Dead Letters
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
In this sharp and clever debut novel of suspense, a young woman--presumed dead--leaves a series of clues for her twin sister, which leads her on a scavenger-hunt-like quest to solve the mystery of her disappearance. Clues are concealed throughout the...
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In this sharp and clever debut novel of suspense, a young woman--presumed dead--leaves a series of clues for her twin sister, which leads her on a scavenger-hunt-like quest to solve the mystery of her disappearance. Clues are concealed throughout the seemingly idyllic wine country, hidden on social media, and buried at the heart of one tremendously dysfunctional, utterly unforgettable family.
Klappentext zu „Dead Letters “
A missing woman leads her twin sister on a twisted scavenger hunt in this clever debut novel with eccentric, dysfunctional characters who will keep you guessing until the end-for readers of Luckiest Girl Alive and The Wife Between Us.Ava has her reasons for running away to Paris. But when she receives the shocking news that her twin sister, Zelda, is dead, she is forced to return home to her family's failing vineyard in upstate New York. Knowing Zelda's penchant for tricks and deception, Ava is not surprised when she receives her twin's cryptic message from beyond the grave. Following her sister's trail of clues, Ava immerses herself in Zelda's drama and her outlandish circle of friends and lovers, and soon finds herself confronted with dark family legacies and twisted relationships. Is Zelda trying to punish Ava for leaving? Or is she simply trying to write her own ending? Caite Dolan-Leach's debut thriller is a literary scavenger hunt for secrets hidden everywhere from wine country to social media, and buried at the dysfunctional heart of one utterly unforgettable family.
Praise for Dead Letters
"Dolan-Leach writes like Paula Hawkins by way of Curtis Sittenfeld."-Amy Gentry, author of Good as Gone
"A sharp, wrenching tale of the true love only twins know . . . Dolan-Leach nimbly entwines the clever mystery of Agatha Christie, the wit of Dorothy Parker, and the inebriated Gothic of Eugene O'Neill."-Kirkus Reviews
"A smart, dazzling mystery . . . Dolan-Leach revels in toying with both Ava and her audience . . . and the result is captivating."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Draws you in like you are part of the story itself, living and breathing alongside the compelling characters as they uncover the dark secrets of their complicated family."-Wendy Walker, author of All Is Not Forgotten
"Push-pull tension . . . This book is wine-soaked yet lucid, comforting and frightening, asking the big questions about intimacy and loyalty."-Caroline
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Kepnes, author of You
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Lese-Probe zu „Dead Letters “
1A born creator of myths, my sister always liked to tell the story of how we were misnamed. She was proud of it, as though she, as a tiny blue infant, had bent kismet to her will and appropriated the name that was supposed to be mine. My parents were trying to be clever (before they lost the ability to be anything other than utterly miserable), and our names were meant to be part of our self-constructed, quirky family mythology. A to Z, Ava and Zelda. The first-born would be A for Ava, and the second-born would be Z for Zelda, and together we would be the whole alphabet for my deluded and briefly optimistic parents, both of whom were located unimpressively in the middle: M for Marlon and N for Nadine. My father was himself named for a film star, and with his usual shortsighted narcissism he sought to create some sort of large-looming legacy for his burgeoning small family. Burgeon we would not.
Born second, I was destined for the end of the alphabet. But my sister was Zelda from her first screaming breath, wild and indomitable until her final immolation. A careless nurse handed my father the babies in the wrong order, so that his second-born was indelicately plopped into his arms first, and I was christened Ava. I say "christened" purely as a casual description; my mother would have thoroughly lost her shit had any question of formal baptism been raised. My parents were good pagans, even if they weren't much good at anything else.
Clearly delighted with this strange twist, my father insisted that we keep our misnomers; he said that the family Antipova would turn even the alphabet on its head. My mother, predictably, lay surly and despairing in her bed, counting down the seconds until her first gin and tonic in eight months. Even now, I can't really blame her.
The seat-belt light dings, and I unbuckle in order to root around in my bag for my iPad. I've read the email so many times I have it memorized, but I still feel a compulsion to stare at the words
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on the shimmering screen.
To: littlea@gmail.com
From: noconnor@gmail.com
June 21, 2016 at 3:04 AM
Ava, honestly the whole point of you having a cellphone is so that I can call you in an emergency. Whicf this is. If you'd pick up your goddamn phone, I wouldnt have to tell you by EMAIL that your sister is dead. There was some type of fire following one your sisters drunken binges, and apparently, she didnt make it out. If you leave paris tomorrow, you might make it time for the service.
I can't really tell whether the misspellings are because a) Mom is drunk, b) she never really learned to type ("I'm not a fucking secretary. I didn't become a feminist so I could end up tapping out correspondence"), or c) the dementia is affecting her orthography. My money is on all three. I've never seen Nadine Antipova, née O'Connor, greet any kind of news, either good or bad, without a quart of gin in the wings. The death of a daughter, especially that of her preferred daughter, has probably rattled even her. My guess is that she was already three sheets to the wind when they told her, and she wasn't able to get through to me on my cell because she either couldn't remember the number or misdialed it. She would have had to toddle upstairs to the decrepit old MacBook gathering dust on what used to be my father's desk. She would have lowered herself into the rickety office chair and squinted at the glare of the screen. After several frustrating minutes and false starts (and probably another slug of gin), she would have located Firefox and found her way to Gmail, if she didn't try her old and defunct Hotmail account first. She probably would have sworn viciously at the screen when asked for her password. Nadine would consider the computer's request for her to remember a specific detail as personally malicious, a couched taunt regarding her slipping faculties.
She would have tried to type something in, and the password would have b
To: littlea@gmail.com
From: noconnor@gmail.com
June 21, 2016 at 3:04 AM
Ava, honestly the whole point of you having a cellphone is so that I can call you in an emergency. Whicf this is. If you'd pick up your goddamn phone, I wouldnt have to tell you by EMAIL that your sister is dead. There was some type of fire following one your sisters drunken binges, and apparently, she didnt make it out. If you leave paris tomorrow, you might make it time for the service.
I can't really tell whether the misspellings are because a) Mom is drunk, b) she never really learned to type ("I'm not a fucking secretary. I didn't become a feminist so I could end up tapping out correspondence"), or c) the dementia is affecting her orthography. My money is on all three. I've never seen Nadine Antipova, née O'Connor, greet any kind of news, either good or bad, without a quart of gin in the wings. The death of a daughter, especially that of her preferred daughter, has probably rattled even her. My guess is that she was already three sheets to the wind when they told her, and she wasn't able to get through to me on my cell because she either couldn't remember the number or misdialed it. She would have had to toddle upstairs to the decrepit old MacBook gathering dust on what used to be my father's desk. She would have lowered herself into the rickety office chair and squinted at the glare of the screen. After several frustrating minutes and false starts (and probably another slug of gin), she would have located Firefox and found her way to Gmail, if she didn't try her old and defunct Hotmail account first. She probably would have sworn viciously at the screen when asked for her password. Nadine would consider the computer's request for her to remember a specific detail as personally malicious, a couched taunt regarding her slipping faculties.
She would have tried to type something in, and the password would have b
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Autoren-Porträt von Caite Dolan-Leach
Caite Dolan-Leach is a writer and literary translator. She was born in the Finger Lakes region and is a graduate of Trinity College Dublin and the American University in Paris. Dead Letters is her first novel.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Caite Dolan-Leach
- 2017, 352 Seiten, Maße: 15,1 x 23,1 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin Random House
- ISBN-10: 0399591230
- ISBN-13: 9780399591235
- Erscheinungsdatum: 14.03.2017
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"[Caite] Dolan-Leach writes like Paula Hawkins by way of Curtis Sittenfeld."-Amy Gentry, author of Good as Gone"A sharp, wrenching tale of the true love only twins know . . . Dolan-Leach nimbly entwines the clever mystery of Agatha Christie, the wit of Dorothy Parker, and the inebriated Gothic of Eugene O'Neill."-Kirkus Reviews
"A smart, dazzling mystery . . . Dolan-Leach revels in toying with both Ava and her audience . . . and the result is captivating."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Draws you in like you are part of the story itself, living and breathing alongside the compelling characters as they uncover the dark secrets of their complicated family."-Wendy Walker, author of All Is Not Forgotten
"Push-pull tension . . . This book is wine-soaked yet lucid, comforting and frightening, asking the big questions about intimacy and loyalty."-Caroline Kepnes, author of You
"Dolan-Leach's clever thriller explores the fraying ties that bind twin sisters. . . . Readers will enjoy this full-bodied novel about a family of vintners."-The New York Times Book Review
"The disappearance of Ava's wild-child twin is just the beginning of this roller-coaster read that's as enthralling as it is WTF?!"-Cosmopolitan
"[An] atmospheric debut."-Entertainment Weekly ("The Must List")
"We do love a good mystery, and Dolan-Leach's debut novel is a prime example of the form. . . . Dead Letters centers around the most dysfunctional of families, and reading it feels like embarking on a literary scavenger hunt that you never want to end."-Nylon
"Dolan-Leach's debut reads like an Agatha Christie novel set in a world with internet access. . . . The action unfolds with a kind of playful theatricality and cleverness that is totally and utterly engrossing."-i-D (Vice)
"Considering questions of identity, loyalty, and reliance, Dolan-Leach's tautly crafted crime debut will resonate with fans of Gillian Flynn's and Paula Hawkins's domestic psychological
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thrillers."-Booklist
"Dolan-Leach's debut is a smart, dazzling mystery with a twist that not only shines a new light on the novel's title but also leaves the reader hunting for the next clue. Dolan-Leach revels in toying with both Ava and her audience, placing small hints and red herrings throughout her text, and the result is captivating."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A smart and twisty thriller that will keep you guessing right up to the ending."-PopSugar
"Dolan-Leach's debut is a smart, dazzling mystery with a twist that not only shines a new light on the novel's title but also leaves the reader hunting for the next clue. Dolan-Leach revels in toying with both Ava and her audience, placing small hints and red herrings throughout her text, and the result is captivating."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A smart and twisty thriller that will keep you guessing right up to the ending."-PopSugar
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