The Namesake

AADL has no copies of this item

Mister Pettafordi's office is examining room bright -- Sebastian's is an okay place -- There was this kid who killed himself freshman year -- At Gran's kitchen table, I catch the scent of freesia soap and old cooking oil -- Yesterday was January 19th -- I was an alter boy in middle school -- It's amazing how many people turn out for your birthday, after you're dead -- After mass, we meet at Alberti's for brunch -- Balloons thumbs rhythmically against the nameplate of Dad's upstairs neighbor -- There was no way I'm going home to face Mom -- It's father/son day -- It's time to open the trunk -- Guess it was just one of God's little HA HAs -- Father Brendan was a caterpillar on a mushroom, blowing bubbles through a giant key -- Suddenly, I'm in Wonderland -- "What's that tune you're humming?" -- "So, what do you think it means, Ev?" -- "Well, Evan. This is a surprise. What brings you here?" -- "We can't go through with this." -- I needed a journal break, since it's gone all sexually ambiguous -- The herbal tea arced from his nose in an impressive trajectory -- Easier said than done -- They say, "When the student is ready, the teacher appears" -- There was something unsettling about seeing Judas with my father's ears -- "How's the wrangling this year, Lex?" -- "Well, we weren't Waltons close, but sure, we talked" -- Duct tape: man's most durable creation -- Last time I felt this bad in the backseat of a car, I was nine -- "I told the girl no onions. Do you people need written instructions?" -- It's ringing -- "Tell me about the baby" -- Guess I could've skipped the berries -- It reminds me of a sports venue-or a casino -- "He wouldn't want you here, Evan" -- "More pie?" -- At first, I think it's flour on his hands -- It's 3:55 Friday afternoon, and I've officially overpacked -- It feels like we should be blindfolded -- Can't believe I got the bottom bunk -- Bigfoot has left the building -- I will not blink first -- They must have a written procedure -- It should've just said SECRETS -- "Please retrieve all carry-on baggage as we touch down to relative normalcy" -- It's like wading through ink, chilled ink -- "Please pass the casserole".
All his teachers are sure certain that Evan Galloway can be the graduate who brings glory to small, ordinary St. Sebastian's School. As for Evan, however, he can't be bothered anymore. Since the shock of his young father's suicide last spring, Evan no longer cares about the future. In fact, he believes that he spent the first fifteen years of his life living a lie. Despite his mother's encouragement and the steadfast companionship of his best friend, Alexis, Evan is mired in rage and bitterness. Good memories seem ludicrous when the present holds no hope. Then Evan's grandmother hands him the key--literally, a key--to a locked trunk that his father hid when he was the same age as Evan is now. Digging into the trunk and the small-town secrets it uncovers, Evan can begin to face who his father really was, and why even the love of his son could not save him. In a voice that resonates with the authenticity of grief, Steven Parlato tells a different kind of coming-of-age story, about a boy thrust into adulthood too soon, through the corridor of shame, disbelief, and finally ... compassion.

REVIEWS & SUMMARIES

School Library Journal Review
Publishers Weekly Review
Summary / Annotation
Fiction Profile
Author Notes

COMMUNITY REVIEWS

No community reviews. Write one below!