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Red Leaves Hardcover – January 1, 2005
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Suddenly Eric is one of the stricken parents he has seen on television, professing faith in his child's innocence. As the police investigation increasingly focuses on Keith, Eric must counsel his son, find him a lawyer, protect him from the community's steadily growing suspicion. Except that Eric is not so sure his son is innocent. And if Keith is not . . . and might do the same thing again . . . what then should a father do?
Red Leaves is a story of broken trust and one man's heroic effort to hold fast the ties that bind him to everything he loves.
- Print length289 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherHoughton Mifflin Harcourt
- Publication dateJanuary 1, 2005
- Dimensions6.25 x 1 x 9 inches
- ISBN-100151012504
- ISBN-13978-0151012503
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Review
"No other suspense writer takes readers as deeply into the heart of darkness as Thomas H. Cook."-CHICAGO TRIBUNE
"There's no ignoring [Cook's] savage imagery, or escaping the airless chambers of his disturbing imagination." -THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW
About the Author
THOMAS H. COOK is the author of eighteen novels and two works of nonfiction. He has been nominated for the Edgar Allan Poe Award five times in four different categories, and his novel The Chatham School Affair won the Edgar for Best Novel. He lives in New York City and Cape Cod.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Family photos always lie.
That’s what occurred to me when I left my house that final afternoon, and so I took only two.
The first was of my earliest family, when I was a son, rather than a father. In the picture, I am standing with my mother and father, along with my older brother, Warren, and my younger sister, Jenny. I am smiling, happy because I’ve just been accepted to a prestigious private day school. But the other smiles now strike me as false, because even then there must have been fissures in the unruffled happiness they convey, beasts lurking just beyond the firelight.
By the end of that summer, for example, my father must have known that years of bad investments and extravagant spending had surely caught up with him, that bankruptcy and its accompanying humiliations were only a few short months away. I doubt, however, that he could have envisioned the full bleakness of his final years, the retirement home where he would sit hour upon hour, peering through the lace curtains, thinking of the grand house in which we’d all once lived, another asset lost.
Despite all this, or maybe because of it, my father meets the camera with a broad and oddly blustering grin, as if the old man felt his smile could protect him from the horde of angry creditors that was already gathering for a final assault. My mother’s smile is more tentative weak, hesitant, like a translucent mask beneath which her true face, though blurred, is yet still visible. It is an effortful smile, the corners of her mouth lifted like heavy weights, and had I been less self-absorbed, I might have noticed its tentativeness earlier, perhaps in time to have asked the question that later repeated so insistently in my mind,What is going on in you?
But I never asked, and so the day her car went flying off Van Cortland Bridge, it never occurred to me that anything might have been on her mind other than what she planned to cook for dinner or the laundry she’d left neatly folded on all our beds that afternoon.
My brother, Warren, stands sloppily to my left. He is only fifteen, but his hair is already thinning and his belly is wide and round and droops over his belt. Even at that age, he looks curiously past his prime. He is smiling, of course, and there is no hint of any reason why he shouldn’t be, though I later had to wonder what fears might even then have begun to surface, the sense that certain already-planted seeds would bear grim fruit.
Finally, there is Jenny, so beautiful that even at seven she turned heads when she came into a room. Adorable, Warren always called her. He’d stroke her hair or sometimes simply look at her admiringly. Adorable, he’d say. And she was. But she was also quick and knowing, a little girl who came home from her first day at school and asked me why it was necessary for the teacher to repeat things. I told her it was because some people couldn’t get it the first time. She took this in for a moment, thinking quietly, as if trying to incorporate nature’s inequality within the scheme of things, calculate its human toll. How sad,” she said finally, lifting those sea blue eyes toward me, because it’s not their fault.”
In this particular photograph Jenny’s smile is wide and unencumbered, though in all the photographs after this one the cloud is clearly visible, the knowledge that it has already taken root in that fantastic brain of hers, microscopic at first, then no larger than a pinpoint, but growing steadily, taking things from her as it grew, her balance, her ringing speech, everything but her beauty, before it took her life.
She was the one I most often thought about after leaving my house that last afternoon. I don’t know why, save that I suspected she might be able to understand things better than I could, and so I wanted to go over it all with her, trace the burning fuse, its series of explosions, seek her celestial wisdom, ask her, Do you think it had to end this way, Jenny, or might the damage have been avoided, the dead ones saved?
The evening of that final death, he said, I’ll be back before the news.” Meaning, I suppose, the network news, which meant that he would be home before six-thirty. There was no hint of the ominous in what he said, or of anything sinister, no sense at all that the center had collapsed.
When I recall that day, I think of my second family, the one in which I am husband to Meredith and father to Keith, and I wonder what I might have said or done to stop the red tide that overwhelmed us. That’s when I see another picture, this one of a little girl from another family, a school photograph used in a hastily distributed flyer, the little girl smiling happily below the cold black words: MISSING.
Amy Giordano.
She was the only daughter of Vince and Karen Giordano. Vince owned a modest produce market just outside the town limits. It was called Vincent’s Fresh Food, and Vince dressed himself as a walking advertisement for the place. He wore green flannel pants, a green vest, and a green cap, the latter two articles festooned with the name of the store. He was a short muscular man with the look of a high school wrestler who’d let himself go, and the last time I saw him before the night Keith left for his house he was carrying a brown paper bag with six rolls of film. My brother’s family came for a week,” he explained as he handed me the bag, and his wife, she’s a camera nut.”
I owned a small camera and photo shop in the town’s only strip mall, and the pictures Vincent Giordano left that afternoon showed two families, one large, with at least four children ranging in age from approximately four to twelve, and which had to have belonged to the visiting brother and his camera nut” wife. The other family was small, a circle of three Vince, his wife, Karen, and Amy, their only daughter.
In the pictures, the two families present themselves in poses that anyone who develops family photos taken at the end of summer in a small coastal town would expect. They are lounging in lawn chairs or huddled around outdoor tables, eating burgers and hotdogs. Sometimes they sprawl on brightly colored beach towels or stand on the gangway of chartered fishing boats. They smile and seem happy and give every indication that theyhave nothing to hide.
I have since calculated that Vincent dropped off his six rolls of film during the last week of August, less than a month before that fateful Friday evening when he and Karen went out to dinner. Just the two of them, as he later told police. Just the two of them . . . without Amy. Copyright © 2005 by Thomas H. Cook
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Product details
- Publisher : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; First Ed edition (January 1, 2005)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 289 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0151012504
- ISBN-13 : 978-0151012503
- Item Weight : 13.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 6.25 x 1 x 9 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #2,452,152 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #96,157 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
THOMAS H. COOK was born in Fort Payne, Alabama, in 1947. He has been nominated for the Edgar Award seven times in five different categories. He received the best novel Edgar for The Chatham School Affair, the Martin Beck Award, the Herodotus Prize for best historical short story, and the Barry for best novel for Red Leaves, and has been nominated for numerous other awards.
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The story deals with the complex emotional and psychological underpinnings of three families whose fates are tied to certain tragic events. The story is told in the first person by one of the main characters in the tale. Typical of Mr. Cook's writing style, the prose is rich and complex metaphorically. The language easily and naturally coaxes the reader onward; drawing him silently into the drama as a participant to the events that unfold.
The story is told by one Eric Moore as he grapples with events that indentify him as a son, a father, a brother and a husband. Eric, now a grown man, is forced to relive episodes of his youth and examine what he thought he knew about his relationship with his father and brother in view of the tragic deaths of his mother and sister. With his current family, Eric must face the growing chasm that grows between him, his son and wife when Eric's son Keith is accused of committing a crime and Eric suspects his wife Meredith of cheating on him. Finally, Eric must deal with his neighbor, Vince Giordano, a once friend who alienates Eric with his hatred; a result of his eight year old daughter, Amy, gone missing after having been left in the care of Eric's son Keith. A pivotal point in the narrative occurs when Eric is forced to examine what he knows and doesn't know about the people in his life and hence becomes fraught with the fear and realization that "I'm not sure you ever know anyone". The tale is steeped in tragedy, born from misunderstanding and desperation, to its final numbing conclusion.
This work by Cook represents one of the most thoroughly captivating psychological dramas in this genre. A tribute expressed by the award for the "best novel". It is a look at our human relationships and our capacity to examine those relationships within the confines of our experience. It examines how vulnerable we are to misinterpretations of motive and purpose and the alienation that can occur between, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and fathers and sons as a result. It also lets us speculate on the chaos of life to the extent that when we think we have achieved redemption for our mistakes, we can be struck yet again with a tragedy.
I highly recommend this novel.
Some analysis of reader's comments:
A good many readers were upset with various aspects of Cook's plot in the Novel `Red Leaves'. Having read the comments I offer some perspective on such views. The first thing I would point out is that one of Cook's objectives was to put the reader in exactly the same position as the character Eric Moore in the story; namely that he based what he thought he knew about things almost entirely upon his assumptions of what seemed to be true. The revelation for Eric Moore, of course, is that the impressions that formed what he thought were truths began to look less true and more like falsehoods. So, Cook takes the character of Keith Moore, for instance, and plants the seeds of who he is in such a way that the reader will draw impressions of him that invariably will be false. This is no better done than in the circumstances surrounding the abduction of Amy Giordano. Cook deliberately leaves out details to trap the reader. Some complained that the Giordano's did not "look in" on Amy when they returned home. However, that detail is never determined from the story. Vince Giordano asks if Keith left the house while he was there with Amy. This single question plants the seed that Amy was abducted before Keith left and the Giordano's returned home. However Vince also asks what time Keith arrived home! Vince's motivation for asking the questions is to eliminate the possibility of another suspect; ostensibly, someone else could have entered the house and observed Amy asleep there alone to return later and kidnap her or Keith could have done so before the Giordano's returned home. The ingenuity of Cook in posing Vince's questions, however, is to lure the reader to assume that if Keith left the house then Amy was abducted while he was gone and if Keith didn't leave the house, then Amy was abducted while he was still there and in any case Amy was gone before the Giordano's returned home - all assumptions false. The key was Vince's last question of when Keith arrived home. That question would have established that Amy was probably abducted after the Giordano's arrived home since it confirmed Keith as a suspect in Vince's mind because if Keith had returned home at around 10pm then Amy would have still been there and Keith could not have been a suspect.
In the case of who gave Keith Moore a ride home the night Amy is abducted, Eric Moore provides the answer. When Eric learns of the relationship between his son and Delmot Price, the town florist and one of Eric's customers and Eric learns that Keith spoke to Delmot that night, he reflects upon the car he observed turning around at the end of the driveway when Keith came home. Again, the seeds of doubt are planted when Eric asks detective Peak if Keith and Delmot were together that night and Peak asks why Eric thinks they were together. The answer of course is because Eric believes Delmot gave Keith a ride home only Eric can't tell Peak that since he withheld that knowledge to begin with.
Polly turns out to be Keith's girl friend. She is from the "other side of town" near the water tower and according to Keith has a hard life. Here again Cook artfully plants the seeds of false knowledge. The water tower is where Amy's pajamas are found and where Eric observes some untoward deviant behavior. Keith, however, never visits the water tower or it seems does Polly.
Finally, remember that the character of Keith, Eric's son is seen almost entirely through Eric's eyes which are tainted by his inability to see through the falsehood of things he thinks are truths. So we get a picture of Keith Moore that is skewed to the likeness that Eric begins to realize is generated from Eric's innate dislike for his son. As more is revealed to the reader about Keith, the more the reader comes to see the fallacy of Eric's plight in understanding himself and his son and that Keith is not at all what his father thinks he is. So the reader is given Eric's description of Keith that is riddled with false description.
Top reviews from other countries
It's introspective so if you want an action packed crime thriller, look elsewhere. Small town America, a young girl goes missing and the novel follows the effect of the disappearance on the family of a prime suspect. The thread of reflective narration by an interested observer is intriguing and serves well to link characters and the past with current events. This is a detailed dissection of dysfunction in families. Superficially all is well, but scrape the surface and there's a different agenda, a different story and deep, dark secrets which cause implosion.
In a nutshell, I loved this. The prose is spare. Every word counts and I was drawn right in to the mystery of events and the surprising finale. Characters, plot, pace, language...it's all there. Compelling and totally absorbing and very rewarding.
Living with a secretive, mono-syllabic teenager isn't easy at the best of times, but when your teenager is then accused of unspeakable things and does very little to persuade you of his innocence, the tension in the story really heats up. It's a page turner which an ending which caught me out.
Thomas H. Cooks's novels are literary masterpieces using the psychological thriller genre. This is more than crime writing - it's literature that just happens to be using crime fiction as a vehicle. You immediately find yourself lost in the most glorious, compassionate, heart-renching, beautiful prose. This is writing with heart and soul. The compelling plot weaves questions of morality, philosophy and the human condition. This is one of those few books that actually reads you. Cook cleverly plants seeds of doubt whilst at the same time tells you that doubt is corrosive and will picture everything you see, hear or read. Ingenious.
All this and an ending you'll never predict. Red Leaves is a perfect novel.