By James Agee
The vintage American novel, re-published for the a hundredth anniversary of James Agee's birth
Published in 1957, years after its author's loss of life on the age of forty-five, A loss of life within the Family remains a near-perfect murals, an autobiographical novel that comprises essentially the most evocative depictions of loss and grief ever written. As Jay Follet hurries again to his domestic in Knoxville, Tennessee, he's killed in a automobile accident—a tragedy that destroys not just a existence, but additionally the family happiness and contentment of a tender kinfolk. a unique of serious braveness, lyric strength, and strong emotion, A loss of life within the Family is a masterpiece of yankee literature.
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Got a plenty,” he said, spearing four fragments of pancake and putting them in his mouth. ” He chewed them up, swallowed them, and speared four more. ” he said, putting down his fork. But this time she was up before he could prevent her. “You eat,” she said. She poured the white, softly steaming milk into a thick white cup and sat down with it, warming both hands on the cup, and watching him eat. Because of the strangeness of the hour, and the abrupt destruction of sleep, the necessity for action and its interruptive minutiae, the gravity of his errand, and a kind of weary exhilaration, both of them found it peculiarly hard to talk, though both particularly wanted to.
He sat on the bed and felt for his socks. ” “Yup,” he said, pulling on one sock. “Oh, you’re going up,” she said, suddenly realizing what he was doing. She put her hand on him. “Then it’s very grave, Jay,” she said very gently. He fastened his garter and put his hand over hers. “Lord knows,” he said. ” Her hand moved to pat him; his hand moved on hers. ” she asked cautiously. ” “That could mean so many things. It might be all right if you waited till morning. You might hear he was better, then.
Oh yes. ” He put an arm around her shoulder and they walked to the back door. “All right, Mary. ” She opened the door and led him through, to the back porch. “You’ll catch cold,” he said. She shook her head. “No. ” They walked to the edge of the porch. The moistures of May drowned all save the most ardent stars, and gave back to the earth the sublimated light of the prostrate city. Deep in the end of the back yard, the blossoming peach tree shone like a celestial sentinel. The fecund air lavished upon their faces the tenderness of lovers’ adoring hands, the dissolving fragrance of the opened world, which slept against the sky.