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Extrait :
Chapter 1
Since Luke turned twenty-five--or since the millennium; Julie isn't sure which event actually set him off--he's been talking about not wanting to be stuck in this room any more. He wants to go out, he keeps saying, and dance in the fields.
'I want to be naked,' he adds. 'While I'm dancing.'
'Great,' says Julie. 'You'll be naked and dead and your mother will go totally insane. Nice combination. Very Kurt Cobain.'
'How is that anything like Kurt Cobain? Anyway,I might not die.'
Julie pokes at her Pot Noodle. 'Luke, we've had this conversation a thousand times. Yeah, you might not die, but do you want to take that risk?'
'No. I guess not,' Luke says. 'Is there anything on TV?'
'I wish they'd put more peas in these,' Julie says, and reaches for the remote.
After flicking through various channels, Julie settles on a Learning Zone science programme in which a man with a beard is explaining the birth of calculus. Luke gives Julie a look, then takes the remote control.
'I'll find something with a story,' he says.
There's nothing, really, so he settles for a profile of a pop group, which may as well be a story. They're talking about how they used to have these pathetic low-paid jobs, and play their music in provincial youth-clubs. Now they play Wembley Arena.
Julie looks around the room. There are magazines, CDs and Blockbuster Video boxes on the floor. It is not usually a mess in here--Luke's actually very organised--these are just the remains of tonight. The rest of the room contains Luke's large double bed, his TV, video, computer, and a couple of chairs. Most of the wall space is covered with the shelves that hold every book Luke's ever read, and his library of videos containing programmes he's taped from the TV--programmes full of shiny white American malls, clean beaches, best buddies, teen angst, high schools with cheerleaders, soccer pitches, geeks, girls with suntans and blonde highlights, long corridors with lockers and feuds, and perfect stories. He doesn't call them programmes, though. He calls them 'shows', and he calls the pavement the 'sidewalk'. Luke has a slight American accent, although he's never been to America. He believes that Clacton-on-Sea is like the perfect yellow beaches on his tapes--with beautiful people and lifeguards--and that kids hang out at Lakeside the same way they do in American malls.
When he was about fifteen he went through a phase of asking Julie to describe the local beaches, shops and parks. It was obvious that he didn't believe her when she told him about the world outside, and her attempts to be objective soon gave way to simply telling the truth about just how shit everything was. But Luke didn't understand that either, so in the end Julie gave up completely, deciding to just let him believe things in Essex were like TV sets in LA. But when they watched the millennium celebrations on TV, Luke thought it was all fake. It was just as hard to convince him that the displays and the fireworks were real as it was to try to convince him that Beverly Hills 90210 was fantasy and that although his mother has always had a soap-opera kitchen, most people have dirt in their houses, dirty dishes in the sink, clothes in the laundry basket.
Luke's floor is made of linoleum and all his furniture is plastic or MDF. He has nylon sheets and wears clothes made out of artificial fibres. He's sitting on his nylon bed next to Julie with his legs crossed, like some kind of yoga student. Julie is leaning against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. She finishes the Pot Noodle and puts the empty plastic container neatly to one side. Her insides feel warm and salty.
There's nothing on TV after the pop profile, so Julie gets up and scans the video shelf. She feels like seeing some American animation: dysfunctional families; dysfunctional robots; dysfunctional, offensive kids.
'I don't want to die,' Luke says. 'But I do want to live.'
Julie laughs. 'Oh please. Will you stop saying that all the time?'
Luke smiles too. 'At least it gets a laugh.'
'And will you stop talking about going out? It makes me feel anxious.'
'Look, I'm not going to do it, of course I'm not. Not now. I just like to think about it. Come on. I've never gone out just because I've talked about it.'
'Yeah,' she says. 'I know.'
Luke smiles. 'I'm not going to do it until it's safe--until I've been cured.'
At the millennium he swore that he'd be cured by 2001. It's October now. Julie pulls out a video and slides it in the machine.
'I'm worried about you,' Luke says suddenly.
'Me? Where did that come from? We were talking about you.'
He looks at the Pot Noodle. 'Have you eaten anything real today?'
Chapter 2
Luke Gale was born on 24 October 1975, during an episode of Fawlty Towers. In the year the Netherlands won the Eurovision Song Contest, the year of Wombles, Pong, Ford Capris and the Bay City Rollers, Luke was a miracle child.
His mother Jean had, apparently, always been unable to conceive, and the adoption agency she and her husband Bill approached had ruled that Bill was away too much for them to effectively parent a child. It didn't matter that half the women in the area were single-parent families with ten different men on the scene; Jean and Bill just weren't good enough for a child. Bill was away so much because his firm, a big insurance company, sent him to different locations for one, two or sometimes three weeks at a time. In the end, the savings fund that was supposed to provide private education for the adopted child they never had ended up going towards Brazilian herbal fertility treatments for Jean. A couple of years later, Luke was born.
The first time Julie saw Luke was some time in 1985. She was sitting in the removal van, half asleep. He was a face in a window that she at first thought belonged to a ghost. It was late--they'd been driving all day--and in the moonlight he'd looked pale, drawn and a bit deathly. Julie was ten at the time, and was going through a phase of thinking everything was a ghost and everything looked deathly, but there was something wrong about him even then. He wasn't looking at anything. He was just looking. As they pulled up outside their new home, she realised that he was going to be her new neighbour.
'I never thought I'd live in a cul-de-sac,' laughed Julie's mother.
'What's a cul-de-sac?' Julie asked.
'Like this,' explained her father. 'A road with a beginning but no end.'
The next day, after a night spent 'camping' in their new home, Julie's father started his first day in his new job as a lecturer at the local sixth-form college, preparing for the new term when he'd be teaching art. At about three o'clock, after spending the day unpacking, Julie and her mother went to say hello to the neighbours at number 17.
At first, Julie couldn't work out what was so weird about Luke. He didn't seem like a ghost any more; he seemed more like a child you'd see on TV or something--she wasn't sure why. When she thought about it a lot later, Julie realised it was because he had no scabs, no suntan, no insect bites and no dirt. He was the cleanest child she'd ever seen. They just stood looking at each other in silence, in what Julie later found out was the 'guest' lounge, in which she was never allowed again after that first day.
In the lounge, the funny-looking plastic blinds were drawn over the patio doors, although Julie didn't think this was particularly strange. For a few minutes, while Julie and Luke stared at each other, the mothers made small talk about the area, and Julie's mother, Helen, commented on Jean's display case and collection of glass-blown animals.
'I'll go and make a cup of tea, shall I?' offered Jean eventually. 'Thanks,' said Julie's mum, smiling nervously as her daughter pushed her feet around the immaculate white shag-pile carpet, making little, meaningless patterns. 'Why don't you kids go and play outside?' she suggested.
There was a funny silence, and then Luke sort of sneered. 'Yeah, why not?' he said sarcastically. Then he left the room.
Julie couldn't believe that a child had been so rude to a grown-up. She was almost envious of the tone he'd taken with her mother; he'd sounded almost like a grown-up himself. Her mother looked at the floor and then fiddled with her earrings, the way she always did when she was nervous. She was wearing her clip-on dog earrings today, the ones she had bought on holiday in Cornwall last year. Julie suddenly felt cross with Luke for speaking to her mother that way and guilty that a few moments ago she'd thought it was clever. Stupid little boy, she thought, and wondered if he was a problem child like the ones on the estate in Bristol, near where she used to live.
'Why don't we go into the kitchen?' suggested Jean.
Julie and her mother followed Jean through the door and down the hall.
'Sorry,' said Julie's mother, who always apologised for everything. 'I hope I didn't say anything. . .'
Jean filled the kettle and put it on to boil in silence. Julie could sense a weird atmosphere in the room but tried not to think about it. Instead she wondered whether this was the sort of kitchen where you'd find Nesquik and Marmite, neither of which her mother bought, and both of which she'd always relied on getting at friends' houses. She'd already noted that there was no Soda Stream, which she was pleased about. Luke was too horrible to deserve one.
It was clear that Julie's mum was feeling uncomfortable.
'Can I help with anything?' she asked Jean.
'No, no,' said Jean,pouring water into the teapot. 'That's all right.'
'Maybe we should leave you to it. Get on with the unpacking. . .'
'I'm sorry,' said Jean. 'I'm sorry for the way Luke spoke to you.'
'I'm sure it's a just a phase,' Julie's mother said nicely. 'You should hear this one sometimes....
Revue de presse :
Since Luke turned twenty-five--or since the millennium; Julie isn't sure which event actually set him off--he's been talking about not wanting to be stuck in this room any more. He wants to go out, he keeps saying, and dance in the fields.
'I want to be naked,' he adds. 'While I'm dancing.'
'Great,' says Julie. 'You'll be naked and dead and your mother will go totally insane. Nice combination. Very Kurt Cobain.'
'How is that anything like Kurt Cobain? Anyway,I might not die.'
Julie pokes at her Pot Noodle. 'Luke, we've had this conversation a thousand times. Yeah, you might not die, but do you want to take that risk?'
'No. I guess not,' Luke says. 'Is there anything on TV?'
'I wish they'd put more peas in these,' Julie says, and reaches for the remote.
After flicking through various channels, Julie settles on a Learning Zone science programme in which a man with a beard is explaining the birth of calculus. Luke gives Julie a look, then takes the remote control.
'I'll find something with a story,' he says.
There's nothing, really, so he settles for a profile of a pop group, which may as well be a story. They're talking about how they used to have these pathetic low-paid jobs, and play their music in provincial youth-clubs. Now they play Wembley Arena.
Julie looks around the room. There are magazines, CDs and Blockbuster Video boxes on the floor. It is not usually a mess in here--Luke's actually very organised--these are just the remains of tonight. The rest of the room contains Luke's large double bed, his TV, video, computer, and a couple of chairs. Most of the wall space is covered with the shelves that hold every book Luke's ever read, and his library of videos containing programmes he's taped from the TV--programmes full of shiny white American malls, clean beaches, best buddies, teen angst, high schools with cheerleaders, soccer pitches, geeks, girls with suntans and blonde highlights, long corridors with lockers and feuds, and perfect stories. He doesn't call them programmes, though. He calls them 'shows', and he calls the pavement the 'sidewalk'. Luke has a slight American accent, although he's never been to America. He believes that Clacton-on-Sea is like the perfect yellow beaches on his tapes--with beautiful people and lifeguards--and that kids hang out at Lakeside the same way they do in American malls.
When he was about fifteen he went through a phase of asking Julie to describe the local beaches, shops and parks. It was obvious that he didn't believe her when she told him about the world outside, and her attempts to be objective soon gave way to simply telling the truth about just how shit everything was. But Luke didn't understand that either, so in the end Julie gave up completely, deciding to just let him believe things in Essex were like TV sets in LA. But when they watched the millennium celebrations on TV, Luke thought it was all fake. It was just as hard to convince him that the displays and the fireworks were real as it was to try to convince him that Beverly Hills 90210 was fantasy and that although his mother has always had a soap-opera kitchen, most people have dirt in their houses, dirty dishes in the sink, clothes in the laundry basket.
Luke's floor is made of linoleum and all his furniture is plastic or MDF. He has nylon sheets and wears clothes made out of artificial fibres. He's sitting on his nylon bed next to Julie with his legs crossed, like some kind of yoga student. Julie is leaning against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. She finishes the Pot Noodle and puts the empty plastic container neatly to one side. Her insides feel warm and salty.
There's nothing on TV after the pop profile, so Julie gets up and scans the video shelf. She feels like seeing some American animation: dysfunctional families; dysfunctional robots; dysfunctional, offensive kids.
'I don't want to die,' Luke says. 'But I do want to live.'
Julie laughs. 'Oh please. Will you stop saying that all the time?'
Luke smiles too. 'At least it gets a laugh.'
'And will you stop talking about going out? It makes me feel anxious.'
'Look, I'm not going to do it, of course I'm not. Not now. I just like to think about it. Come on. I've never gone out just because I've talked about it.'
'Yeah,' she says. 'I know.'
Luke smiles. 'I'm not going to do it until it's safe--until I've been cured.'
At the millennium he swore that he'd be cured by 2001. It's October now. Julie pulls out a video and slides it in the machine.
'I'm worried about you,' Luke says suddenly.
'Me? Where did that come from? We were talking about you.'
He looks at the Pot Noodle. 'Have you eaten anything real today?'
Chapter 2
Luke Gale was born on 24 October 1975, during an episode of Fawlty Towers. In the year the Netherlands won the Eurovision Song Contest, the year of Wombles, Pong, Ford Capris and the Bay City Rollers, Luke was a miracle child.
His mother Jean had, apparently, always been unable to conceive, and the adoption agency she and her husband Bill approached had ruled that Bill was away too much for them to effectively parent a child. It didn't matter that half the women in the area were single-parent families with ten different men on the scene; Jean and Bill just weren't good enough for a child. Bill was away so much because his firm, a big insurance company, sent him to different locations for one, two or sometimes three weeks at a time. In the end, the savings fund that was supposed to provide private education for the adopted child they never had ended up going towards Brazilian herbal fertility treatments for Jean. A couple of years later, Luke was born.
The first time Julie saw Luke was some time in 1985. She was sitting in the removal van, half asleep. He was a face in a window that she at first thought belonged to a ghost. It was late--they'd been driving all day--and in the moonlight he'd looked pale, drawn and a bit deathly. Julie was ten at the time, and was going through a phase of thinking everything was a ghost and everything looked deathly, but there was something wrong about him even then. He wasn't looking at anything. He was just looking. As they pulled up outside their new home, she realised that he was going to be her new neighbour.
'I never thought I'd live in a cul-de-sac,' laughed Julie's mother.
'What's a cul-de-sac?' Julie asked.
'Like this,' explained her father. 'A road with a beginning but no end.'
The next day, after a night spent 'camping' in their new home, Julie's father started his first day in his new job as a lecturer at the local sixth-form college, preparing for the new term when he'd be teaching art. At about three o'clock, after spending the day unpacking, Julie and her mother went to say hello to the neighbours at number 17.
At first, Julie couldn't work out what was so weird about Luke. He didn't seem like a ghost any more; he seemed more like a child you'd see on TV or something--she wasn't sure why. When she thought about it a lot later, Julie realised it was because he had no scabs, no suntan, no insect bites and no dirt. He was the cleanest child she'd ever seen. They just stood looking at each other in silence, in what Julie later found out was the 'guest' lounge, in which she was never allowed again after that first day.
In the lounge, the funny-looking plastic blinds were drawn over the patio doors, although Julie didn't think this was particularly strange. For a few minutes, while Julie and Luke stared at each other, the mothers made small talk about the area, and Julie's mother, Helen, commented on Jean's display case and collection of glass-blown animals.
'I'll go and make a cup of tea, shall I?' offered Jean eventually. 'Thanks,' said Julie's mum, smiling nervously as her daughter pushed her feet around the immaculate white shag-pile carpet, making little, meaningless patterns. 'Why don't you kids go and play outside?' she suggested.
There was a funny silence, and then Luke sort of sneered. 'Yeah, why not?' he said sarcastically. Then he left the room.
Julie couldn't believe that a child had been so rude to a grown-up. She was almost envious of the tone he'd taken with her mother; he'd sounded almost like a grown-up himself. Her mother looked at the floor and then fiddled with her earrings, the way she always did when she was nervous. She was wearing her clip-on dog earrings today, the ones she had bought on holiday in Cornwall last year. Julie suddenly felt cross with Luke for speaking to her mother that way and guilty that a few moments ago she'd thought it was clever. Stupid little boy, she thought, and wondered if he was a problem child like the ones on the estate in Bristol, near where she used to live.
'Why don't we go into the kitchen?' suggested Jean.
Julie and her mother followed Jean through the door and down the hall.
'Sorry,' said Julie's mother, who always apologised for everything. 'I hope I didn't say anything. . .'
Jean filled the kettle and put it on to boil in silence. Julie could sense a weird atmosphere in the room but tried not to think about it. Instead she wondered whether this was the sort of kitchen where you'd find Nesquik and Marmite, neither of which her mother bought, and both of which she'd always relied on getting at friends' houses. She'd already noted that there was no Soda Stream, which she was pleased about. Luke was too horrible to deserve one.
It was clear that Julie's mum was feeling uncomfortable.
'Can I help with anything?' she asked Jean.
'No, no,' said Jean,pouring water into the teapot. 'That's all right.'
'Maybe we should leave you to it. Get on with the unpacking. . .'
'I'm sorry,' said Jean. 'I'm sorry for the way Luke spoke to you.'
'I'm sure it's a just a phase,' Julie's mother said nicely. 'You should hear this one sometimes....
“Going Out is wonderful. It hits all the right nails with just the right amount of force.”—Douglas Coupland
"Fierce and honest, Going Out is a hilarious testament to love, friendship, and the pleasures of hitting the road."--Lauren Grodstein, author of The Best of Animals and Reproduction is the Flaw of Love
“Points the way to a new future for English fiction. Fans of Coupland and Murakami: here is your new favourite author.” —Matt Thorne
“A real offbeat gem. . . . It makes for a novel of subtlety and poise from an author of considerable promise—one that talks quietly but says a great deal.” —Arena
“Surreal and inventive. A warm and comical study of life outside the London orbital, Going Out does for provincial Britain what Frank Capra did for small-town America.” —The Independent on Sunday
“Writing for and about people who cannot stand words such as Zeitgeist, Scarlett Thomas captures perfectly the Estuarine suburbs where a lack of blonde highlights makes you a weirdo and where eccentrics are nevertheless stashed behind every Homebase-bought door. Never mind what the neighbors might think–Going Out is worth staying in for.” —The Times (London)
“Thomas builds an absorbing, sympathetic story.” –Esquire (UK)
“Original, funny and full of insight. A brilliant and assured novel with themes that resonate long after the book has been put down.” —Chrissie Glazebrook, author of The Madolescents and Blue Spark Sisters
“A modern take on The Wizard of Oz that will be thoroughly enjoyed by all fans of Douglas Coupland.” —Daily Mail
“A wonderful story with a dark sense of humour.” —Punch
“Thomas has deftly tapped in to the rich vein of interest in different realities in this insightful and entertaining novel which is ultimately about friendship and trying to make sense of our confusing world.” —Big Issue
“This depressingly sharp portrait of contemporary Britain, full of floods, retail parks and lookalike chain hotels is wonderfully observed” —Wigan Evening Post
“Original and well written.” —Jockey Slut
“In telling a story with wit and true understanding of her characters, Thomas has established herself as Britain's answer to Douglas Coupland.” —Waterstone’s Quarterly
“An unusually sharp writer.” —Irish Tattler
“Full of love, honesty, humour and sadness.” —Rebbecca Ray, author of Pure
"Fierce and honest, Going Out is a hilarious testament to love, friendship, and the pleasures of hitting the road."--Lauren Grodstein, author of The Best of Animals and Reproduction is the Flaw of Love
“Points the way to a new future for English fiction. Fans of Coupland and Murakami: here is your new favourite author.” —Matt Thorne
“A real offbeat gem. . . . It makes for a novel of subtlety and poise from an author of considerable promise—one that talks quietly but says a great deal.” —Arena
“Surreal and inventive. A warm and comical study of life outside the London orbital, Going Out does for provincial Britain what Frank Capra did for small-town America.” —The Independent on Sunday
“Writing for and about people who cannot stand words such as Zeitgeist, Scarlett Thomas captures perfectly the Estuarine suburbs where a lack of blonde highlights makes you a weirdo and where eccentrics are nevertheless stashed behind every Homebase-bought door. Never mind what the neighbors might think–Going Out is worth staying in for.” —The Times (London)
“Thomas builds an absorbing, sympathetic story.” –Esquire (UK)
“Original, funny and full of insight. A brilliant and assured novel with themes that resonate long after the book has been put down.” —Chrissie Glazebrook, author of The Madolescents and Blue Spark Sisters
“A modern take on The Wizard of Oz that will be thoroughly enjoyed by all fans of Douglas Coupland.” —Daily Mail
“A wonderful story with a dark sense of humour.” —Punch
“Thomas has deftly tapped in to the rich vein of interest in different realities in this insightful and entertaining novel which is ultimately about friendship and trying to make sense of our confusing world.” —Big Issue
“This depressingly sharp portrait of contemporary Britain, full of floods, retail parks and lookalike chain hotels is wonderfully observed” —Wigan Evening Post
“Original and well written.” —Jockey Slut
“In telling a story with wit and true understanding of her characters, Thomas has established herself as Britain's answer to Douglas Coupland.” —Waterstone’s Quarterly
“An unusually sharp writer.” —Irish Tattler
“Full of love, honesty, humour and sadness.” —Rebbecca Ray, author of Pure
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- ÉditeurFourth Estate Ltd
- Date d'édition2003
- ISBN 10 1841157627
- ISBN 13 9781841157627
- ReliureLivre broché
- Nombre de pages368
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Description du livre Paperback. Etat : Very Good. This book is in very good condition and will be shipped within 24 hours of ordering. The cover may have some limited signs of wear but the pages are clean, intact and the spine remains undamaged. This book has clearly been well maintained and looked after thus far. Money back guarantee if you are not satisfied. See all our books here, order more than 1 book and get discounted shipping. N° de réf. du vendeur 6545-9781841157627
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