A Ladder to the Sky

by John Boyne

“But what is loneliness,” I pointed out, “other than the lack of love?

“It’s my pleasure,” I told him, which was as truthful a remark as I had made since disembarking the plane.

“Well, you must remember, I lived in Europe during the thirties and forties,” I told him. “So I have little choice but to be an atheist.”

the terrifying noise of unenlightened patriotism.

while he had not read my book—because he did not read non-American writers—he

There was something faintly papal about the footwear that appealed to Gore’s dual passions: history and power.

Perhaps they’d all drowned, he thought, realizing that he didn’t care very much if they had.

There are people who will sacrifice anyone and anything to get ahead, after all. They’re rather easy to spot if you know the signs to watch out for.” An uncomfortable silence ensued,

Gore didn’t reply for he hated talking about the weather and despised people who did so.

You know you’ve gone off the deep end when you start obsessing about the Brontës.”

“I don’t even like passing them in the street. Children are banned here at La Rondinaia.”

but holding the kiss for a long time, so long that I felt the need to pull away before you suffocated me.

Upon changing, I found myself seated next to an Indian gentleman who proposed marriage on the basis of what he called my childbearing hips.” “That’s nice,” said Maurice. “Did you accept?” “Of course not.” “And how did he take it?” “No one likes rejection, Maurice.

Weren’t respect and admire essentially the same thing?

He had always expected to feel unadulterated love for a child, if he ever had one, but things hadn’t quite worked out that way.

Drunkenness is temporary suicide. —Bertrand Russell

The single phrase that would have driven me from any pub forever would have been “The usual, sir?”

The past had begun to grow a little muddled with age and it wasn’t always easy to separate the voices across the years.

My working title was Other People’s Stories,

“And you’ve heard the old proverb about ambition, haven’t you?” He shook his head. “That it’s like setting a ladder to the sky. A pointless waste of energy.

“I suppose it didn’t seem that important at the time. It’s a bit like what happened with Erich, in a way. He told me a story and I adapted it for my own use. Edith had a novel, she died, and I adapted it for my own use too. There’s not a great deal of difference between the two scenarios. It was a perfectly legitimate endeavor.”

“You’ve heard the wonderful news, I presume?” “No. Has Mr. Trump died?”

The more I thought about it, however, the more I felt that I hadn’t lied, at least not intentionally. When Garrett had made his vulgar assertion, I had simply said what had felt real to me in the moment.