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
This was her life. Not the life she had once dreamed of, not a life her younger self would ever have imagined or desired, but the life she was living, with all its complexities. This was her life, built with care and attention, and it was good.
She didn't love him and he didn't love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.
That there were other worlds, invisible, unknown, beyond imagination even, was a revelation to him.
I've been accused of trying too hard to rescue people
It's funny how things seem different, suddenly.
Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.
It wasn't right. He knew that, but it was like falling: once you started you couldn't stop until something stopped you.
His love for her was so deeply woven with resentment that he could not untangle the two.
Lately, the world felt fragile, like a blown egg, as if it might shatter beneath a careless touch.
He could hardly imagine anymore what his life would be without the weight of his hidden knowledge. He'd come to think of it as a kind of penance. It was self-destructive, he could see that, but that was the way things were. People smoked, they jumped out of airplanes, they drank too much and got into their cars and drove without seat belts.
Then she had been a fiancee, a young wife, and a mother, and she had discovered that these words were far too small ever to contain the experience.
Each letter has a shape, she told them, one shape in the world and no other, and it is your responsibility to make it perfect.
No one could suspect the intricate mysteries of her heart.
There was something not quite right about her eagerness, an eerie kind of voyeurism in her need for bad news.