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Trust: A Novel Paperback - 2004
by Ozick, Cynthia
- Used
Money and conscience are at the heart of Cynthia Ozick's masterly first novel, narrated by a nameless young woman and set in the private world of wealthy New York, the dire landscape of postwar Europe, and the mythical groves of a Shakespearean isle. Beginning in the 1930s and extending through four decades, Trust is an epic tale of the narrator's quest for her elusive father, a scandalous figure whom she has never known. In a provocative afterword, Ozick reflects on how she came to write the novel and discusses the cultural shift in the nature of literary ambition in the years since.
Description
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Details
- Title Trust: A Novel
- Author Ozick, Cynthia
- Binding Paperback
- Edition Reprint
- Condition UsedVeryGood
- Pages 652
- Volumes 1
- Language ENG
- Publisher Mariner Books, Wilmington, Massachusetts, U.S.A.
- Date 2004-09-01
- Bookseller's Inventory # 531ZZZ01JZFP_ns
- ISBN 9780618470518 / 0618470514
- Weight 1.85 lbs (0.84 kg)
- Dimensions 8.5 x 5.5 x 1.7 in (21.59 x 13.97 x 4.32 cm)
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Themes
- Sex & Gender: Feminine
- Library of Congress subjects Domestic fiction, Rich people
- Library of Congress Catalog Number 2004304528
- Dewey Decimal Code FIC
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Summary
Money and conscience are at the heart of Cynthia Ozick's masterly first novel, narrated by a nameless young woman and set in the private world of wealthy New York, the dire landscape of postwar Europe, and the mythical groves of a Shakespearean isle. Beginning in the 1930s and extending through four decades, Trust is an epic tale of the narrator's quest for her elusive father, a scandalous figure whom she has never known. In a provocative afterword, Ozick reflects on how she came to write the novel and discusses the cultural shift in the nature of literary ambition in the years since.
First line
After the exercises I stood in the muddy field (it had rained at dawn) and felt the dark wool of my gown lap up the heat and din of noon, and at that instant, while the graduates ran with cries toward asterisks of waiting parents and the sun hung like an animal's tongue from a sickened blue maw, I heard the last stray call of a bugle-single, lost, unconnected-and in one moment I grew suddenly old.
