I suppose I cheated when I read Jennifer’s Haigh’s third book, THE CONDITION, first. I say this because had I saw her name attached to a novel called Mrs. Kimble—about three women who, miraculously, married the same husband—I would have been reluctant to pick this up, if only because its premise ...
I watched the shadows gather as the jet roared over Charlestown Navy Yard, the dark, orderly streets of Southie. Headlights glittered on the expressway, an endless stream of red taillights. The workday had ended, and all of Boston was sitting in traffic. Everyone was trying to get home. The termi...
Christmas came and went. A federal injunction halted mining at the Twelve. You didn’t speak of what would happen next. You knew Randazzo from the Knights, Kukla and Stusick from St. Casimir’s. You’d seen Quinn and Kelly playing cards at the Vets, the Yurkovich twins at the fire-hall dances, walki...
The forest is a century old, mixed hardwoods, trunks thick as rain barrels—the childhood gymnasium of four generations, prime real estate for tree houses and tire swings. The forest ringing with war whoops, high-pitched laughter, Ollie Ollie Oxen Free. There have been epic games of Red Rover, Red...
Joyce Hauser has lived here her whole life and never knew. Though airport is perhaps too grand a term; airfield is more like it. There is a single bare strip for a plane to land, lit at either end by colored lights: red, amber, blue. In the parking lot she cuts the engine....