Madapple

ISBN: 0739367293

Author: Meldrum, Christina

Condition: New

Product Description THE SECRETS OF the past meet the shocks of the present.Aslaug is an unusual young woman. Her mother has brought her up in near isolation, teaching her about plants and nature and language-but not about life. Especially not how she came to have her own life, and who her father might be.When Aslaugs mother dies unexpectedly, everything changes. For Aslaug is a suspect in her mothers death. And the more her story unravels, the more questions unfold. About the nature of Aslaugs birth. About what she should do next. About whether divine miracles have truly happened. And whether, when all other explanations are impossible, they might still happen this very day.Addictive, thought-provoking, and shocking, Madapple is a page-turning exploration of human nature and divine intervention-and of the darkest corners of the human soul. Review Starred Review, Booklist, April 1, 2008:"There is much to ponder in this enthralling achievement from a debut author."Starred Review, Kirkus Reviews, May 1, 2008:"With this spellbinding debut, Meldrum marks herself as an author to watch."Review, Vanity Fair, June 2008:"In debut novelist Christina Meldrum's mesmerizing literary mystery MADAPPLE (Knopf), the worlds of science and faith collide."Starred Review, Publisher's Weekly, May 26, 2008:"Audiences will need some intellectual mettle for the densely seeded ideas, but they won't be able to stop reading."Starred Review, School Library Journal, July 2008:"[A] riveting and mind-opening experience."From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Christina Meldrum is a former attorney who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Madapple is her first novel.From the Hardcover edition. Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. GnaphaliumLife EverlastingBethan, Maine October 1987The women resemble schoolgirls with gangly limbs, ruddy cheeks, plaited flaxen hair; they walk holding hands. Yet the older of the two is pregnant; her unborn baby rides high and round. And the younger womans left foot scratches a path through the leaves. She seems comfortable with her limp, accustomed to it.A child darts before them, chasing leaves that swirl at her feet. Her dark hair, tied back in a scant tail, whips behind her. She stumbles, catches herself. Mor! she calls out. Mommy! Then she points at a bird perched high on a leafless branch, its plump breast berry-like against the low sky.The older woman hesitates before she recalls the birds name. A robin. The bird is a robin. Soon it will fly south for the winter. It is too cold here in Maine.Men det er ikke koldt. But it is not cold. The childs words are malformed; she is not yet three.Ikke for Danmark, the woman says. Not for Denmark. And certainly not for you, but you are not a robin.The robin jerks its head to the side, then back, before it takes flight.The robin was looking at you, the child says to the woman with the limp, not her mother. He wanted to know your name.Im Moster Maren, little Sanne. Aunt Maren. Have you already forgotten?Yes! The child laughs and sprints forward; her laugh is discordant, but the wind carries the sound away, and the woman, Maren, is grateful.Sanne reminds me of you when you were small, the childs mother says to Maren. Do you recall what Fader called you? Gnaphalium, remember? That plant known at home as life everlasting. You were so full of life.Maren stops walking.What is it, Maren?Dont go back to Denmark, Sara. Stay here with me. Please. Your marriage is ending-you know that. And with Moders death, theres little keeping you. And I can help you. Well help each other.Sara frees her hand from Marens grip. Fader is still in Denmark. And I told you before, I dont need your help.Yes, Fader, Maren says. She reaches toward a plant and runs her index finger along a scar on the fleshy rhizome of the plant. Solomons seal. This plants name is Solomons seal. See, the mark here. It resembles