. A refugee train unloading at a station ... You see a young girl, nine or ten maybe, who looks around and around but seems to be alone in that crowd ... The child scans the crowd, her head moves back and forth, her eyes flick here and there, but you can tell from those eyes that she doesn't expect to recognize anyone. So as you make your way to her, as you bend down so that she can hear you, as you bend down to take a closer look at the bundle she is carrying, which is now making tiny mewling sounds, as you, still stooping, put an arm about her narrow shoulders and feel what you couldn't see, the way her whole body trembles as if it will never stop, as you move her with her sleepwalker's stumble toward the big red cross and whatever can be done as you do all that, you find you are remembering a doll you had once, after Ophelia, the way you took it everywhere with you, fed it and talked to it just like a real baby. And that makes you remember green grass and the feeling of sunlight on your skin, someone's voice singing, a host of things. If you couldn't do that, it's hard to know what would happen. Probably you would just die for sorrow.'
What People are Saying About This
'What I find most compelling, even startling ... is the urgency of feeling and the calm beauty of the telling. This is a writer who arrives with grace and authority.'