{"product_id":"bridge-of-clay-isbn-9781984830159","title":"Bridge of Clay","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe unforgettable, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling family saga from Markus Zusak, the storyteller who gave us the extraordinary bestseller THE BOOK THIEF, lauded by the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e as \"the kind of book that can be life-changing.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY \u003ci\u003eENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY \u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e• THE WALL STREET JOURNAL\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"One of those monumental books that can draw you across space and time into another family’s experience in the most profound way.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mystical and loaded with heart, it's another gorgeous tearjerker from a rising master of them.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Devastating, demanding and deeply moving.” —\u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe breathtaking story of\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003efive brothers who bring each other up in a world run by their own rules. As the Dunbar boys love and fight and learn to reckon with the adult world, they discover the moving secret behind their father’s disappearance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the center of the Dunbar family is Clay, a boy who will build a bridge—for his family, for his past, for greatness, for his sins, for a miracle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe question is, how far is Clay willing to go? And how much can he overcome?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWritten in powerfully inventive language and bursting with heart, BRIDGE OF CLAY is signature Zusak.“This book is a stunner. Devastating, demanding and deeply moving, \u003ci\u003eBridge of Clay\u003c\/i\u003e unspools like a kind of magic act in reverse, with feats of narrative legerdemain concealed by misdirection that all make sense only when the elements of the trick are finally laid out.” —\u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Markus Zusak crafts an unforgettable saga.\" —\u003ci\u003eUS Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In a complex narrative that leaps through time and place and across oceans, Zusak paints a vivid portrait of the brothers trying to regain their balance by keeping their family’s story alive.\" —\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It blew me away.” —Jodi Picoult, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eA Spark of Light\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSmall Great Things\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A captivating book with a mighty, fearless heart, BRIDGE OF CLAY is filled with characters to believe in and care about ... achingly moving, delightfully funny, and thoroughly uplifting.” —M. L. Stedman, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Light Between Oceans\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If \u003ci\u003eThe Book Thief\u003c\/i\u003e was a novel that allowed Death to steal the show . . . [its] brilliantly illuminated follow-up is affirmatively full of life.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Warm and heartfelt. . . . This is a tale of love, art and redemption; rowdy and joyous, with flashes of wit and insight, and ultimately moving.” \u003ci\u003eTimes of London\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With heft and historical scope, Zusak creates a sensitively rendered tale of loss, grief, and guilt’s manifestations.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly, \u003c\/i\u003estarred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"[A] gorgeously written novel.\" —\u003ci\u003eBooklist, \u003c\/i\u003estarred review\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Book Thief\u003c\/i\u003e by Markus Zusak\u003ci\u003e:\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER\u003cbr\u003eWINNER OF THE NATIONAL JEWISH BOOK AWARD\u003cbr\u003eMORE THAN 16 MILLION COPIES SOLD\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Brilliant and hugely ambitious.\" \u003ci\u003e--The New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Deserves a place on the shelf with the \u003ci\u003eDiary of Anne Frank\u003c\/i\u003e . . . Poised to become a classic.\" --\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Absorbing and searing.\" --\u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Zusak's novel is a major achievement.\" –\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Zusak doesn't sugarcoat anything, but he makes his ostensibly gloomy subject bearable the same way Kurt Vonnegut did in \u003ci\u003eSlaughterhouse-Five:\u003c\/i\u003e with grim, darkly consoling humor.\" –\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eMarkus Zusak is the international bestselling author of six novels, including \u003ci\u003eThe Book Thief\u003c\/i\u003e and most recently, \u003ci\u003eBridge of Clay.\u003c\/i\u003e His work is translated into more than forty languages, and has spent more than a decade on the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller list, establishing Zusak as one of the most successful authors to come out of Australia.\u003cbr\u003e All of Zusak’s books – including earlier titles, \u003ci\u003eThe Underdog\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFighting Ruben Wolfe\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWhen Dogs Cry\u003c\/i\u003e (also titled \u003ci\u003eGetting the Girl\u003c\/i\u003e), and \u003ci\u003eThe Messenger\u003c\/i\u003e (or \u003ci\u003eI am the Messenger)\u003c\/i\u003e – have been awarded numerous honors around the world, ranging from literary prizes to readers choice awards to prizes voted on by booksellers.\u003cbr\u003e In 2013,\u003ci\u003e The Book Thief \u003c\/i\u003ewas made into a major motion picture, and in 2018 was voted one of America’s all-time favorite books, achieving the 14th position on the \u003ci\u003ePBS Great American Read\u003c\/i\u003e. Also in 2018, \u003ci\u003eBridge of Clay\u003c\/i\u003e was selected as a best book of the year in publications ranging from \u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e to the \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Markus Zusak grew up in Sydney, Australia, and still lives there with his wife and two children.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eportrait of  a killer as  a middle--aged man\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf before the beginning (in the writing, at least) was a typewriter, a dog, and a snake, the beginning itself—-eleven years previously—-was a murderer, a mule, and Clay. Even in beginnings, though, someone needs to go first, and on that day it could only be the Murderer. After all, he was the one who got everything moving forward, and all of us looking back. He did it by arriving. He arrived at six o’clock.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs it was, it was perfectly fitting, too, another blistering February evening; the day had cooked the concrete, the sun still high, and aching. It was heat to be held and depended on, or, really, that had hold of \u003ci\u003ehim.\u003c\/i\u003e In the history of all murderers everywhere, this was surely the most pathetic:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt five--foot--ten, he was average height.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt seventy--five kilos, a normal weight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut make no mistake—-he was a wasteland in a suit; he was bent--postured, he was broken. He leaned at the air as if waiting for it to finish him off, only it wouldn’t, not today, for this, fairly suddenly, didn’t feel like a time for murderers to be getting favors.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo, today he could sense it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could smell it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was immortal.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhich pretty much summed things up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTrust the Murderer to be unkillable at the one moment he was better off dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*   *   *\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor the longest time, then, ten minutes at least, he stood at the mouth of  Archer Street, relieved to have finally made it, terrified to be there. The street didn’t seem much to care; its breeze was close but casual, its smoky scent was touchable. Cars were stubbed out rather than parked, and the power lines drooped from the weight of mute, hot and bothered pigeons. Around it, a city climbed and called:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWelcome back, Murderer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe voice so warm, beside him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou’re in a bit of strife here, I’d say. . . . In fact, a bit of strife doesn’t even come close—-you’re in desperate trouble.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd he knew it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd soon the heat came nearer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eArcher Street began rising to the task now, almost rubbing its hands together, and the Murderer fairly caught alight. He could feel it escalating, somewhere inside his jacket, and with it came the questions:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCould he walk on and finish the beginning?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCould he really see it through?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a last moment he took the luxury—-the thrill of stillness—-then swallowed, massaged his crown of thorny hair, and with grim decision, made his way up to number eighteen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA man in a burning suit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOf course, he was walking that day at five brothers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUs Dunbar boys.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom oldest to youngest:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMe, Rory, Henry, Clayton, Thomas.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe would never be the same.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo be fair, though, neither would he—-and to give you at least a small taste of what the Murderer was entering into, I should tell you what we were like:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMany considered us tearaways.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBarbarians.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMostly they were right:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur mother was dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur father had fled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe swore like bastards, fought like contenders, and punished each other at pool, at table tennis (always on third-- or fourth--hand tables, and often set up on the lumpy grass of the backyard), at Monopoly, darts, football, cards, at everything we could get our hands on.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe had a piano no one played.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur TV was serving a life sentence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe couch was in for twenty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes when our phone rang, one of us would walk out, jog along the porch and go next door; it was just old Mrs. Chilman—-she’d bought a new bottle of tomato sauce and couldn’t get the wretched thing open. Then, whoever it was would come back in and let the front door slam, and life went on again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYes, for the five of us, life always went on:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was something we beat into and out of each other, especially when things went completely right, or completely wrong. That was when we’d get out onto Archer Street in evening--afternoon. We’d walk at the city. The towers, the streets. The worried--looking trees. We’d take in the loudmouthed conversations hurled from pubs, houses, and unit blocks, so certain this was our place. We half expected to collect it all up and carry it home, tucked under our arms. It didn’t matter that we’d wake up the next day to find it gone again, on the loose, all buildings and bright light.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh—-and one more thing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePossibly most important.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn amongst a small roster of dysfunctional pets, we were the only people we knew of, in the end, to be in possession of a mule.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd what a mule he was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe animal in question was named Achilles, and there was a backstory longer than a country mile as to how he ended up in our suburban backyard in one of the racing quarters of the city. On one hand it involved the abandoned stables and practice track behind our house, an outdated council bylaw, and a sad old fat man with bad spelling. On the other it was our dead mother, our fled father, and the youngest, Tommy Dunbar.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the time, not everyone in the house was even consulted; the mule’s arrival was controversial. After at least one heated argument, with Rory—-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(“Oi, Tommy, what’s goin’ on ’ere?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What--a--y’ mean \u003ci\u003ewhat,\u003c\/i\u003e are you shitting me? There’s a donkey in the backyard!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He’s not a donkey, he’s a mule.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s the difference?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A donkey’s a donkey, a mule’s a cross between—-”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t care if it’s a quarter horse crossed with a Shetland bloody pony! What’s it doin’ under the clothesline?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He’s eating the grass.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can see that!”)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—-we somehow managed to keep him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOr more to the point, the mule stayed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs was the case with the majority of Tommy’s pets, too, there were a few problems when it came to Achilles. Most notably, the mule had ambitions; with the rear fly screen dead and gone, he was known to walk into the house when the back door was ajar, let alone left fully open. It happened at least once a week, and at least once a week I blew a gasket. It sounded something like this:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Je--sus \u003ci\u003eChrist\u003c\/i\u003e!” As a blasphemer I was pretty rampant in those days, well known for splitting the Jesus and emphasizing the Christ. “If I’ve told you bastards once, I’ve told you a \u003ci\u003ehun\u003c\/i\u003edred Goddamn times! \u003ci\u003eShut\u003c\/i\u003e the back  door!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd so on.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhich brings us once more to the Murderer, and how could he have possibly known?\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Knopf Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300255125733,"sku":"NP9781984830159","price":26.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781984830159_b09e7d70-fae2-40c0-a676-328bf6665f7d.jpg?v=1742919311","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/bridge-of-clay-isbn-9781984830159","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}