{"product_id":"hurricane-girl-isbn-9780593315354","title":"Hurricane Girl","description":"\u003cb\u003eA propulsive and daring new novel by the author of \u003ci\u003eVery Nice\u003c\/i\u003e about a woman on the run from catastrophe, searching for love, home, a swimming pool, and for someone who can perhaps stop the bleeding from her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The novel surprises us by blending visceral horror with laugh-out-loud humor.... A wickedly entertaining read from first to last.” —\u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A strange and hypnotic journey in the aftermath of a natural disaster, Dermansky nails the sensation of being alive, of navigating a world so strange that it’s almost a dream.\" —Kevin Wilson, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eNothing to See Here\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison Brody is thirty-two and newly arrived on the East Coast after just managing to flee her movie producer boyfriend. She has some money, saved up from years of writing and waitressing, and so she spends it, buying a small house on the beach. But then a Category 3 hurricane makes landfall and scatters her home up and down the shore, leaving Allison adrift.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShould she go home from the bar with the strange cameraman and stay in his guest room? Is that a glass vase he smashed on her skull? Can she wipe the blood from her eyes, get in her car, and drive to her mother’s? Does she really love the brain surgeon who saved her, or is she just using him for his swimming pool? And is it possible to ever truly heal without seeking some measure of revenge?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA gripping, provocative novel that walks a knife’s edge between comedy and horror, \u003ci\u003eHurricane Girl\u003c\/i\u003e is the work of a singular talent, a novelist unafraid to explore the intersection of love, sex, violence, and freedom—while celebrating the true joy that can be found in a great swim and a good turkey sandwich.“The novel surprises us by blending visceral horror with laugh-out-loud humor. This unnerving stylistic collision is sustained throughout, as the concussed and bleeding protagonist manages to drive herself to her mother’s house in New Jersey, trying to feel grateful despite the hole in her head. 'She still had her health,' she thinks. 'That was what people liked to say…' Dermansky plays masterfully with perspective… The results are hilarious. Dermansky’s offbeat humor and spare prose make Allison’s mind a thrilling and wholly unusual place to be…. A wickedly entertaining read from first to last.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Aamina Ahmad, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Dermansky uses economical prose to tell of 30-something Allison Brody, whose East Coast escape from an L.A. producer boyfriend goes pear-shaped when a storm destroys her new North Carolina home. Recovering from an operation to repair a hole in her head, Allison might also be in love with her surgeon. Allison is not OK, but Allison’s story is wickedly funny and wonderfully compact — paradoxically both satisfying and leaving you wanting more.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Bethanne Patrick, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Dermansky is a master of that slippery thing we might call voice....Dermansky creates an experience in fiction that is powerfully and unnervingly realistic...[and] achieves what it really feels like to be a person rather than its literary simulation...Universally delightful...Allison’s story is a powerful comedic indictment and investigation of the darkness of American millennial life, where literally nothing we were told to want is stable, not even a house, let alone a home.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Emma Copley Eisenberg, \u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"After Allison Brody leaves her film producer boyfriend and buys a beach house, her life finally feels settled. Until a Category 3 hurricane destroys it, that is. When she meets a cameraman in a bar, going home with him doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. That is, until he breaks a glass vase over her head. After she has brain surgery to fix the hole he leaves, she falls in love with her brain surgeon who's also an old friend and...let's just say there's a lot going on here, and even more to love. This is a comedic horror mishmash that's as quirky as it is a ton of fun, plus it centers around swimming pools. Does it get much more beach-ready than that?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eGood Housekeeping\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With nimble prose, touches of dark humor, and flirtations with the surreal, Marcy Dermansky reaches deep into the wells of millennial discontent to reveal how confronting the past might provide an indecisive 30-something with her clearest path forward.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Omari Weekes, \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eVulture \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Marcy Dermansky’s books are written in sparse but punchy prose, each sentence guaranteed to make you think.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Elena Nicolaou, \u003ci\u003eThe TODAY Show\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Dermansky weaves a tale that is absurdly funny and cheering.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNewsday\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In a fast-paced, matter-of-fact style, Marcy Dermansky brings the reader along as Allison is continuously swept up in the storm of her post-disaster life, and she barely has the energy to pick up the pieces. Believe it or not, though, this book isn’t all darkness and despair...Dermansky lines darkness with humor and absurdity, making this book a propulsive read.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Samantha Zabell, \u003ci\u003eApartment Therapy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Readers hungry for a novel that's equal parts sweet and sour will find plenty of sugar and vinegar in Hurricane Girl by Marcy Dermansky....Readers will enjoy Dermansky's humorous one-liners and deceptively light touch. And they will sympathize with Allison, a woman tired of the way men treat her and who fights her inclination to go through life like a swimmer in the ocean: floating aimlessly, drifting wherever the waves take her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Michael Magras, \u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A propulsive story about a woman who runs from catastrophe and goes home in search of love, a swimming pool and comfort.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNew Jersey Monthly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With a splash of dark humor, a bout of violence, and a fair share of interesting sexcapades, Marcy Dermansky’s\u003ci\u003e Hurricane Girl \u003c\/i\u003eis the perfect recipe for a chaotic summertime read.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Emily Weaver, \u003ci\u003eScary Mommy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The titular hurricane girl is on the run… and she’s really not sure what to do next, okay? But she’ll figure it out, gloriously and completely, in this ode to escape and reinvention.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Molly Odintz, \u003ci\u003eCrimeReads Senior Editor\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Just a little comedy about the loss of all worldly possessions, near-deadly assault, brain surgery, and violent revenge… Small comic gems sparkle in their deadpan settings on every page… The only bad thing about this book is that you will likely finish it in one sitting.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews,\u003c\/i\u003e Starred\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Marcy Dermansky is one of the most wildly original writers that I've ever read, and Hurricane Girl showcases what makes her so amazing. In tracking the unpredictable movements of a strange and hypnotic journey in the aftermath of a natural disaster, Dermansky nails the sensation of being alive, of navigating a world so strange that it’s almost a dream, of trying, again and again, to anchor yourself to a moment, to assure yourself that you exist, to withstand anything and somehow keep living.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Kevin Wilson, author of \u003ci\u003eNothing to See Here\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With her new work, Dermansky (\u003ci\u003eThe Red Car\u003c\/i\u003e) creates a central character whose life is a hurricane of impulsivity...Dermansky surrounds Allison with disappointing men, making her trust issues understandable, and she effectively captures Allison’s brain fog and inability to make reasonable decisions, particularly following a traumatic brain injury… Satisfying.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Eminently relatable in a world filled with pitfalls for women who try to figure\u003cbr\u003e out what they want for themselves.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Booklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eMARCY DERMANSKY is the author of the critically acclaimed novels \u003ci\u003eVery Nice, The Red Car\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBad Marie\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eTwins\u003c\/i\u003e. She has received fellowships from The MacDowell Colony and The Edward F. Albee Foundation. She lives with her daughter in Montclair, New Jersey.Part One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison Brody bought a beach house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was thirty-­two years old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSick of everybody and everything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll she wanted to do, more than anything, really, was swim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe beach house was small. It was in North Carolina, advertised as in foreclosure. She had put cash down, emptying her accounts, everything that she had. She used money saved from waitressing, money saved from a small inheritance from her father when he died, almost a year ago. She had sold a script, too, and made some okay money from that. A solid chunk. It was a horror script. It would not necessarily make a good film, but a famous actress had agreed to star in it, and so there could be more money. More scripts. Success.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison had been seen as a movie producer’s pretty younger girlfriend. She could have been known in her own right. Probably it had been stupid to leave Los Angeles just when her career started taking off and there were so many places to swim. The movie producer, for instance, had a beautiful swimming pool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe. Maybe leaving had been stupid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe Allison wanted to create art one day. After she swam. Maybe, one day, she would want to have a cat. The movie producer was allergic to cats.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe she actually wanted to live alone, and certainly not with a man who hit her. It had happened only a few times, exactly three, but it also seemed possible that it could happen again, even though the movie producer had promised that it wouldn’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe drove cross-­country, doing the speed limit, buying coffees from Starbucks along the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the beach house turned out to be perfect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo small bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor with a view of the ocean. A front porch where Allison could drink her coffee and breathe in the ocean air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlmost all Allison knew about North Carolina was from a long-­ago vacation, and it was wonderful, her favorite child­hood memory. The road trip had been insanely long. A caravan with another family. They had taken regimented bathroom stops. When she woke, she had been delivered to a house with an oval swimming pool and a view of the ocean. Allison remembered a large, pink dolphin float in the pool, with a cup holder built into it for drinks. All the parents got drunk every night and everyone laughed a lot and the kids were allowed to do whatever they wanted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison had lived in her beach house for a week and a half when the hurricane warning came. Category Five. Orders to evacuate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe spent a night in a motel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe drank gin and tonics, her father’s favorite drink, and watched the local news in her motel room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer father, she knew, would have told her to buy the beach house. He would have told her, not for the first time, about the  beach  house  he  did  not  buy,  years  ago,  a  decision  he regretted to his death. Allison’s mother had not wanted to spend the money. Take that risk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhereas Allison had bought the house. It would be okay. That was what she told herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd,  in  the  end,  in  fact,  the  storm  was  reduced  to  Cat-egory  Three  and  had  turned  north.  Allison  felt  grateful  to be spared. She got up, only slightly hungover, bought a cof-fee, and drove back to her house. Which was gone. She did find  it,  but  in  pieces  strewn  all  over  the  yard.  Wood  beams and siding everywhere. The toilet, from the second floor, was upright in the same place, on the ground. The red couch was precisely where it had been, in the living room that no longer existed. The roof lay in the middle of the road. Strangely, the steps up to the now- absent porch were still intact.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen  Allison  first  heard  about  the  storm,  she  imagined she would weather it. But then the winds picked up and she realized she was afraid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer neighbor next door had nailed boards across his win-dows. Allison thought about asking him to help her. Allison also did not want help from men. She also did not like the look of her neighbor. He wore a baseball cap and had large muscles, wore sleeveless T-shirts that said USA.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bye, house,” Allison said as she sank down on the front steps, clutching her cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. That was all she could find that morning on the drive from the motel. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I loved you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison was not sure what to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe  thought  about  sitting  on  the  front  steps,  but  probably  that  was  not  safe.  She  had  spent  so  many  good  hours on the porch, imagining her future.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe house was insured, at least.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was not a complete idiot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You are an idiot,” Allison said out loud with a sigh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison had a tendency to be unkind to herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this case, it seemed warranted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer mother, always a worrier, had advised her against the move. Her friend Lori had also been against it. “You won’t like  it  there,”  Lori  had  said.  “The  beach  might  be  good, sure, but think about hurricane season. Republicans. White supremacists.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison had claimed not to be scared of such things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well then you are an idiot,” Lori had said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison  often  wished  that  she  had  a  best  friend  who  was nicer to her. Often, it felt like not enough people were nice to her. Her next boyfriend, if nothing else, would be nice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison stretched her arms out to the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was incredibly stiff, as if all of the tension of the day before was somehow stored in her body. She walked around the  foundation  of  her  house,  taking  pictures  with  her  cell phone. There was one of her sneakers, blown on top of the neighbor’s hedge. The hedges were still perfect. The neighbor’s  house  did  not  look  damaged.  It  was  a  brick  house. Sturdy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison’s house, clearly, had not been particularly sturdy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe had forgone any inspection. She had had to act fast. It was an auction, no time to be careful. Allison had worried, driving cross- country, that there would not even be a house, that she had participated in an elaborate Internet scam.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo the whole thing had not been a complete loss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison’s phone rang, but she did not answer it. It was her mother. The kind thing to do, of course, would have been to answer it. Allison had not even listened to the messages that had started coming in once the hurricane began.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe did not think that her mother would actually say I told you so, but somehow her not saying so would not take away the sting. Her mother had told her so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison was homeless and she was broke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was wild how fast the tides could turn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePart of her also knew that she was fine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe  would  make  more  money.  Find  a  more  appropriate home. Allison could write another script. She could even go back to her movie producer boyfriend. She could go back to his beautiful house and swim in his beautiful pool. He had not wanted her to leave. She could get back into her car and do the trip in reverse, make time move backward. She could wait for her insurance money to come in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllison stared at the red couch. She had bought it new at IKEA. She had not even hung any art on the walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis was not so bad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven if it felt that bad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd it did feel that bad.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302938431717,"sku":"NP9780593315354","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593315354.jpg?v=1767729550","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/hurricane-girl-isbn-9780593315354","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}