{"product_id":"big-giant-floating-head-isbn-9781612197579","title":"Big Giant Floating Head","description":"\u003cb\u003e\"Boucher makes the world come alive by making language come alive.\" —George Saunders, \u003ci\u003eLincoln in the Bardo\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA WILDLY INVENTIVE, HEARTBREAKING, AND HILARIOUS NEW NOVEL ABOUT A MAN WHOSE LIFE IS FALLING APART . . . IN VERY BIZARRE WAYS . . . \u003cbr\u003e After his wife announces on Twitter that she's leaving him, Christopher's life in small-town Coolidge just goes from one catastrophe to another. He contracts a strange illness that divides him in half, undergoes a failure competition, and is driven to join a cult called The Unloveables. How did it all get this bad? How can he regain his bearings, and find meaning and love once again?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Heartfelt and riotously imaginative,\u003ci\u003e Big Giant Floating Head\u003c\/i\u003e is the daring, dazzling account of a man’s struggle with love, loss and redemption.PRAISE FOR \u003ci\u003eBIG GIANT FLOATING HEAD\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chris Boucher’s \u003ci\u003eBig Giant Floating Head\u003c\/i\u003e plays by an improbable logic all its own, and is heartbreaking and hilarious in the manner of Brautigan and Flann O’Brien, or a Krazy Kat comic redrawn by M.C. Escher.” – Jonathan Lethem\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “This is a novel of mad vitality, much invention, and serious fun.”—Kevin Barry, author of \u003ci\u003eCity of Bohane, \u003c\/i\u003ewinner of the IMPAC Literary Award\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Hilarious, dark and stunningly surreal. ..This novel will surprise and delight, make you laugh out loud even as it breaks your heart.”—Mona Awad, author of \u003ci\u003eBunny\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePRAISE FOR \u003ci\u003eGOLDEN DELICIOUS\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"What a crazed, beautiful book . . . Boucher makes the world come alive by making language come alive.\" —George Saunders, author of \u003ci\u003eLincoln in the Bardo \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"A master of evoking compassion through absurd, shape-shifting land-scapes . . . As wacky as it is recognizable, Boucher's capricious world filled with delightful wordplay is strikingly vivid, funny, and moving.\" —Booklist \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Infused with a strange brilliance . . .;Funny, and also deeply, improbably moving.\"—The Millions \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Christopher Boucher’s \u003ci\u003eGolden Delicious \u003c\/i\u003eis  the best kind of modern fiction: inventive, expansive, with endless  heart and narrative verve... Read this book now.” —Joe Meno, author of \u003ci\u003eHairstyles of the Damned\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bonkers, in the best way…The beauty of Boucher’s concept is that \u003ci\u003eGolden Delicious\u003c\/i\u003e can afford to be an utter hodgepodge peppered with nearly inexplicable happenings and still make an elegant sort of sense.” —Electric Literature \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eGolden Delicious\u003c\/i\u003e, is probably like nothing you’ve ever  read…Boucher writes simultaneously very seriously and with a palpable  sense of delight in words and also in the world. It’s delicious.” —The Rumpus\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “An odd, clever, and thoroughly enjoyable experience.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePRAISE FOR \u003ci\u003eHOW TO KEEP YOUR VOLKSWAGEN ALIVE\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Strange and dazzling . . . Through all the insanity and dizzying leaps of logic that make up Boucher's world are a series of absolutely human and recognizable truths.\" —Emily St. John Mandel, author of \u003ci\u003eStation Eleven\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Boucher's first novel is one of the most original books you will read this year.\" —Roxane Gay, author of \u003ci\u003eBad Feminist\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As moving as it is fun, \u003ci\u003eHow to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive\u003c\/i\u003e is definitely the next book you should read.” —Adam Levin, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Instructions\u003c\/i\u003eCHRISTOPHER BOUCHER is author of the widely praised novels \u003ci\u003eGolden Delicious \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eHow to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive\u003c\/i\u003e. He teaches literature and writing at Boston College, and is editor of the literary journal \u003ci\u003ePost Road\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives in Northampton, MA.I first saw the Big Giant Floating Head on the same day that my wife Liz announced on Twitter that she didn’t love me anymore. You can go back on her timeline and read the tweet: \u003ci\u003e@bouchergutter, I don’t love you anymore. Not sure I ever did! \u003c\/i\u003eThen she tweeted out a picture of the letter I’d sent her three days earlier, in which I apologized and asked for forgiveness, along with the caption, \u003ci\u003eCant wait to finally DIVORCE this loser.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t see Liz’s tweet at first because I was riding my bike through town, a twelve-foot aluminum gutter drain balanced on my shoulder. I wasn’t particularly good at gutterwork, but I hadn’t completely failed at it yet either—not like I had at marriage, and writing, and most everything else. For years before that I’d worked in fiction—as a novelist, bookseller, editor, verb salesman, you name it. But I’d hurt people—hurt myself—with my last book, a novel called \u003ci\u003eGolden Delicious\u003c\/i\u003e. That story’s too sad for me to tell, suffice it to say that someone died because of me and I subsequently gave up writing and books altogether. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomething broke inside me when I did, though: A heart-sized hole formed in my chest; my imagination grew a beard and its spine began to curve. Then I began drinking, lost my driver’s license, and got kicked out of my own house. Not even the bike was mine—I was borrowing it from Bill Sunflower, a gutter guy I worked with who was letting me crash at his place while things cooled down with my wife. Liz and I had gone through this kind of thing before, but every time she took me back. When I checked my phone at the corner of Main and Lex that day, though, I saw her tweet and my stomach roiled. There was a thought in my head, a literal voice, that said, It’s over, Chris. Like, over-over. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI changed course and pedaled home—it was only a few blocks away. Liz was working from home at the time, and she was sitting at the kitchen table and saw me approaching. She stood up and grabbed her phone, threw open the window, and started shouting at me. You can see it all on her timeline: me standing in the driveway next to my own pickup truck (which I wasn’t allowed to drive at the time), the bike and the drain at my feet, shouting awful things at Liz. And look how beautiful she is—her fireplace eyes, her hair a parade—even as she shouts back at me, “You’re drunk!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No I ain’t!” I say, though I clearly am.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen you can hear the wrinkle of paper: Liz’s holding my letter. “You were drunk when you wrote this, too!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, sir!” I say. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, really?” Liz holds the letter in front of the phone. “I’m not a man of worlds,” she says. “What’s a man of worlds?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Words, I meant!” I say. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I know I’ve mistake,” she continues. “You’ve mistaked?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then you can hear me say, “Liz.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Do you mistake often, Chris?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Liz,” I say again, my voice as thin as paper. “What is that?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen Liz says “Holy—,” and the phone turns off.“—shit,” is what Liz said next, when she saw what I was pointing at. “Is that a—” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s an eye,” I said. It was: a giant eye, staring at me through the trees behind the Camerlenghis’ house. “There’s another one next to it,” I said. I crossed the street. “It’s a face!” I shouted. From that angle I could see the whole thing: blue eyes, brown hair, chin stubble—a big giant floating head, staring right at me with a smile on his face like he was listening to a joke. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz came outside. “Jesus Christ, Chris,” she said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen Glen Camerlenghi swung open his porch door. “Leo won’t stop barking,” he said. He looked up and saw the face. “What the hey is that?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI crossed back to our side of the street. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s moving—Chris, it’s moving!” Liz said. “It’s following you!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was. I took a few strides down the sidewalk and the Big Giant Floating Head moved with me. “Crap,” I said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s some sort of fancy drone,” said Glen. “Right?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI ran back across the street and picked up my bike. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chris?” said Liz. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m calling the police,” said Glen. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hoisted the drain over my shoulder and mounted the bike. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Where are you going?” Liz shouted at me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI started pedaling and the Big Giant Floating Head followed. I sped up and the head sped up too. I took a sharp turn on Gore and the face stayed with me—hopping trees, lifting over buildings, dropping lower in clearings. There was no outrunning it. Two or three people shouted at me along the way—“Hey!” one said; “Look up!” said another—and at the light on Argyle an old man in a blue van kept beeping at me. I stopped at the crosswalk and gave him the finger, and he rolled down his window. “There’s a big giant head above you, guy!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No shit!” I said. Then I saw a gap in the crossing traffic and pedaled away from him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo blocks from Bill’s house, though, I heard a police siren and I saw blue flashing lights behind me. I looked back: it was Cass Donner, who used to stop me all the time when I was driving and had once arrested me for public drunkenness. Cass was OK—not as bad as some of the other cops in town. I stopped pedaling and she got out of the cruiser and stared up at the face. “What do you know about this, Boucher?” she said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shook my head. “Picked it up at my house, followed me here.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s following you?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Seems to stay just that far behind me,” I said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe face smiled down at Cass. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCass took a photo of the face with her phone. “Just stay there, OK?” she said, and she ducked into her cruiser, where I heard her say something into her walkie. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI put down the gutter and checked my phone. There was a text from Liz: \u003ci\u003eWhere r u is that thing still followng u?\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t reply. There was another one from Bill. \u003ci\u003eWaitin on that drain\u003c\/i\u003e, he wrote. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGot held up\u003c\/i\u003e, I replied. \u003ci\u003eBe there in a few.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e Then Cass appeared behind me. “I want you to just hang tight for a few minutes, OK?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI got off my bike. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCass looked down at the drain. “Gutter drain?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yuh-huh,” I said.“For your place?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shook my head. “Working with Bill Sunflower.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Holy moly—that guy,” she said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen a fire truck pulled up in front of me and two guys hopped down from the cab. One was Al McLeod, who was in the class behind me at Coolidge High; the other guy I didn’t know. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Like I told you,” said Cass to the second guy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMcLeod put his hand over his eyes, as if blocking out the sun. “Just hanging there like that?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Following our friend Christopher here,” said Cass. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMcLeod found his phone and took a picture of the face. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s get up there,” said the other guy, and McLeod nodded. They got back in the truck, moved it thirty or so yards down the road, and parked under the face. Then McLeod raised a ladder off the back of the truck and the other guy climbed it. When he reached the top of the ladder he was about twenty feet below the Big Giant Floating Head. “Whoa,” he said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What is it?” shouted McLeod. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s breathing!” shouted the guy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAl looked back at Cass and me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe firefighter scrambled down the ladder. “Fucking thing is breathing,” he said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCass and McLeod met him on the ground and they huddled and talked about what to do. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat the fuck C\u003c\/i\u003e, texted Bill. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sat down on the curb. \u003ci\u003eCops here\u003c\/i\u003e, I typed. \u003ci\u003eWaiting for them to let me go.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBy this point, some neighbors were gathering on the sidewalk. Then another cop car pulled up and a cop I didn’t know got out and ran over to Cass. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWHAT\u003c\/i\u003e, Bill texted. \u003ci\u003eWht did u do?\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eNothing, explain it when I get there.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e Finally, Cass walked over to me and I stood up to talk to her. “Well,” she said. “We’re going to get the word out and see what we can find out. In the meantime, we’ll just keep an eye on it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI nodded. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You think it’ll keep following you?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Guess we’ll see,” I said.","brand":"Melville House","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303827624165,"sku":"NP9781612197579","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/big-giant-floating-head-isbn-9781612197579","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}