The Family Fang: A Novel
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Now a major motion picture starring Nicole Kidman, Jason Bateman and Christopher Walken.
“The Family Fang is a comedy, a tragedy, and a tour-de-force examination of what it means to make art and survive your family….The best single word description would be brilliant.”
—Ann Patchett, author of Bel Canto
“It’s The Royal Tenenbaums meets Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I’d call The Family Fang a guilty pleasure, but it’s too damn smart….A total blast.”
—Hannah Pittard, author of The Fates Will Find Their Way
Owen King (We’re All in This Together) calls author Kevin Wilson, “the unholy child of George Saunders and Carson McCullers.” With his novel, The Family Fang, the Shirley Jackson Award-winning author of Tunneling to the Center of the Earth comes through in a BIG way, with a funny, poignant, laugh-and-cry-out-loud (sometimes at the same time) novel about the art of surviving a masterpiece of dysfunction. Meet The Family Fang, an unforgettable collection of demanding, brilliant, and absolutely endearing oddballs whose lives are risky and mischievous performance art. If the writing of Gary Shteyngart, Miranda July, Scarlett Thomas, and Charles Yu excites you, you’ll certainly want to invite this Family into your home.
that.” Camille hesitated for a few seconds but then nodded. “If that’s what it takes,” she said. “This is the last time we’ll ever see you,” Buster said, emphasizing each word, wondering if his parents understood exactly what this meant. He watched their faces for recognition of the finality of the moment, but there was nothing there but a certainty that they had rescued what was necessary in order to keep living. Buster was about to repeat himself, but he knew that nothing would be changed,
it,” Buster said. “A plague on your house,” Annie said, and stomped away from him. “Your house is my house,” Buster said, but she was already out of earshot. “O, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” Annie asked. Beneath the balcony, in shadow, Buster had no answer for her. Just before the end of act two, Buster stood next to Jimmy Patrick, rotund and balding at age sixteen, a perfect fit for Friar Laurence, as the friar counseled him that “violent delights have violent
walked inside. Buster wondered how long it had been since a non-Fang had entered the house. Months? Years? He had the initial desire to tell Suzanne about the momentousness of the event, and then realized how creepy it would sound and so he resisted the urge. He led Suzanne into the kitchen, where Annie was still staring at the paper, the pen held in such a way that she seemed ready to stab someone with it. Buster stood in front of Suzanne, blocking her from Annie’s view, and presented
though less than a reasonable person would expect, thanks to the strangeness of the crime, and he would lose his job, having discharged a firearm on campus, and things would be very bad for an undetermined length of time. He knew all of this. He was prepared for it. Hobart would recover. He would become one of the most talked-about artists of the decade. He would win an NEA grant the following year. The university, desperate to compete with UCLA, would present him with a distinguished chair.
and Buster shook it. “So,” Joseph said, “you like guns?” Buster shook his head. “Oh, no, not really,” he said and he could feel the air in the van become heavier, “I mean I’ve never fired a gun before. I don’t really care much for violence.” Arden sighed and looked at the window. “I don’t know many people who care for it,” he said. “What about potato guns?” Joseph asked. “You ever make one when you were a kid, fill it with hairspray and shoot at the neighbor’s dog?” “Nope,” Buster said, “sorry.”