John Moncure Wetterau

Every Story is a Love Story (eBook, ePUB)

• Format: ePub

Produktbeschreibung

When a society is wounded, it hemorrhages artists. In the early 1960's, young people searching for a more open way of life were drawn to Woodstock, New York. Musicians, painters, architects, writers, arrived from all over the country every week.
Patrick is an army brat, well-traveled, self-educated, an intense reader, interested in everything. He hitch hikes into Woodstock and finds a job house painting with a crew of creative mavericks. He has been told by his father to look up an old friend who lives in town.
Willow and her friend, Amber, are exploring on summer break from Stanford University. Willow and Patrick meet in the "Depresso," the cafe where Bob Dylan often hangs out. Willow's father is a music professor who has friendly arguments with her about Dylan; she claims that he has written an American masterpiece, Desolation Row. As the summer goes on, Patrick and Willow become close. Patrick's connection in town, Heidi Merrill, turns out to be keeping an old secret with his father.
The novel is beautifully written. In telling the story of first love, it also presents the best picture yet of that exciting, sad, and tender time in the United States. Patrick's discoveries about art and science, about truth, are universal. If you like "The Great Gatsby," you will enjoy "Every Story is a Love Story," one of the rare short novels that belongs on the same shelf.

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Produktdetails

• Verlag: John Moncure Wetterau
• Erscheinungstermin: 11. Januar 2013
• Englisch
• ISBN-13: 9781301194674
• Artikelnr.: 48586102

Autorenporträt

Born in Greenwich Village, New York City, but raised, mostly, by my grandparents in Woodstock, a small town in the Catskill mountains. Midway through sophomore year at Hamilton College, an inner voice said, "Get out!" It seemed crazy, but I knew it was the right thing to do. A fraternity brother told me I'd have no trouble finding work on the shrimp boats in Key West.

A friend and I hitchhiked south. Near the New Jersey line we got a ride with another young guy, Pete. "Where you headed?"

"Florida."

"Me, too." He told us that he'd gotten up before dawn in a small Vermont town, thrown clothes and a baseball glove in the trunk, left a note on his girlfriend's porch, and taken off. We rocked on down the coast, listening to Brenda Lee, getting warmer each day.

I left my friends near Miami and went on to Key West. When I got there, I walked to the harbor and asked for a job on the first boat I found that had anyone on board. The captain said, "Shrimp season's over, kid." I think he felt sorry for me. He pointed to a rusty shrimper across the water. "He might take you."

I picked up my bag and ran around to the other jetty, arriving just as the boat began to pull away. A man on deck was doing something with a cable. He wore a sweatshirt and had a two-day growth. "I'm looking for work," I shouted over the engine.

"You a winch man?"

The winch occupied a large part of the deck, a complicated assembly of giant gears and levers. The strip of water below my feet widened. It was jump or forget it. I had a vision of winching the boat upside down in the Gulf. I shook my head and walked to the Southern Cross Hotel, a wooden building with white peeling paint and a sign declaring, The Southernmost Hotel in the United States.

I wrote it down in a notebook and have been writing ever since. Along the way I served in the Air Force, earned a degree in computer science from the University of Hawaii, married twice, and raised children. The adventures, the loves and betrayals, the teachers, the lessons---they are in my stories and poems, where, like all writers, I have tried to make of my deeper bio something worthwhile.