Kim Edwards
Kim Edwards
Kim Edwards is an American author and educator. She was born in Killeen, Texas, grew up in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, and graduated from Colgate University and The University of Iowa, where she earned an MFA in fiction and an MA in linguistics. She is the author of a story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award; her stories have been published in The Paris Review, Story, Ploughshares,...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth4 May 1958
CountryUnited States of America
The place was a familiar as breath but as far from his life now as the moon.
Norah looked at her son’s tiny face, surprised, as always, by his name. he had not grown into it yet, he still wore it like a wrist band, something that might easily slip off and disappear. She had read about people – where? she could not remember this either – who refused to name their children for several weeks, feeling them to be not yet of the earth, suspended still between two worlds.
Her voice, high and clear, moved through the leaves, through the sunlight. It splashed onto the gravel, the grass. He imagined the notes falling into the air like stones into water, rippling the invisible surface of the world. Waves of sound, waves of light: his father had tried to pin everything down, but the world was fluid and could not be contained.
You can't stop time. You can't capture light. You can only turn your face up and let it rain down.
Music is like you touch the pulse of the world. Music is always happening, and sometimes you get to touch it for a while, and when you do you know that everything's connetcted to everything else.
It seemed there was no end at all to the lies a person could tell, once she got started.
He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart.
Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.
She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.
Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.
He had handed his daughter to Caroline Gill and that act had led him here, years later, to this girl in motion of her own, this girl who had decided yes, a brief moment of release in the back of a car, in the room of a silent house, this girl who had stood up later, adjusting her clothes, with now knowledge of how that moment was already shaping her life.
But she had felt since childhod that her life would n ot be ordinary. A moment would come- she would know it when she saw it- and everything would change.
Short on money, long on hope
Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement.