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336 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 18, 2022
“This is a story about the brothers Lynch.
There were three of them, and if you didn’t like one, try another, because the Lynch brother others found too sour or too sweet might be just to your taste. The Lynch brothers, the orphans Lynch. All of them had been made by dreams, one way or another. They were handsome devils, down to the last one.“
"Esta es la historia de los hermanos Lynch.
Había tres; y si a alguien no le gustaba uno de ellos, no tenía más que probar con el siguiente, porque el hermano Lynch que resultaba demasiado ácido o demasiado dulce para algunos podía ser justamente del gusto de otros. "
"Para caber dentro de las mentes humanas, los conceptos tenían que encogerse mucho."
"—Sé peligroso —susurró."
Everyone wants to be powerful.. Ads tell every consumer: We are important and seen.. Teachers tell every student: I believe in you.. Embrace your power.. Be your best self.. You can have it all.. These are lies.. Power is like gasoline and salt.. It seems plentiful but there is only so much to go around.. Sharp blades want power to gain room to cut.. Dull blades want power so sharp blades will not cut them..
”That copy exists. I made him. I am him. There’s a real version of me that stayed with you, I guess, that went out to Lindenmere every day and just learned everything he could about the ley line, about the something else. ”...” But this Adam killed those Adams so this one could win, this one who came to Harvard to go to class and write papers and buy waffles with the Crying Club and pretend like nothing bad ever happened to him and like he has all the answers. “...” I lie to all of them. “...” It’s like I can’t stop.”
“You think you spared me the memories of Jay because you hated her, but you know what I think? Deep down, you didn’t give me your memories of Jay because you didn’t want me to know that you were a lot like her.”
“I don’t need you anymore, Hennessy, but I thought I might want you. I was wrong. You’re ugly and you make everything you touch ugly. It’s over.”
As her eyes burned, Hennessy swiped a thin, bleeding splash of red on one of the index cards, and then, with the marker, suggested the lines needed to show that it was an anatomical heart, bleeding paint. Beneath it, she just had time to jot angrily: OF FUCKING COURSE.
Her heart was broken, that was why she was really upset, her heart was broken, broken, broken because Hennessy wanted so badly to be as good at living as Jordan was and she never even got close.
“Dudifer, you are the saddest dude I have ever met,” Matthew told him. “It’s like you’re always wet. Seems to me that if I had to learn to be sad, you have to learn to be happy. Why don’t you draw a, I dunno, chinchilla or something, instead of that, uh, thing. Not that it's not good.”
“What’s a chinchilla?”
“You’re sort of a funny person,” Matthew told him. “You know a lot of
stuff but you’re also pretty stupid.”
“It was always going to be this way,” he said blandly. “Jordan, it was always going to be this way. Our story was always a tragedy.”
“Pozzi, it wasn’t,” she said.
“Not yours,” Declan said. “The Lynch family’s. The Lynch brothers’. It was written before I was born.”
“Mine was, too. I rewrote it. I saw the angel in the marble—”
“—and carved until you set it free,” Declan finished the Michelangelo
quote for her. “Yes, you did, Jordan.”
But he was still trapped in stone.