By John Barth
A countrywide booklet Award winner bargains his so much creative novel to this point. Journalist Simon Behler unearths himself in the home of Sinbad the Sailor after being washed ashore in the course of a sea-going experience. Over the process six evenings, the 2 take turns recounting their voyages in a brilliantly pleasing weave of reports inside tales. "Filled with white nights and golden days . . . lyrical, clean and sprightly."--Washington publish.
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Extra resources for Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor, The
But she was still too sick to sleep in her and Dad’s room, and so yesterday Dad and Uncle Josh had moved my twin bed back into Joe Junior’s room. Today we would move the rest of my things, and Mother would take the spare twin. Neither my brother nor I was happy with this arrangement. Joe Junior was thirteen and wanted privacy; I was used to rocking myself to sleep and talking to Bijou. But it was for Mother’s sake, and just for a while. Those twin habits of mine, however, were of long standing and not easily put by.
What kind was it, then, the one they’d rented? Incredibly, to me, they didn’t know: a regular little one, they supposed. Nor had they rented it, quite; on our last ride over here, the family had seen a sign for airplane rides, and Aunt Rachel had phoned ahead this morning while we were in Sunday school, to conﬁrm. The pilot was expecting us. ” said Joe Junior. ” I was much relieved. “But I can decide, okay? ” We did not go from the maroon Nash right out onto the airﬁeld, but into a small office entered from the grass parking-lot side of a nearby hangar, where a red-on-yellow hand-lettered sign advertised AIRPLA E RIDES $5.
Its waters therefore never sting the eyes, as do those of the ocean or a freshwater lake or a swimming pool. We children had never swum in lake or pool, but it was true that at Ocean City we had to close our eyes when we ducked under a wave, whereas in the Chaptico we always swam and dived with eyes open. To swim out now blind was disconcerting, even a bit alarming — to reach my starting mark and 40 Somebody’s First Voyage know only from my brother’s distant voice (and from what sense remained of my initial bearing) which way was landward.
Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor, The by John Barth