{"product_id":"trajectory-isbn-9781101971987","title":"Trajectory","description":"\u003cb\u003eThis dazzling collection of four stories features characters bound together by their parallel moments of reckoning with their pasts—and proves the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of \u003ci\u003eEmpire Falls\u003c\/i\u003e is also a master of the short story. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Beautiful…. Will abruptly break your heart.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe characters in these four expansive stories are a departure from the blue-collar denizens that populate so many of Richard Russo’s novels. In “Horseman,” a young professor confronts an undergraduate plagiarist—as well as her own regrets. In “Intervention,” a realtor facing a serious medical prognosis finds himself in his late father’s shadow. “Voice” gives us a semiretired academic who is conned by his estranged brother into joining a group tour of the Venice Biennale. And “Milton and Marcus” takes us into a lapsed novelist’s attempt to rekindle his screenwriting career—a career that depends wholly, at a crucial moment, on two Hollywood icons (one living, one dead). \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLook for Richard Russo's new book, \u003ci\u003eSomebody's Fool\u003c\/i\u003e, coming soon.\u003c\/b\u003e“Beautiful. . . . Will abruptly break your heart. That’s what Richard Russo does, without pretension or fuss, time and time again.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] collection of short fiction so rich and flavorsome that the temptation is to devour it all at once. I can’t in good conscience advise otherwise.” —Laura Collins-Hughes, \u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Has the engaging quality of tales told by a friend, over drinks, about a person we know in common. And so we lean forward, eager to hear what happened next.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Vibrant. . . Russo’s gift for character is as powerful as ever, enlivened with spot-on detail.” —\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The four tales here are replete with Russo’s insightful studies of relationships. . . . Throughout, we enjoy Russo’s skill at weaving a story in which conflicted characters find moments of revelation and, sometimes, redemption. . . . . Rewarding and worth ruminating about.” —\u003ci\u003eMinneapolis Star Tribune \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The stories in \u003ci\u003eTrajectory \u003c\/i\u003eare classic Russo, tales of minor-key defeat laced with rue and humor. . . . Russo again shows how adept he is at portraying life as a tragicomedy. . . . Gives readers plenty to enjoy and mull as his characters ponder their life trajectories.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Dallas Morning News \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Delightful. . . . Unearthing such insight on page 44 (instead of page 444) is a bit like watching a successful squeeze bunt score a runner from third—just as exciting as a home run, but a shorter trip and a rarer treat.” —\u003ci\u003ePaste\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Intriguing and universal. . . . Russo newcomers will begin to scope out why he's a Pulitzer Prize winner.” —\u003ci\u003eHouston Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Heart-warming. . . . Absorbing. . . . A testament to Richard Russo’s skill at deploying his characters. . . . All four stories are challenging not because they are difficult—they are not—but because they raise questions about why we live our lives the way we do, and if that’s all right.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Times\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “[An] engrossing collection.” —\u003ci\u003eSouthern Living\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Russo remains an entertaining and interesting writer.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Christian Science Monitor\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  “Russo is a master at Everyman, offering common folks doing their best to get by, the cards often stacked against them. . . . This collection is a welcome edition to Russo’s work—if you haven’t delved into the Pulitzer prize-winning author’s books, do yourself a favor and begin.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Missourian \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Cogent, wry and satisfying. . . . Confirm[s] Russo’s status as one of the most justly celebrated American writers.” —\u003ci\u003ePortland Press-Herald\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Wonderful. . . . Russo’s writing should be cherished.” —\u003ci\u003eColumbus Dispatch  \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Powerful. . . . An entertaining and compellingly provocative read.” —\u003ci\u003eNew York Journal of Books \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Potent and surprising tales. . . . Russo rarely wastes a word, interweaving details and dialogue into master classes on storytelling.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews \u003c\/i\u003e(starred)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A singularly satisfying journey. Very few writers so thoroughly embrace human foibles, or present them in such an accepting and empathetic manner.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)RICHARD RUSSO is the author of nine novels, most recently \u003ci\u003eChances Are..., Everybody’s Fool\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThat Old Cape Magic;\u003c\/i\u003e two collections of stories; and the memoir \u003ci\u003eElsewhere.\u003c\/i\u003e In 2002 he received the Pulitzer Prize for \u003ci\u003eEmpire Falls,\u003c\/i\u003e which, like \u003ci\u003eNobody’s Fool,\u003c\/i\u003e was adapted into a multiple-award-winning miniseries; in 2017, he received France’s Grand Prix de Littérature Américaine. He lives in Port­land, Maine.\u003cb\u003eIntervention\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThirty-two degrees, according to the dashboard thermometer, so . . . maybe. In warm weather the garage door duti-fully lumbered up and over the section of bent track, but below freezing it invariably stuck and you had to get out, remote in hand, and manually yank the door past the spot where it caught. Within a few degrees of freezing, though, it was anybody’s guess, so Ray pressed the remote and opened the driver’s-side door, pre-pared to get out if he needed to. When the door shuddered past the critical point and up along the ceiling, he closed the car door again, noticing as he did so that Paula, his wife, was watching him with her \u003ci\u003eO ye of little faith\u003c\/i\u003e expression.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePulling inside, he made sure to leave her enough room to get out. \u003ci\u003eTwo-car\u003c\/i\u003e was how the garage had been described when they bought the house. Ray, himself a realtor and all too familiar with such dubious representations, had squinted at the phrase in the listing information, then at the garage itself. It was probably true it could hold two small sedans, but with anything larger you’d need to pull the first car in at an angle to have enough space for the second vehicle. He’d considered calling Connie, the seller’s agent, on this, but he liked her, in particular how she confessed right up front that she’d just gotten her license. She seemed genu-inely terrified of saying the wrong thing, of disclosing something that by law wasn’t supposed to be mentioned or of failing to dis-close something else that was mandatory. She’d gone into real estate, she claimed, because she liked helping people find what they wanted, and she seemed blithely innocent of the fact that most people had no idea what that was, especially the ones who were defiantly confident they did. Ray doubted she would last long and wasn’t surprised when, a year later, he ran into her and was told she’d embarked upon a degree in social work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnyway, Paula had loved the house and didn’t want to see the not-quite-two-car garage as a problem, though she conceded they’d probably have to find someplace else for the lawn mower and the other stuff they usually stuck in there. She argued they’d be okay if they went slow and paid attention, especially at backing out. When for the record Ray expressed grave doubts about this as a long-term solution, she asked, “What are you saying? That we’re careless people?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, no, but they were human and there was no app for that. A person could be careful most of the time, maybe eighty percent, if you really worked at it. The way Ray saw it, human nature was flawed, almost by definition, pretty much a hundred percent of the time, which left a sizable margin for error. For nearly a year, though, they waged a successful battle against such cynicism, until one day Ray misjudged and sheared off his side-view mirror. A month later Paula—­okay, okay, she admitted, she’d been in a hurry—­backed into the metal track the garage door slid on, warping the runner and taking out a taillight. The two acci-dents, in such close proximity, represented a genuine \u003ci\u003eI told you so \u003c\/i\u003emoment, but Ray’d given it a pass. He and Paula had been mar-ried for close to thirty years, thanks in large part to a mutual will-ingness to let an arched eyebrow do the heavy lifting of soliloquy.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTonight, though, as the garage door rattled closed behind them, palsying violently the last few feet before finally slamming down onto the concrete floor, he knew there’d be more than her eyebrow to worry about. His wife hadn’t spoken a word during the ride home from the restaurant, and when the garage light went off, plunging them into complete darkness, she made no move to get out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You hurt Vincent’s feelings,” she said finally.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “He had it coming,” Ray said, referring to how they’d tussled briefly and pointlessly over the check. After all, it was Vinnie’s sixty-fifth birthday they were celebrating, plus there were two of them and just one of him, and his halfhearted grab was really just an attempt to get in a final political dig. “This is the least I can do, bud,” he said. “From now on you’re paying for my health insurance.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You forget we’re Democrats,” Ray responded, placing his credit card on the tray. “We think people are entitled to health care. We’re happy to contribute to that end.” A lifelong Republi-can, Vinnie had reluctantly voted for Obama but was now suffer-ing buyer’s remorse. (\u003ci\u003eThe guy’s not a realist . . . another Jimmy\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eCarter . . . doesn’t know how the world works.\u003c\/i\u003e) It had made for\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ea trying evening.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I’m not talking about the check,” Paula said. “I’m talking about his offer.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Which I thanked him for.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “ ‘Thanks, anyway,’ was what you said. It sounded like ‘Mind your own business.’ ”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “That’s how I meant it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTruth be told, he’d been out of sorts from the start. They’d gone to La Dolce Vita, or, as Vinnie called it, Dolce Vita’s, his favorite place, pretentious and overpriced à la Vinnie. Ray and Paula had purposely arrived a few minutes early, but of course he was already there, ready to rise from his chair with a flourish and gather Paula in. “Hey, baby,” he said, as if it was still the fifties and they were all Rat Packers. “Is this stiff treating you right?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Paula tried gently to extricate herself from his embrace, assur-ing Vinnie as she always did that Ray was treating her fine, but with everyone in the dining room watching them, Vinnie wasn’t about to surrender either the pretense or the woman.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I only mention it because we could run away, just the two of us.” All of this sotto voce. “Someplace warm, with our own pri-vate cabana? Call me.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Vinnie in a nutshell: \u003ci\u003eCall me.\u003c\/i\u003e You need a table at Babbo? \u003ci\u003eCall\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eme. \u003c\/i\u003eYou need Red Sox tickets?\u003ci\u003e Call me. \u003c\/i\u003eYou need to get your dog\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003etrained? \u003ci\u003eCall me.\u003c\/i\u003e You don’t have a dog? \u003ci\u003eCall me.\u003c\/i\u003e Because Vin-nie always knew a guy. Sometimes from the old neighborhood, sometimes from prep school or maybe his university fraternity. Guys who normally didn’t do favors, but for Vinnie . . .\u003cbr\u003e Only when Paula promised to call if Ray turned into a lout did Vinnie release her and turn to the patient witness of this recur-ring lunacy, and Ray extended his hand. Vinnie swatted it away, offended, as if handshakes were insulting to guys who shared deep emotional bonds without getting swishy about it. “Get outa here with that,” he said, pulling Ray into one of his hugs. “How’s every little thing? You okay?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Ray, anxious to be seated, said he was right as rain.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “We need to hit the links,” Vinnie said, making a Johnny Car-son golf swing. “I’m not saying I’m giving you strokes, I’m just saying.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen he spun back toward Paula, imploring, arms extended wide like a crooner’s, to take in the entire restaurant. “What do you think? Best table in the house? That’s how things would be every night if you were with me.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eHe’s just lonely since Jackie died \u003c\/i\u003ewas how Paula excused such\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eoutrageous behavior, to which Ray always responded that, yeah, sure, Vinnie \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e lonely. The mistake would be to conclude that he was \u003ci\u003ejust\u003c\/i\u003e lonely.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “He’s your friend,” she reminded him now in the dark garage. “He cares about you. If he knows a good surgeon—­”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Not \u003ci\u003egood,\u003c\/i\u003e” Ray corrected her. “The \u003ci\u003ebest.\u003c\/i\u003e Vinnie always knows the \u003ci\u003ebest\u003c\/i\u003e guy. You’d have to be crazy to go to anybody besides Vinnie’s guy.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “But that’s how he \u003ci\u003eis.\u003c\/i\u003e He’s just being Vincent. People like to feel important. What’s so wrong with that?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Ray would have liked to tell her but couldn’t, though it did put him in mind of his uncle Jack, whom he hadn’t thought about in years.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Is this how it’s going to be, then?” she said. “What do you mean?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I just don’t see why you have to act like this. What does it get you?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see that hers were glistening. “Paula,” he said. “What are we talking about?”\u003cbr\u003e He knew, though.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “What I’d like to get through to you is that in this particu-lar circumstance . . .” She paused, seemingly poised between all-too-­understandable fear and something closer to anger. “Being you, going about things the way you usually do, isn’t always a good thing.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I should become somebody else?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes,” she said, taking him by surprise.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “How come Vinnie gets to be Vinnie, but I don’t get to be me?” “Vinnie’s not the one who—­”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I already told you, I’ll do whatever you—­” “What I \u003ci\u003ewant\u003c\/i\u003e is for you to swallow your pride.”\u003cbr\u003e “Fine,” he sighed, because it was ridiculous to be sitting there in the cold damp garage, their visible breath fogging the wind-shield. “If he wants to put me in touch with this Boston guy, fine. Now, can we go inside?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e He took her silence as permission to open his door, and he did—­too far, dinging yet again the rear panel of his parked SUV.\u003cbr\u003e Which felt like what? Vindication was the far-­from-­comforting answer, but that’s what it felt like.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305092403429,"sku":"NP9781101971987","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101971987.jpg?v=1767742894","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/trajectory-isbn-9781101971987","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}