Fallen: A Novel

Paperback | September 5, 2006

byDavid Maine

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From the internationally acclaimed author of The Preservationist comes a provocative retelling of the story of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel: a novel that gives new meaning to the words "temptation," "rivalry," and "murder."

Their expulsion from the Garden is only the beginning: Eve and Adam have to find their way past recriminations and bitterness, to construct a new life together in a harsh land. But the challenges are many for the world's first family. Among their children are Cain and Abel, and soon they must discover how to be parents to one son who is everything they could hope for, and another who is sullen, difficult, and rife with insecurities and jealousies. In the background, always, is the incomprehensibility of God's motives as He watches over their faltering attempts to build a life. In Fallen, David Maine has drawn a convincing, wryly observant, and enthralling portrait of a family--one driven (and riven) by passions, irrationality, and love. The result is an intimate, in-depth story of brothers, a husband, and a wife--people whose struggles are both completely familiar and yet utterly original.

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From the Publisher

From the internationally acclaimed author of The Preservationist comes a provocative retelling of the story of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel: a novel that gives new meaning to the words "temptation," "rivalry," and "murder."Their expulsion from the Garden is only the beginning: Eve and Adam have to find their way past recriminations and ...

David Maine was born in 1963 and grew up in Farmington, Connecticut. He attended Oberlin College and the University of Arizona, and has worked in the mental health systems of Massachusetts and Arizona. He has taught English in Morocco and Pakistan, and since 1998 has lived in Lahore, Pakistan, with his wife, novelist Uzma Aslam Khan.

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Format:PaperbackDimensions:256 pages, 8.2 × 5.47 × 0.74 inPublished:September 5, 2006Publisher:St. Martin's PressLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0312328508

ISBN - 13:9780312328504

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Read from the Book

Chapter One 40 the old man The mark burns upon him all the time now. Its hurt is open and shameful like a scab picked until it bleeds. In years past he could find ways to forget it or at least misplace his awareness for a while; it was never easy but he managed. These days he cannot. There is nothing to fill Cain's time so the mark does this for him. It stains his flesh like a parasite. Countless people have witnessed it over the years, but even those who have not don't lack for an opinion. Some say it is a letter--the first letter of his name, reversed to show God's displeasure. Others say it carries the shape of a stillborn child, or a wolf's skull, or a coiled serpent. Still others, less fanciful perhaps or just duller, claim it is no picture at all. Merely a smear unreadable, the Devil's thumbprint or God's. What does the shape matter? The point is, it is there, plainly visible, crying out to be seen. But the miracle lies in the seeing. For all those who look upon the mark see it differently. Like the Tower of Babel reflected mirrorwise, everyone who lays eyes upon Cain's face beholds something different from all the others, sees the message spelled in a different tongue, though the message is always the same. And what message is thus conveyed? A simple one: Don't touch. Stay away. Leave this one alone. The others in this house, Cain's in-laws and grandchildren, heed this advice and give him a wide berth. Only his son remains stubbornly loyal. And recently, his dead brother as well. But now Cain is convinced that Abel has left him forever: tonight's visit was his last. So with nothing more to do, he waits to die. He is not being dramatic. Among his many faults, this is not one. He expects to be dead by morning. The old man shifts and wheezes. The wet climate he finds himself banished to torments his breathing. Deserts are tough but at least the air is clean. Not that he expects sympathy: impetuous he may be, hot-tempered and violent, resentful and self-pitying, any number of undesirable qualities. But he has never been stupid. So then. He shifts his weight in the crepuscular gloom of the hut and allows his gaze to drift past the low open entryway, outside to where the fading crimson sky has clotted into dusk. From outside float children's laughter and the calmer voice of his son. Cain knows he is not welcome out there. Nor unwelcome exactly; but if he ventured from his hut the voices would quickly fade, glances would be cast down, the children would drift off, and the women's mouths would tighten. No. He will stay inside this night. At least it will be his last such. Cain settles onto the earth, arms folded behind his head. A sigh ripples through his nose and musses the yellowing whiskers of his beard. So the matter of his mortality has been decided. In a strange way a burden has been lifted. If he were carefree he might start whistling, but he is not. He is a man who dwells upon serious thoughts. As a boy he dwelt upon serious thoughts. As a fetus in his mother's womb he was prone, quite likely, to serious ruminations, while his lighthearted brother simply enjoyed spinning and kicking in the watery gloom. People change in some ways as they grow; in other ways they don't. Maybe that's the nub of it, he thinks. Maybe that's where all the problems started between himself and his brother--himself and his mother--himself and his father. With two unborn souls, spinning or brooding in the watery wet, waiting for the unforgiving light of their first morning. There is something in that, some truth waiting to be grasped like a teat in an infant's hand. But like that teat, the truth is too large and unwieldy for the old man's grip, and when he clutches at it, it bounces to one side, slipping heavily from his fingers. And whatever lies beyond Cain's vague sense of disquiet slips away as well. He is old and gets distracted easily. When the idea is gone he doesn't bother to follow it, and soon forgets it altogether.  This evening Cain appears calm but he his not. His terror is that of a tiny boy dropped from a great height during a thunderstorm while vultures pluck his flesh. His stomach feels slightly out of kilter, down where his intestines should be. This makes his midriff hurt. It makes his back and his loins and his molars hurt. Was this how his brother felt as the life hurtled from his body, or did he feel something else entirely? Rage for example or bewilderment, or perhaps an overwhelming grief that blotted out all else with enormous reptilian wings? Cain tucks his chin against his clavicle, shuts his eyes tight, and tries to keep the world at bay. Outside, his grandson Irad cackles as the children play some game involving rocks and noise. He is, he thinks, almost ready to leave this place behind forever. Almost eager, in fact. Almost. So behold him there: Cain lying alone in the hut, thinking back on his life, tallying it up. Waiting to die. Copyright © 2005 by David Maine

Editorial Reviews

"David Maine's Fallen builds suspensefully toward what is arguably the best-known episode in the story of mankind: the banishment of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden . . . this book's power to rivet the reader approaches the miraculous." -New York Times"A work of both high seriousness and wicked laughs." -Entertainment Weekly"Artful and challenging . . . the topic is fascinating and Maine's writing is suffused with an economical beauty." -The Tampa Tribune"Maine is enormously talented at extrapolating rich characters from a few brief verses." -The Washington Post