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In it, he portrays how the publishing industry pigeon-holes African-American writers. The novel, a metafictional piece, satirically revolves around a novella written by the main character entitled My Pafology then Fuck , which emulates fiction like Richard Wright 's Native Son and Sapphire 's novel Push. The latter orders the authors around even as he stalks them.

In American Desert , Ted Street plans to drown himself in the ocean but is killed in a traffic accident on the way there. Three days later, Street suddenly sits up in his casket at the funeral, although his head is severed and he lacks a beating heart. Throughout the rest of the novel, Street undergoes an odyssey of self-discovery about what being alive really means, exploring religion, revelation, faith, zealotry, love, family, media sensationalism, and death. Wounded: A Novel tells the story of John Hunt, a horse trainer confronted with hate crimes against a homosexual and a Native American.

Hunt avoids getting mixed up in the political nature of these crimes, taking action only when he is forced to do so. The Water Cure is a novel about Ishmael Kidder, who has had a successful career as a romance novelist until the death of his daughter, when his life takes a dark turn.

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In a remote cabin in New Mexico, Kidder has imprisoned a man he believes to be his daughter's killer. The book's title refers to one of the torture techniques Kidder uses on the man, namely waterboarding. With the name Not Sidney Poitier and a resemblance to the actor with a similar name , the protagonist meets challenges relating to identity and racial segregation across North America. He meets similar challenges with identity construction in relation to his adopted father, Ted Turner. Assumption: A Novel is a triptych of stories with some characters who have been in earlier Everett stories.

He is on the trail of an old woman's murderer. But at the crime scene, his are the only footprints leading up to and away from her door. Something is amiss, and even his mother knows it. As other cases pile up, Ogden gives chase, pursuing flimsy leads for even flimsier reasons. His hunt leads him from the seamier side of Denver to a hippie commune as he seeks the puzzling solution.

Everett's collection of poetry, re:f gesture , features one of his paintings on the front cover. Everett's introduction was added to the paperback edition of The Jefferson Bible. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Percival Everett. The New York Times. Retrieved 11 June Review-a-Day, Powell's. Archived January 31, , at Archive. James Kincaid, Percival Everett. Project Muse. The king, after twelve years' absence, came into the house, and the princess waved the fan, lighting up all the room with her beauty.

The king looked in his daughter's face, and forgot to take his food. At last he asked his queen: "Pray, who is this girl whose beauty shines as the gold image of the goddess? Whose daughter is she? The queen beat her forehead, and cried: "Ah, how evil is my fate! Do you not know your own daughter?

Back to God's Country

The king was struck with amazement. He said at last; "My tiny daughter has grown to be a woman. The king became vehement with excitement. The princess went on waving her fan of peacock feathers, and the king finished his meal.


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The next morning, as the king came out of his palace, he saw the son of a Brahman gathering sticks in the forest outside the palace gates. His age was about seven or eight. Who can interfere with a king's command? At once the boy was called, and the marriage garlands were exchanged between him and the princess. At this point I came up close to my wise Grannie and asked her eagerly: "What then? In the bottom of my heart there was a devout wish to substitute myself for that fortunate wood-gatherer of seven years old.

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The night was resonant with the patter of rain. The earthen lamp by my bedside was burning low. My grandmother's voice droned on as she told the story. And all these things served to create in a corner of my credulous heart the belief that I had been gathering sticks in the dawn of some indefinite time in the kingdom of some unknown king, and in a moment garlands had been exchanged between me and the princess, beautiful as the Goddess of Grace.

She had a gold band on her hair and gold earrings in her ears. She bad a necklace and bracelets of gold, and a golden waist-chain round her waist, and a pair of golden anklets tinkled above her feet. If my grandmother were an author how many explanations she would have to offer for this little story! First of all, every one would ask why the king remained twelve years in the forest? Secondly, why should the king's daughter remain unmarried all that while? This would be regarded as absurd.

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Even if she could have got so far without a quarrel, still there would have been a great hue and cry about the marriage itself. First, it never happened. Secondly, how could there be a marriage between a princess of the Warrior Caste and a boy of the priestly Brahman Caste? Her readers would have imagined at once that the writer was preaching against our social customs in an underhand way.

And they would write letters to the papers. So I pray with all my heart that my grandmother may be born a grandmother again, and not through some cursed fate take birth as her luckless grandson. Grannie went on: Then the princess took her little husband away in great distress, and built a large palace with seven wings, and began to cherish her husband with great care.

I jumped up and down in my bed and clutched at the bolster more tightly than ever and said: "What then? Grannie continued: The little boy went to school and learnt many lessons from his teachers, and as he grew up his class-fellows began to ask him: "Who is that beautiful lady who lives with you in the palace with the seven wings? He could only remember how one day he had been gathering sticks, and a great disturbance arose. But all that was so long ago, that he had no clear recollection.

Four or five years passed in this way. His companions always asked him: "Who is that beautiful lady in the palace with the seven wings? Tell me, oh, tell me, who you are! The princess said: "Let it pass to-day. I will tell you some other day.