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By James Agee

The vintage American novel, re-published for the a centesimal anniversary of James Agee's birth

Published in 1957, years after its author's loss of life on the age of forty-five, A demise within the Family remains a near-perfect murals, an autobiographical novel that includes some of the most evocative depictions of loss and grief ever written. As Jay Follet hurries again to his domestic in Knoxville, Tennessee, he's killed in a automobile accident—a tragedy that destroys not just a existence, but additionally the family happiness and contentment of a tender kin. a singular of significant braveness, lyric strength, and strong emotion, A dying within the Family is a masterpiece of yank literature.

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Extra info for A Death in the Family (Penguin Classics)

Sample text

Then he reflected: after all, why had he worn a clean shirt? He could hope to God not, all he liked, but the chances were this was going to be a very solemn occasion. I’d do it for a funeral, wouldn’t I? he reflected, annoyed at his laziness. He got out his razor and stropped it rapidly. Mary heard this lavish noise of leather, and with a small spasm of impatience shoved the eggs to the back of the stove. Ordinarily he took a good deal of time shaving, not because he enjoyed it (he loathed it) but because if it had to be done he wanted to do it well, and because he hated to cut himself.

Each continued to look into the other’s tired eyes, and their tired eyes sparkled, but not with realizations which reached their hearts very distinctly. ” he asked. ” She was taken very much by surprise. “Why you nice thing! ” “You think it over,” he said. “Whatever you’d like best—within reason, of course,” he joked. “I’ll see we manage it. ” They both remembered at the same time. ” Her eyes lost focus for a moment. “Let’s hope it will,” she said, in a peculiarly abstracted voice. He watched her.

The nozzles were variously set but usually so there was a long sweet stream of spray, the nozzle wet in the hand, the water trickling the right forearm and the peeled-back cuff, and the water whishing out a long loose and low-curved cone, and so gentle a sound. First an insane noise of violence in the nozzle, then the still irregular sound of adjustment, then the smoothing into steadiness and a pitch as accurately tuned to the size and style of stream as any violin. So many qualities of sound out of one hose: so many choral differences out of those several hoses that were in earshot.

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