Landry Park
Bethany Hagen
Hardcover: 384 Pages
Publisher: Dial (Penguin)
ISBN: 978-0803739482
In a fragmented future United States ruled by the lavish gentry, seventeen-year-old Madeline Landry dreams of going to the university. Unfortunately, gentry decorum and her domineering father won't allow that. Madeline must marry, like a good Landry woman, and run the family estate. But her world is turned upside down when she discovers the devastating consequences her lifestyle is having on those less fortunate. As Madeline begins to question everything she has ever learned, she finds herself increasingly drawn to handsome, beguiling David Dana. Soon, rumors of war and rebellion start to spread, and Madeline finds herself and David at the center of it all. Ultimately, she must make a choice between duty - her family and the estate she loves dearly - and desire.
Now on to the excerpt
From Bethany- When I'm working on a project, I tend to crawl into
a mental cave that's filled with music and movies and books and research, and
then live in that cave until my clothes are all ragged and I can't remember
what the sun feels like. (This is only partly metaphorical.) And in
my mental cave are scenes and ideas and conceptualizations of other characters,
because I try to be conscious at all times that each character has their own
journey, their own arc. Each character considers himself or herself to be
the hero of their own story. And no one more so than David Dana, the son
of a decorated naval commander and new arrival to Kansas City. David has
a secret, one he can't share with anybody, and it weighs on him constantly.
But Madeline Landry is the first person he meets that he feels might
understand. This scene is a scene of their very first meeting at Wilder
House, the location of a gentry girl's debut and also of a mysterious attack on
a gentry girl named Cara Westoff. It's this attack that sets off the
action of the novel.
The plane from Atlanta was predictably delayed. An ice
storm over the Midwest, they said. When he disembarked from the plane and
climbed gratefully into the sleek black car that waited for him, David had half
a mind to go straight to the penthouse his mother had rented and skip the debut
he'd been solicitously invited to. But after a crisp glass of gin, he
decided to go. He always liked a good party, especially one with lots of
girls and dancing. It didn't matter that he didn't know anybody yet; he
found that more often than not mysterious, well-dressed men never lacked for
dance partners.
The house was smaller than he expected, and no footman or
butler welcomed him at the door...doubtless all the servants were busy with the
crowded bustle of the debut. He could hear the laughter and clinking
glasses and lilting violins all the way from the front steps, which was
probably a testament to how small the house was, not the number of guests.
God, this place is provincial, he thought, pausing to light a
cigarette before he went inside. Why his mother wanted to move back here
was beyond him, especially when all their memories of Father were back in
Georgia. He'd been dead only a few months and already Mother seemed to
have completely forgotten him.
A scowling grief accompanied thoughts of his father's death, a
mixture of pain and confusion and anger. His father had always been
distant and reserved, his brief demonstrations of affection laced with a sense
of duty, as if each pat on the head or each shake of the hand before dinner
satisfied some internal quota he had created for himself. But despite the
distance, his father had been a fixed point in the constellation of David's
life, and without him there, unmoving and unwavering, David felt daily life
almost impossible to navigate. As if the things he did in the shadows
would now pull him under, and David Dana, handsome son of the gentry, would
cease to exist, and he'd become someone else entirely. The thought
terrified him. Being subsumed by anything--love, work, war, a
cause--it was the deepest fear he had. Maybe that's why he clung so
tenaciously to this life of parties and booze and flirting. It was an
elaborate life raft.
His thoughts were interrupted by soft and hurried footsteps.
He looked up to see an unfamiliar girl, a year or two younger than him,
rushing into the foyer. Her silk and lace gown swished and rustled as she
moved, and red hair--red as blood--spilled out from a braided crown around her
head, framing her face rather attractively. She was pretty, although thin
and pale in a way that suggested unhealth, like there was a blood-spattered
handkerchief tucked away in her dress somewhere. He watched her ascend
the staircase, admiring the elegant lines of her waist as she walked, when she
stopped. He heard it too--cars. Constables.
Something had happened.
The constables climbed out of their cars, talking in their
clipped, prejudiced tones. Their automatic suspicion of the Rootless was
not what surprised him--it was the way the girl turned, listened, her face
pulling tight with doubt--that made him wonder. He'd meant to let her
pass by, to remain unnoticed by this new city for a while longer, but now he
was intrigued. Choosing his words carefully--he was very used to doing
this, to playing the part he'd created for himself all those years ago--he
said:
"Normally these debuts are terribly boring, so I make a
point of arriving late, but I guess this time I missed all the
excitement."
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Monday, January 13, 2014- Hazel @ Stay Bookish- Review
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