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"Burnt out and in need of retreat, a middle-aged woman leaves Sydney to return to the place she grew up, taking refuge in a small religious community hidden away on the stark plains of rural Australia. She doesn't believe in God, or know what prayer is, and finds herself living this strange, reclusive existence almost by accident. But disquiet interrupts this secluded life with three visitations. First comes a terrible mouse plague, each day signaling a new battle against the rising infestation. Second is the return of the skeletal remains of a sister who disappeared decades before, presumed…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
"Burnt out and in need of retreat, a middle-aged woman leaves Sydney to return to the place she grew up, taking refuge in a small religious community hidden away on the stark plains of rural Australia. She doesn't believe in God, or know what prayer is, and finds herself living this strange, reclusive existence almost by accident. But disquiet interrupts this secluded life with three visitations. First comes a terrible mouse plague, each day signaling a new battle against the rising infestation. Second is the return of the skeletal remains of a sister who disappeared decades before, presumed murdered. And finally, a troubling visitor plunges the narrator further back into her past"--
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Autorenporträt
Charlotte Wood is the author of seven novels and three books of nonfiction. Her 2016 novel The Natural Way of Things won the Stella Prize in her native Australia and was joint winner of the Australian Prime Minister’s Literary Award for Fiction. Her 2020 novel, The Weekend, was an international bestseller.
Rezensionen
It's just as extraordinary as the whispers from abroad suggested . . . the quiet, intensely private voice of Stone Yard Devotional feels more intimate than a library of confessional novels . . . Wood has developed a style that relies on dislocation, juxtaposition and elision to suggest the currents of spiritual turmoil and resolution. A lesser artist would push too hard for tenderness, for meaning, for what Hemingway called "fake" mysticism . . . Ultimately, a strange sense of engagement with these pages gives way to sheer gratitude for the chance to be in the presence of such restraint and wisdom Ron Charles Washington Post