Soldiers in Hiding: A Novel (Rediscovery)
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Winner of the 1987 PEN/Faulkner Award for Best American Fiction, Soldiers in Hiding is a haunting portrayal of war’s lingering emotional burdens. This revised edition features a new preface by the author and an introduction by Nobel Prize winner Wole Soyinka.
commands occasionally, but it had been days since I’d actually seen his face. Every time we’d tried to talk, the dying posture of the sari-sari store woman had come between us. Through Ike’s eyes I could see her limp body falling. In mine he could, no doubt, see that we had been in no danger. Though I sensed movement about me I did not look up or move. I was sure that the guerrillas must have seen us burrowing in, but they neither shot at us nor slid down out of the trees to push their blades
into town and walked the kilometer or so necessary to find that untouchable street, to find Meguro-dori, to see where we had lived. As I walked I got lost, for the landmarks I’d always recognized were gone. In a few places buildings stood as if whole, in others only the tops were missing, but if I walked into what used to be their centers I still found myself outside of things. As I got closer to where we had lived, the rubble and clutter grew, the presence of people diminished. I was wearing,
the shoebox full of samples to Uncle. They clinked together again, like a parody of wind chimes, and she said, ‘That Teddy Maki. I don’t like him either but my husband thinks he’s great.’” THOUGH HE HAD CAUSED ME UNEXPECTED PROBLEMS I could not be angry with Milo after the way he told his story. He had not spoken so much in years! Milo had been moved by his uncle’s ordeal, by the surprising defeat of it. And he had observed an event which concerned him far more than he knew. His uncle had
had been successful, that he was affluent. After all, forty years had passed and he had been a school principal before that. I’d thought of him as successful during a time when Ike and Jimmy and I had still been boys. As we approached the end of the building, the old lady turned and spoke. “He stays in the warehouse on holidays,” she said. “He doesn’t like the inactivity of a day to ourselves.” Out the back door of the building was a surprisingly large garden which was, in contrast to the rooms
cast aside as a result of consolidation in the publishing industry, and in 2001 we decided to find these writers and give them a voice. We publish American literary fiction and narrative non-fiction, although we won’t turn down a good international title if we find one. All of our books are published as affordable original trade paperbacks, but feature details not typically found even in casebound titles from bigger houses: acid-free papers; sewn bindings which will not crack; heavy, laminated