The Tortilla Curtain

The Tortilla Curtain

T. Coraghessan Boyle

Language: English

Pages: 355

ISBN: 014023828X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Winner of the Prix Medicis Etranger

Topanga Canyon is home to two couples on a collision course. Los Angeles liberals Delaney and Kyra Mossbacher lead an ordered sushi-and-recycling existence in a newly gated hilltop community: he a sensitive nature writer, she an obsessive realtor. Mexican illegals Candido and America Rincon desperately cling to their vision of the American Dream as they fight off starvation in a makeshift camp deep in the ravine. And from the moment a freak accident brings Candido and Delaney into intimate contact, these four and their opposing worlds gradually intersect in what becomes a tragicomedy of error and misunderstanding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

footage, the winds have just now shifted and the main body of the fire seems to be climbing toward the populated areas around Topanga Village...” That was all Kyra needed to hear. “Load up the cars!” she cried, and though she was still standing in place her movements were frantic, as if she were a conductor urging the full orchestra to a crescendo. “I want the photo albums, if nothing else—and Jordan, you pack clothes, hear me, clothes first, and then you can take video games.” “All right,”

footage, the winds have just now shifted and the main body of the fire seems to be climbing toward the populated areas around Topanga Village...” That was all Kyra needed to hear. “Load up the cars!” she cried, and though she was still standing in place her movements were frantic, as if she were a conductor urging the full orchestra to a crescendo. “I want the photo albums, if nothing else—and Jordan, you pack clothes, hear me, clothes first, and then you can take video games.” “All right,”

The houses of the rich. Or maybe a ranch—one of those big squared-off places with a single house set squarely in the middle of it. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was—the flight up the canyon and across the road had disoriented him—but they wouldn’t have built a wall around nothing. He had to get inside, had to find out. And then the shed was there, announced by a sharp pain in his knee and the dull booming reverberation of aluminum. He felt his way around it to the back and the door that opened

haze by the time Jordan scuffed into the kitchen, the cat at his heels. Jordan was six years old, dedicated to Nintendo, superheroes and baseball cards, though as far as Delaney could see he had no interest whatever in the game of baseball beyond possessing the glossy cardboard images of the players. He favored his mother facially and in the amazing lightness of his hair, which was so pale as to be nearly translucent. He might have been big for his age, or maybe he was small—Delaney had nothing

him as if he didn’t exist. One after another the faces of the drivers came at him, shadowy and indistinct behind the armor of their smoked-glass windshields. Not a head turned. No one stopped. He walked round the front of the car first, scanning the mute unrevealing brush along the roadside—ceanothus, chamise, redshanks—for some sign of what had happened. Then he turned to the car. The plastic lens over the right headlight was cracked and the turn-signal housing had been knocked out of its

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