The Lesser Bohemians - Softcover

McBride, Eimear

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Softcover

ISBN 10: 0771059299 ISBN 13: 9780771059292

Publisher: Emblem Editions, 2017

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Shortlisted for The Goldsmith Prize 2016

Shortlisted for the 2016 Bord G�is Energy Irish Book Awards Eason Novel of the Year

The captivating, daring new novel from Eimear McBride, whose astonishing debut novel, A Girl Is a Half-formed Thing, was an international literary phenomenon and earned the author multiple awards and recognition.
Upon arrival in London, an eighteen-year-old Irish girl begins anew as a drama student, with all the hopes of any young actress searching for the fame she's always dreamed of. She struggles to fit in -- she's young and unexotic; a naive new girl -- but soon she forges friendships and finds a place for herself in the big city.
Then she meets an attractive older man. He's an established actor twenty years her senior, and the inevitable, clamorous relationship that ensues is one that will change her forever.
A redemptive, captivating story of passion and innocence set across the bedsits of mid-nineties London, McBride holds new love under her fierce gaze, giving us all a chance to remember what it's like to fall hard for another.
From the Hardcover edition.

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About the Author

EIMEAR McBRIDE was born in 1976 and grew up in Ireland. Her debut novel, A Girl is a Half-formed Thing, was published in 2013 and catapulted the author to international recognition, earning her numerous prize nominations and wins. The novel won the 2013 Goldsmiths Prize, was shortlisted for the Folio Prize and won the Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction in 2014. McBride currently lives in Norwich with her family. The Lesser Bohemians is her second novel. The author lives in Norwich, UK.
From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I sleep so safe here, far from the world. Rousing only when I’m stirred by him, climbing across. Go back to sleep I’m just making some notes, tucking the duvet round. Then through til morning. Light and smoke. Drowse-eyed watch him push his glasses up, stretch, light another cigarette, itching to run my hands down his back. And what can want mean? Something in here. So tumble out to kiss his messed hair with a Morning – then a mis-angled Love. Morning, he says still writing though, in his loping old-fashioned longhand. Do you want to come back to bed? He kisses my wrist Do you mind if I don’t? I’m just Fine – but a little put out – Tea? Yeah that’d be nice. Then Actually, would you go get some breakfast in? Like what? Eggs, bread, butter – not that spread shit – and whatever you want yourself, any cash in my wallet? I check Receipts. Take my switch card then and get out fifty quid. The number’s three six seven eight.
Ambling Camden, before Sunday breaks loose, I divine this money thing means trust, so take it out, get what he wants, make sure of receipts. Check his balance? No. Don’t. Be better than you’d like to be.
Here’s your wallet, the receipt and your change. Chuck it anywhere. Oh okay scrambled eggs? Please, he says and while I make it, boxes get dragged out. What’re you looking for? Old records might just remind me of stuff. Strew. Some I’ve heard of. Most, I’ve not. A player and speakers dug from a box filled with postcards of the sea. Before I ask, he asks Know this? No, I don’t. Wild World it is then. Hey!
It plays as we eat. Repeat. Repeat. He cleans his plate and makes the tea but with all his other self listens until I can see old weather in his eyes. You like The Birthday Party? I did, he says. So why are the records put away? I don’t remember maybe I got too keen. What? But he’s back to the desk. Repeat and repeat. On he writes so I read and, in a little, sleep.
Don’t move. What? Don’t open your eyes yet. Why? You look so peaceful and you get so pink. Shut up! Lazy lapse to a kiss. But. I’ve got homework, I better head. Still, there’s wrestling before I persuade off the bed and only then permitted by letting him walk me back.
Light, this winter wander. Kentish Town. High on the night and eyeing his hand but Don’t take it. Kissing at the gate. Devil don’t care for the London Irish social’s today, meaning she and all the rest should be out til six. So sneak in with me? And I don’t have to ask twice.

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