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Quote by Annie Proulx

“He'd call him up that night. Tell him. What? That he could gut a cod while he talked about advertising space and printing costs? That he was wondering if love came in other colors than the basic black of none and the red heat of obsession?”

Quote by Annie Proulx

Work

The Shipping News

The narrative follows Quoyle, a failed journalist whose marriage ended in his wife's death, as he relocates from New York to the remote coastal community of Killick-Claw in Newfoundland. There he takes a position reporting on shipping news for the local Gammy Bird newspaper, a publication known for its eccentric coverage of car wrecks and sexual abuse cases alongside maritime traffic. The novel explores themes of family inheritance, community belonging, and personal transformation against the harsh backdrop of Atlantic Canada. The protagonist gradually adapts to the distinctive local culture, forms new relationships, and confronts the violent history embedded in his family name. The prose style incorporates elements of Newfoundland dialect and folklore, with chapter headings drawn from a mariner's handbook. The work received significant literary recognition including the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the National Book Award. more

Author

Annie Proulx
Annie Proulx

Annie Proulx, born on August 22, 1935, is an American journalist and novelist known for her distinctive narrative style and profound portrayals of life in the American West. more

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“Maybe there are some people you can’t unlove no matter how hard you try. Maybe there are some people you stay connected to, because they’ve hurt you to your very core. You keep hoping that somehow the pain can be resolved if they finally do the right thing, but the right thing can never be done because it had to have been done in the past.”

“I hurt myself by hurting you.” His face wore a look of compassion. I hated that look, because it reminded me that he was a good person, that he had tried over and over to apologize. He unwittingly brought out the part of me that I hated, and I projected that hate onto him, because it was easier to hate someone else than to hate myself. Tears poured out of my eyes. And he wrapped his arms around me, holding me as wept. And I hated that his arms still felt good.”

“He would place his mouth, still full of sleep, on hers, and perhaps pull her back into the bedroom and down into the bed with him, into that liquid pool of flesh, his mouth sliding over her, furry pleasure, the covers closing over them as they sank into weightlessness. But he hadn't done that for some time. He had been waking earlier and earlier; she, on the other hand, had been having trouble getting out of bed. She was losing that compulsion, that joy, whatever had nagged her out into the cold morning air, driven her to fill all those notebooks, all those printed pages. Instead, she would roll herself up in the blankets after Bernie got up, tucking in all the corners, muffling herself in wool. She had begun to have the feeling that nothing was waiting for her outside the bed's edge. No emptiness but nothing, the zero with legs in the arithmetic book. 'I'm off,' he'd say to her groggy bundled back. She'd be awake enough to hear this; then she would lapse back into a humid sleep. His absence was one more reason for not getting up.”