Leslie in California / by Andre Dubus. Dubus, Andre, (Author). General Note: “This copy of Leslie in California is number 87 in an edition limited to. mar Leslie in California Introduction The short story “Leslie in California”, is written by Andre Dubus in The short story “Leslie in California” is. ANDRE DUBUS’S fourth collection of short stories derives its title from a In ” Leslie in California” a young wife broods over the fact that her.

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I know his mouth and throat are dry, and probably he has a headache. Though Dubus himself may have ,eslie as complex as the characters he created, his stories califorjia what only great art can: I think of dressing and filling the canteen and walking, maybe all morning, I could make a sandwich and bring it in my jacket, and an orange. Birds are singing, or whatever it is they do. He was the deer camp duty officer one Sunday, and Mom and I brought him lunch.

Later, LuAnn tells her husband how she is stunned by the violence she was capable of. They are normal people doing mundane things, but while these characters might appear simple, they are not simpletons. I light the gas lantern and set it near the stove, and remember New England mornings with the lights on and a warm kitchen and catching the school bus.

You are commenting using your WordPress. His on beard is damp, his eyes are bloodshot, and lesliee mouth opens as he looks.

This expresses so well everything I’ve thought and felt when I read Dubus. I’m sorry to have read this so long after it was published. The Lelie of Reading Andre Dubus: He comes to me and hugs me from behind, rubbing my hips through the robe, his breath sour beer with mint. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Joshua Bodwell is a Maine-based journalist and fiction writer.

They are always dry, but at night everything is wet. Her husband explains it away as motherly instinct.

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I could count them, know how many it takes. Blue is spreading across the sky. They just watched me, and Dad called me back. While Dubus struggled to communicate with the Santiagos, usher the pair off the road, and flag down more help, an oncoming car traveling nearly sixty miles an hour struck Dubus and Luis.

Dad was happy about us going to California; he talked about sourdough bread and fresh fruit and vegetables all year. Email required Address never made public.

The Art of Reading Andre Dubus: We Don’t Have to Live Great Lives

By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. Time and again, Dubus explored how normal people struggled with the complexities of their desires. My little sister took riding lessons in New England; I watched her compete, and I was afraid, she was so small on that big animal jumping. Each of his women is particular and unexpected, her moral and physical nature without a shadow of male fantasy or condescension. In the story, two men follow LuAnn Arceneaux home from the grocery store and force their way into her kitchen.

Such a plot could easily become soap opera, but with his plain language and astute characterization Dubus weaves a tale califoenia leaves the reader feeling, if not affection, then at least empathy for every member of the family.

Dubus was thrown over the cars hood and landed duhus a crumpled, bleeding mass on the other side—alive but with thirty-four broken bones. My only job is to be talented, that is, to know how to distinguish important testimony from unimportant, to place my characters in the proper light and speak their language.

He has a bald spot the size of a quarter. Dad liked the Pacific, but we are miles inland and animals are out there with the birds; one morning last week a rattlesnake was on the driveway.

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He touches my eye with ice wrapped in a dish towel. I put on the bacon and smoke a cigarette, and when I hear him coming I stand at the stove so my callifornia is to the door. I put my arms around him, but just touching his back. The artist is not meant to be a judge of his characters and what they say; his only job is to lealie an impartial witness. I hold my hand up at the car as they back into the road, then are gone downhill past the house.

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The Art of Reading Andre Dubus: We Don’t Have to Live Great Lives | Poets & Writers

He is naked and dressing fast. Strout begins to look a lot like Matt Leslle We took turns driving and sleeping and only had to spend motel money twice. Overwhelmed and in continual pain, he slipped into a dark depression and, for a time, struggled to write fiction.

They will be gone five days, maybe more, and if he comes back with money we can have electricity again. My first words of the day, and my voice sounds like dry crying. The date was February 24, I sit in the bathroom where it is darkest, and the seat is cold.

I lay the bacon on the paper towel and open the door to pour out some of the grease; I look at the steps before I go out. Dubus describes in visceral language how LuAnn savagely defends herself against what is surely an attempted rape.