{"product_id":"an-available-man-isbn-9780345527554","title":"An Available Man","description":"In this tender and funny novel, award-winning author Hilma Wolitzer mines the unpredictable fallout of suddenly becoming single later in life, and the chaos and joys of falling in love the second time around. When Edward Schuyler, a modest and bookish sixty-two-year-old science teacher, is widowed, he finds himself ambushed by female attention. There are plenty of unattached women around, but a healthy, handsome, available man is a rare and desirable creature. Edward receives phone calls from widows seeking love, or at least lunch, while well-meaning friends try to set him up at dinner parties. Even an attractive married neighbor offers herself to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe problem is that Edward doesn’t \u003ci\u003efeel\u003c\/i\u003e available. He’s still mourning his beloved wife, Bee, and prefers solitude and the familiar routine of work, gardening, and bird-watching. But then his stepchildren surprise him by placing a personal ad in \u003ci\u003eThe New York Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e on his behalf. Soon the letters flood in, and Edward is torn between his loyalty to Bee’s memory and his growing longing for connection. Gradually, reluctantly, he begins dating (“dating after death,” as one correspondent puts it), and his encounters are variously startling, comical, and sad. Just when Edward thinks he has the game figured out, a chance meeting proves that love always arrives when it’s least expected.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith wit, warmth, and a keen understanding of the heart, \u003ci\u003eAn Available Man\u003c\/i\u003e explores aspects of loneliness and togetherness, and the difference in the options open to men and women of a certain age. Most of all, the novel celebrates the endurance of love, and its thrilling capacity to bloom anew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLook for special features inside. Join the Random House Reader’s Circle for author chats and more.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Funny, wise and touching.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Wonderful . . . [Hilma] Wolitzer’s vision of the world, for all its sorrow, is often hilarious and always compassionate.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Smart and poignant, \u003ci\u003eAn Available Man\u003c\/i\u003e explores some universal truths—that the past is never past, life is for the living, and dating is really, really hard.”—\u003ci\u003eO: The Oprah Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Charming . . . Wolitzer is a champ at the closely observed, droll novel of manners.”—NPR\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[Hilma Wolitzer is an] American literary treasure.”\u003ci\u003e—The Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A deeply satisfying story of love lost and found.”—Bookreporter“Wonderful new novel . . . often hilarious and always compassionate.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"\u003c\/b\u003eCharming . . . affecting . . . emotionally layered.\"\u003cb\u003e—NPR's \u003ci\u003eFresh Air\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Tender, witty . . . smart and poignant, \u003ci\u003eAn Available Man\u003c\/i\u003e explores some universal truths—that the past is never past, life is for the living, and dating is really, really hard.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eO, the Oprah Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eAn Available Man\u003c\/i\u003e is not just a cautionary tale of geriatric loneliness and sex. It’s a meditation—and then, a breathtaking roller-coaster ride, and then, a meditation again—on what we lose when we allow loss and longing to make us unavailable to ourselves.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[F]unny, wise and touching.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Hilma Wolitzer] succeeds, precisely because the writer understands that it's not a childish insistence on finding everything delightful but the full complexity of experience that gives a romance, late-life or otherwise, its real beauty.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePhiladelphia Enquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wolitzer is, by turns, funny, shocking, poignant and wise.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Minneapolis Star-Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heartbreaking, maddening, comical, and poignant . . . This sweet story of a man’s diving back into the dating pool at an older age will especially appeal to readers in that demographic.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I absolutely loved \u003ci\u003eAn Available Man\u003c\/i\u003e . . . This is a book to savor page by page, filled with astute detail, both comic and mournful, about what it’s like to be middle-aged and lonely yet not give up on the search for love.”—\u003cb\u003eJulia Glass, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Widower’s Tale\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e and the National Book Award-winning \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThree Junes\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A warm, keenly incisive view of life’s vicissitudes by a writer too seldom heard from.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e“Comic, tender, and delicious.”\u003cb\u003e—Adriana Trigiani, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBig Stone Gap\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eVery Valentine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With its cast of exuberantly alive characters and a wise and witty plot, this book is love at first sight.”\u003cb\u003e—Caroline Leavitt, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e Pictures of You\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hilma Wolitzer is a master of the domestic world, and her writing is graceful, stylish, intelligent and so, so funny! This is a lovely novel, an elegant bouquet of family life, made up of tenderness and confusion, grief and solace, uncertainty and commitment, and the unexpectedness of love.”—\u003cb\u003eRoxana Robinson, author of\u003ci\u003e Cost\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Families are Wolitzer’s turf, and she’s an observant and often humorous chronicler of domesticity and the stuff that comes with it: illness, loss, boredom, crankiness, and, on good days, love.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eHilma Wolitzer \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of several novels, including\u003ci\u003e Summer Reading, The Doctor’s Daughter, Hearts, Ending,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eTunnel of Love, \u003c\/i\u003eas well as a nonfiction book, \u003ci\u003eThe Company of Writers.\u003c\/i\u003e She is a recipient of Guggenheim and NEA fellowships, an Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the Barnes \u0026amp; Noble Writer for Writers Award.  She has taught writing at the University of Iowa, New York University, and Columbia University.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eOut of the Woodwork\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEdward Schuyler was ironing his oldest blue oxford shirtin the living room on a Saturday afternoon when the first telephone call came.He'd taken up ironing a few months before, not long after his wife, Bee, haddied. That happened in early summer, when school was out, and he couldn'tconcentrate on anything besides his grief and longing. At first, he onlypressed things of hers that he'd found in a basket of tangled clean clothing inthe laundry room. He had thought of it then as a way of reconnecting with herwhen she was so irrevocably gone, when he couldn't even will her into hisdreams.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd she did come back in a rush of disordered memories ashe stood at the ironing board. But he had no control over what he remembered,sometimes seeing her when they first met, or years later in her flowered chintzchair across the room, talking on the telephone and kneading the dog's bellywith her bare feet-Bee called it multitasking-or in the last days of her life,pausing so long between breaths that he found himself holding his own breathuntil she began again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill, this random collage of their days together wasbetter than nothing, and it was oddly comforting to smooth the wrinkles out ofher blouses, to restore their collapsed bosoms and sleeves and hang them in hercloset, where they looked orderly, expectant. And he liked the hiss of steam inthe quiet house and the yeasty smell of the scorched cloth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow he lay the iron down on the trivet and, with Bingo,the elderly dog, padding right behind him, went into the kitchen to answer thephone. Without his reading glasses, which didn't appear to be anywhere, Edward couldn'tmake out the caller I.D. But when he said hello there was no reply, and heassumed he'd hear one of those recorded messages from someone running forsomething. It was late October, after all. Half his mail these days wascomposed of political flyers, the other half divided between bills and belatednotes of sympathy. He was about to hang up when a woman's voice said, \"Ed?Is that you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo one he knew called him Ed, or Eddie. Sometimes atelemarketer made a stab at sudden intimacy that way, but he was not a man whoinvited the casual use of nicknames. Even Bee, who knew him as well as anyone,and loved him, had always called him Edward. Her two grown children still kepttheir childhood names for him-Nick addressing him as \"Schuyler\" or\"Professor,\" and Julie as \"Poppy.\" Nick's bride, Amanda,said \"Dad,\" a little self-consciously, while reserving the title\"Daddy,\" as Julie did, for her own father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is Edward, yes,\" he said into the phone.\"Who is this?\" and the woman said, \"You don't know me, Ed, butwe have a good friend in common.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe didn't say anything and she continued. \"My nameis Dorothy Clark, Dodie to you. Joy Feldman and I went to schooltogether.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEdward tried to imagine sweet, matronly Joy as aschoolgirl, but all he could think of was the Tuna Surprise casserole she'dslid into his freezer right after the funeral, and that days later he'd found asingle hair at its defrosted center. Bee might have said, Ah, the surprise! Hehad a chilly premonition that this woman was going to try to sell him somethingdeath-related, like perpetual grave care, or hit him up for a contribution tosome obscure charity in Bee's memory.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut her voice seemed to deepen a little with emotion asshe said, in response to his silence, \"You and I are in the same boat, Ed.I mean I'm recently widowed, too, and Joy thought . . . well,that we should probably get to know each other.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe wondered why Joy would have ever thought that, andthen he understood, with a little shock of revulsion and amusement, not unlikethe way he'd felt when he discovered the hair in the casserole. \"Isee,\" Edward said. \"That was kind of her, but I'm afraid she wasmistaken. I'm not really looking for . . . for any new friends at themoment.\" At the bird feeder tray right outside the window, a fewchickadees settled and pecked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, of course,\" Dorothy Clark said in abrighter tone. \"Everyone has their own timetable for grieving. But whenyou're ready, why don't you give me a ring. I live in Tenafly, we'repractically neighbors. I'll give you my number.\" There was a flurry at thebird feeder as a jay arrived, scattering seed and the chickadees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right,\" Edward said resignedly, politely.He was polite to telemarketers, too, even those who took liberties with hisname.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was suspicious, though. \"Do you have apencil?\" she asked. If he had a pencil, he might have noted the chickadeesand the jay in his neglected birding journal, or tapped on the window with itto interrupt the bullying. But he said, \"Sure, go ahead,\" and sherecited the number slowly, twice. At least she didn't ask him to read it backto her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe returned to the living room, but the glide of the ironover the worn blue field of his shirt was no longer soothing. His lonelinesshad been disturbed, and he wanted it back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne evening near the end, he was reading at Bee'sbedside, his free hand resting lightly on her arm; she seemed to be asleep.Then she opened her glazed eyes and said, \"Look at you. They'll becrawling out of the woodwork.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What will, sweetheart?\" he'd asked, but sheshut her eyes and didn't answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe had said many strange things during those last nightsand days. \"Oh, what will I do without you?\" she'd cried out once, asif he were the one dying and leaving her behind. And there were drug-inducedhallucinations, of small children standing at the foot of her bed, and micescrambling in the bathtub. Maybe there were more vermin waiting in the woodworkof her fevered dream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt wasn't until the second phone call, a few days afterthe one from Dorothy Clark, that he finally got Bee's meaning. This time thecaller introduced herself as Madge Miller, a vaguely familiar name. She and Beehad been in the same book club a while back and she'd heard the sad newsthrough a grapevine of mutual friends. She was just calling to commiserate, shesaid-what a terrible shame, what a beautiful, bright woman in the prime of herlife. And maybe he'd like some company soon, for lunch or a drink.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLater that afternoon, Edward went into the kitchen andrummaged in what one of the children, in childhood, had aptly dubbed \"thecrazy drawer.\" Among the loose batteries and spare shoelaces, the expiredsupermarket coupons and the keys that didn't open any known doors, he found thechain that had briefly kept Bee's reading glasses conveniently dangling fromher neck, until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and declared thatshe'd rather go blind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow Edward untangled the chain and attached it to hisglasses, carefully avoiding his reflection, which he imagined bore anunfortunate resemblance to his third-grade teacher, Miss \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDu Pont. His own students would have a field day. Buthe'd only use the chain at home, where he often mislaid his glasses, and atleast he'd be prepared to screen any future phone calls from strangers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBachelor Days\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a very long time, following a disastrous affair,Edward believed he would never marry. He had gone out with many women, but likehis father he'd fallen in love-in what promised to be a fatal and final way-withonly one of them. Her name was Laurel Ann Arquette, and she'd taught Frenchjust down the hall from his lab at Fenton Day, a private school on the UpperWest Side of Manhattan. Another teacher had introduced them at lunch onLaurel's first day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe stood and said, \"Hello, and welcome to perdition.\"The spoon he'd been stirring his coffee with clanged to the floor, making herlaugh, a bell that chimed from the top of his head to the pit of his belly. Herabundant hair was prematurely white, silver really, and her face was actually heart-shaped.She was as slender as a schoolgirl, for whom she might be mistaken, if not forthat hair and her knowing presence. \"Edward,\" she said in return, asif she were naming or anointing him, and she let her hand be swallowed by his.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was 1974. They were both in their mid-twenties thenand each school day became an agony of hours until they could meet at hisapartment in Hell's Kitchen and make raw and exhausting love. They were veryprudent at Fenton, though, sitting discreetly apart in the faculty room, nevereven accidentally touching in the corridors, and resisting the temptation toexchange loaded glances.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut everyone, from the overstimulated students to theamused lunch ladies, knew anyway, somehow. One morning, he confiscated a notebetween two seventh-graders in his homeroom: \"Does Dr. S. couche avecMademoiselle A.?\" Oui! Yes, he did, every chance he could, and he might aswell have worn a sandwich board advertising his ardor. Even ripping up thatsilly note and frowning severely at the giggling transgressors didn't quelltheir excitement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut once Edward and Laurel announced their engagement,right after their second spring break together, they became as boring to thestudents as their own parents, and somewhat less interesting to everyone else.Still, the engaged couple were consumed by their new status, and began to makewedding plans. He'd hoped for something simple, but Laurel wanted the wholeshow, in an almost unconscious act of defiance against her divorced parents,who had eloped to Maryland with Laurel already on board.Author of The Doctor's Daughter","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303471993061,"sku":"NP9780345527554","price":21.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345527554.jpg?v=1767721496","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/an-available-man-isbn-9780345527554","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}