By Lionel Shriver
Appealing and charismatic, nineteen-year-old Checker Secretti is the main proficient and unique drummer that the club-goers of Astoria, Queens, have ever heard. while he performs, conundrums appear to remedy themselves, amazing innovations come to mind, and fall in love. The individuals of his band, The Derailleurs, are passionately dedicated to their guiding spirit, as are all who fall less than Checker’s spell. but if one other drummer, Eaton Striker, hears the prodigy play, he's pulled inexorably into Checker’s orbit via a robust mixture of envy and admiration. quickly The Derailleurs, too, are torn aside by way of latent jealousies that Eaton does his utmost to carry alive. “A bittersweet, swish, poetic, but clear-sighted vision....A story approximately reliable and evil, and in regards to the promise and discomfort of being nineteen.” – Cleveland simple broker “More compelling even than the plot turns are Shriver’s insights into human nature....Checker and The Derailleurs, like its beguiling protagonist, is tough to forget.” – humans
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Extra info for Checker and the Derailleurs (Contemporary American Fiction)
Example text
Felt his bass droop; he’d been lugging mail sacks for the post office all week, and his arms were tired. K. couldn’t go, no—as usual. He had a wife and daughter to support. What a hero, he thought sourly. ” The keyboardist, Carl Ming, kept forgetting the chords, but helplessly remembering everything else—fifth grade came at him like a submarine torpedo: four boys, a big brass spatula for a paddle, and a fence. Since his childhood was enough of a torment the first time, “Quiet Carl” wasn’t the nostalgic type; memory itself was assault.
I wouldn’t presume to equal your own stunning percussionist. ” Eaton looked gamely around the table. “As the manager—” Howard began. “Howard listens,” said the guitarist. ” asked Eaton solicitously. ” They turned toward the end of the table. The Middle Eastern saxophonist had folded his arms. ” “You say you not so good. ” “Excuse me, but can he understand me? ” “Rrreal fine, slime mold,” said the saxophonist for himself. “Aw, can it, Hijack,” said the bassist. “Check on vacation, pull this night out somehow.
Rachel is Bowie’s original China Doll, perched on the edge of the stage—when she shatters you won’t want to be around to pick up the pieces. Someday someone will have to take the blame for Rachel DeBruin. K.? One more hunky black kid, likes his beer, his rock and roll—a known quantity. Hijack, whose real name is Rahim Abdul, is too pretty for a boy. And in New York you sure get tired of foreigners. Those accents aren’t quaint or exotic anymore after about week 6 here. From then on, it’s just, I need a cabbage, a small one; Excuse—?