VOTE for The Resurrection of Jonathan Brady in the Amazon Breakthrough Quarterfinals 2012

The Resurrection of Jonathan Brady needs your help!  My novel has successfully made it to the quarterfinals of Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award 2012 contest, and now to make it to the semi-finals (and finals), I believe it needs your votes/reviews! Publishers Weekly will be reading the entire novel, but Amazon readers can comment on the Excerpt, 16 pages in my case.  The final three, selected by Penguin USA, will be decided by Amazon readers.  Many excerpts, I just found out, are already getting reviews.


To read the Excerpt (I believe you need a Kindle), click on this link to download a FREE Excerpt from the book, and then REVIEW that excerpt here: Review Excerpt. 
Amazon, it seems, has distorted the punctuation in all of the excerpts (and are currently trying to fix it), so you might see some weird symbols; just ignore it—they're that way for all the entries.  For those who don't own a Kindle, I'll put the full excerpt below and then you should still be able to review it.  An earlier draft of The Resurrection of Jonathan Brady was shortlisted for 2011 Faulkner-Wisdom Award.  Thanks for your help!       —Borneo Expat Writer

 
THE RESURRECTION OF JONATHAN BRADY                PART ONE: HEIGHTENED AWARENESS
True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little weunderstand about life, ourselves, and the world around us.-Socrates

1
        Jonathan Brady's body, his arms outstretched and his head facing toward heaven, is found lying in the center of Rainbow Bridge at Angel Park.        "I thought he was sleeping," states a middle-aged woman named Mary who found him."He looked so peaceful."        "You can imagine my shock," says another Mary, a former Haloton State student who happened upon the scene.  "I took Professor Brady's Intro to Eco­nomics class when I was a freshman.  He was a good teacher.  He knew how to make the subject interesting.  I nearly switched majors because of him, but in the end I stuck with accounting."        Brady's former colleagues at Haloton State are at a loss.        "When it came to economics, he really knew his stuff," Harvey Kelter says.        Billy Smitt agrees.  "It was never the same after he left.  Never the same."         "He just all of a sudden decided to quit—that caught me by surprise," says Paul Ellers.  "He was a real asset to the depart­ment.  He would have made a fine department chairman."        "If you ask me," Mary Fisher says, a smug look on her overly made-up face, "I thought it was a bit queer of him not being married.  Nor was he all that reliable—he was supposed to paint my house, but did he?  No!"        "He just seemed down on his luck, that was all," says Scott Thompsett, the owner of the house where Jonathan Brady lived in the third-floor apart­ment.  "The boys loved him.  He was like an uncle to them.  They were always up­stairs visiting him."        Joey has tears in his eyes as he asks, "He's not coming back, is he?"        "Told you that already," Kevin says.  "He's gone to heaven."        "He was our best customer, always in here buying roses," says Millie Hoffman, while chew­­­­ing bubble gum.  "He knew more about roses than my mom did, and she owns the place.  A bit of a fuddy-duddy.  Still, I'm going to miss him.  And this C.C.—she must be some­one really special."  She blows a quick bubble and snaps it for emphasis.  "Really special."
        A heavenly smile spreads across Jonathan Brady's lips as if he's been touched by an angel.  He blinks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  He blinks again.  The dream he just had was so real!  He was on the stage with Cabrina Chaval—as her Prince Tamino—in The Magic Flute.  He was so close to her, to Pamina, he could touch her.  Even smell her.  She smelled like roses.  Roses!  Cabrina Chaval looked amazing in her bright, colorful Pamina costume just like she did in her debut in Philadelphia.  Her voice sounded richer than ever as if she were singing directly from heaven.  From heaven.        Brady breathes in deeply and again smiles to himself.  He hums Tamino's aria "This Likeness is Enchanting­ly Lovely," which he sang in the dream after viewing an enchantingly lovely portrait of Pamina.  Oh, did he sing!  He sang to save Pamina's life!  He was deter­mined—absolutely determined—to rescue her . . . . To rescue his Cabrina Chaval!        Brady continues to hum as he fills the bathtub.  Hums as he flosses and brushes his teeth. Hums as he shaves and bathes and dries him­self.  Hums as he puts on his white shirt, peridot cuff links, blue-striped tie, and dark blue, double-breasted suit.  He inserts the mono­grammed handker­­­chief with the initials JCB into the front pocket.  He fusses in front of the mirror to get the handkerchief just right.  It's important that he looks good.  He doesn't want to let Paul Ellers down or have anyone, parti­cularly Mary Fisher, make negative com­ments about the way he's dressed.  With Ellers' three-year rotation­al-term as chair­man ending soon, he wants to make a good impression, especially since he's tipped to succeed Ellers.  Finally, he'll be Chairman of the Eco­nom­ics Department.  Once he becomes Chairman there'll be no stopping him.  Why, he may finally buy that dream house.  Maybe, even get married.  Wouldn't that be some­thing!  Perhaps start a family and have two fine boys like Kevin and Joey.  Yes, that would be grand.        Brady grabs a bowl of Corn Flakes and adds some banana slices.  While eating, he flips through yesterday's Haloton Herald.  He chances upon an inter­view he somehow over­looked of Cabrina Chaval.  "How about that!" he says, astonished by the coincidence.         Or is it a coinci­dence?        He pores over the interview, pausing to reflect on what Cabrina Chaval has to say, searching each word for hidden meanings.  Weeks ago, he read in a magazine that she was planning to have an operation on her eyes.        "Oh, good," he says, relieved to learn that the operation was a success.        "My eyes are very important," Cabrina Chaval is quoted as saying.  "I use my eyes to make contact with my audience, with my admirers."         He grabs a pen and a steel ruler from his desk and underlines the quote.  So this is how she makes contact—with her eyes.  That's how she made contact with him during her debut in Philadelphia.  She picked him right out of the audience.  He was sixteen at the time, too young to under­stand the full implica­tions of that look.  The way she poured out her heart, her soul to him.  It was just when he—no, he doesn't want to think about that.  He was so ashamed.  And Mother knew.  She knew exactly what happened since she was sitting right beside him . . . . He closes his eyes into tight little fists.  He opens them and blinks rapidly, hoping to blink away those thoughts.  They're dis­tracting him from the article about Cabrina Chaval.                  Responding to a question about staying in contact with her fans, Cabrina Chaval replies, "Oh, I do.  I promise to always keep in contact with them . . . . Nor do I mind meeting them in public as long as they are courteous and respectful."        "And she keeps her promises!" Brady says out loud.  Didn't she contact him in his dream?  Now she's telling him they can meet in public as long as he's courteous and respect­­ful.  This time, it'll be different . . . . This time, he'll be ready to accept her out­pouring of love.        "My one regret," she adds near the end of the interview, "is giving up learning how to play the flute.  The flute was a birthday present from my mother."        Oh, that's right!  Her birthday was just last week, on May 1st.  He reads the line again about her wanting to play the flute, letting each word sink into his conscious­ness.          If only I knew, I'd gladly have taught you myself!          If only he had the talent to teach her . . . . It's been so long since he last played, he's not sure he even remembers how.  If only he was good enough to teach some­one as special as Cabrina Chaval.        After finishing breakfast, he clips the article using an Exacto knife and the steel ruler, not clumsy scissors, and carries it to the desk.  Inside the bottom drawer are news­paper and magazine articles about Cabrina Chaval and programs from a dozen of her operas from The Magic Flute to her final season with La Traviata and Carmen, both of which he saw twice.  He picks up the program for The Magic Flute, and while glancing through it his gaze falls on the open­ing paragraph of the introduction to the opera:
                        The Magic Flute, an opera by Wolfgang Amadeus             Mozart (Die Zauberflote), was written in 1791, the last             year of Mozart's life.  According to Brewer, The             Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, the "flute" was bestowed                              by the powers of darkness, and had the power of            inspiring love.  Unless purified, the love was only lust,             but, being purified by the Powers of Light, it subserved             the holiest purposes.  Tamino and Pamina are guided             by it through all worldly dangers to the knowledge of             Divine Truth.                     The flute . . . had the power of inspiring love.        Feeling as if the Power of Light has been switched on inside him, Brady suddenly heads for the dresser.  He squats down to pull out the bottom drawer and shifts aside some memen­tos from his childhood, including the hunting knife that he bought at the Haloton Street Fair and the antique silver mirror, embossed with roses, that belonged to his mother.  He removes a narrow black case and carries it to the desk.  Before opening it, he takes a moment to pause out of respect for his mother.  It was she who bought him the flute after he had kept his promise to break up with Melissa Henderson the day after he and his mother had seen Cabrina Chaval's debut in The Magic Flute.        Although upset by what had happened that evening, still he was glad that he accom­panied his mother and filled in for his father who was ill at the time . . . . In his mind's eye, he tries to picture how Melissa Hender­son looked back then.  She was tall and lanky, with freckles and stringy auburn hair . . . but what else?  Something seems to be missing.  What was the color of her eyes?  Brown or green?  Was her smile straight or crooked?  If only he hadn't torn up all of her photos.  He even cut them out of the high school yearbook!  He was that furious with her . . . . Again, he thinks of his Pamina—Cabrina Chaval.  Still smiling, he opens his eyes and gazes reverently at the silver flute.          If I play, will you come to me—straight as an arrow?        Charmed by the thought, Brady lifts the flute from the case and weighs it in his hands as if balancing the past and the mistakes he made with the promise of a better, brighter future.  He takes a few moments to clean the flute with the cleaning rod and a lint-free cloth.  If he had more time, he would clean it properly, but that would entail disas­sem­bling it.  No doubt some wires will need to be replaced.  Anxious to give it a try, he plays some weak, out of tune notes.  He attempts to play a minor part from The Magic Flute, sur­prised that he remembers it.  His embouchure, he knows, is quite poor.  Mr. Swimble would have rapped his knuckles with his baton for playing so awkwardly.  Swimble's aim was deadly, too, targeting specific knuckles if need be.  Brady con­centrates as he plays as if truly inspired by the Power of Light—if not the Power of Love.        Noticing the time, he places the flute back inside its case and returns it to the dresser.  He abruptly changes his mind and takes the flute back to the desk and sets it on top beside the program to The Magic Flute.  Maybe he can start to play again.  Why not?  If Cabrina Chaval truly wants to pick up the flute again, maybe he can offer to teach her.  Now wouldn't that be some­thing!  Him teaching the flute to Cabrina Chaval!  He blushes at the thought . . . . Again, he contem­plates the dream he had—the most wonderful dream in the world.  Truly, a delight!  And the article, so insight­ful!  Imagine, after twenty-two years, Cabrina Chaval is contacting him again.  This time, he vows to be ready.

2
        Cabrina Chaval is sending me messages.  She says she'll be contacting me soon—in person.  But there's a problem.  Viewing hours for Marie Ellers—Paul Ellers' wife—will be held at Bellsky Funeral Home.  I have not been back there since that day…
        Before leaving the third-floor apartment above the Thompsett house, Brady, thinking he may have forgotten something, pauses at the door.  Not knowing what it is, he lets his gaze roam around the apartment as if searching for a clue to his past.  His gaze lingers on the collec­tion of cassettes, an eclectic mix of pop, country rock, and classics that he's had since he was a student; many he hasn't listened to in years.  Then he sees it, Die Zauberflote—Mozart's The Magic Flute.        From the opening of Papageno's aria "The Birdcatcher Am I Indeed" he's lulled back to his dream, thus putting him in the perfect mood for what has been, thus far, the most perfect morning of his life.  All thanks to Cabrina Chaval.        Upon arriving extra early at Bellsky Funeral Home, he has no difficulty find­ing a parking spot for the station wagon.  He still remembers how difficult it was for his father to reverse out of the parking lot once during visiting hours for his mother.  Oh, the vocabu­lary he used that day.  When he died a dozen years later, "death by misadven­ture" according to the coroner due to the alcohol and sleeping pills that he took, Brady had him taken to Faust & Beckett on the other side of Haloton, which he's sure his father appreciated.        The piped-in organ music, the dark paneled walls, and the burgundy carpet make Bellsky gloomier than he remembered.  Brady passes through several dimly-lit rooms, each with a blind corner.  Anxious not to forget what he memorized on the way over, he hurries to the next room where he finds Marie Ellers stretched out in a casket, surrounded by several people he doesn't know.  Relieved at not having to see her body right away, he pauses to get his bearings.        Paul Ellers is standing off to one side, looking like he always does, as if he's holding in his breath.  In his mid-forties, Ellers has dark brooding eye­brows, a sturdy chin, and a swim­mer's wide shoulders and narrow hips.  Despite arriving at Halo­ton State the same year, he and Ellers aren't as close as they should be.  Brady blames himself for not taking the initiative early in his career.  Of course, once he replaces Ellers as Chairman that will change.  He'll personally see to it.        Brady makes eye contact with Ellers and nods respect­fully.  Before anyone else can approach him, Brady saunters over and offers his hand.        "Paul, to be cut down in one's prime . . . . In Hamlet, William Shakespeare said, 'All that live must die, passing through nature to eternity.'"        During his high school production of Hamlet, Melissa Hender­son, who played his mother The Queen of Denmark, said that very line to him count­less times.  She then said it again at his mother's funeral two weeks before the actual performance.        "Thank you, Jonathan," Ellers replies, forcing a polite smile.        "You're more than welcome," Brady says, glad that Ellers is taking his wife's death so well.  He's also glad to see others trickling in.  Even though the timing is bad for every­one with final exams only four days away, more and more people drop by to pay their respects.  Most are paying them to a woman they hardly know, for Marie Ellers rarely set foot on campus.  Most of the credit for the turnout has to go to Ellers' secretary, Mary Fisher, who's now standing sentinel at the entrance, casting a troll-like gaze on all those who arrive.  Short and dumpy, she barely comes up to most people's armpits.  Even though everyone at the de­part­­ment knows that she personally despised Marie Ellers, she made it her special mission to cajole, shame, and arm-twist every member into taking the time to drop by for viewing hours.           Catching his gaze, Mary Fisher puckers her lips like a tuna and mouths, "Thanks for coming."  She glances at the time.        So does Brady.        Since Paul Ellers' relatives live mostly in Oregon, only a few can make the journey; whereas Marie's relatives all hail from nearby Philadelphia and they arrive en masse.  They head straight for Marie's casket as if only they have any real claim to her body and drive every­one else away.  Once their command is firmly establish­ed, they abandon their station and then march toward Paul Ellers as if to demand an explanation.        "If there's anything—anything you need," Brady says to Ellers, as he side­steps the mob, "you know where to find me."
        Since the

 **Here's the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and to the French translation of Lovers and Strangers Revisited, Trois autres Malaisie.  Thanks!