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[The Interestings’s] inclusive vision and generous sweep place it among the ranks of books like Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom and Jeffrey Eugenides The Marriage Plot. With this book [Wolitzer] has surpassed herself.”—The New York Times Book Review. The Interestings secures. PDF - The Interestings. From bestselling author Meg Wolitzer a dazzling, panoramic novel about what becomes of early talent, and the roles that art, money, and. Download eBooks The Interestings [PDF, ePub, Mobi] by Meg Wolitzer Online for Free "Click Visit button" to access full FREE ebook.

The Interestings Meg Wolitzer Pdf

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Meg Wolitzer is the New York Times bestselling author of ten novels including. The Female Persuasion (), The Interestings (), The Uncoupling (), . You can download this ebook, i provide downloads as a pdf, kindle, word, txt, You can get this book entitled The Interestings By MegWolitzer in our website. 'Every summer we sit like this. We should call ourselves something.' Ash Wolf said. 'Why?' said Goodman, her older brother. 'So the whole world can know just .

This concentrated and renewed burst of ancient Ash-and-Ethan envy had turned Jules into someone shameful. And it wasn't as if Ash and Ethan didn't have problems too. First of all, they had a son with an autism-spectrum disorder.

Jules had been with Ash during Mo's two-day evaluation and diagnosis long ago when he was three; they'd driven up together to New Haven to the Yale Child Study Center because Ethan had said he had to go to LA and couldn't get out of the trip.

And not to have lunch with an old professor, or give a talk, but to learn what's wrong with my uncommunicative and unhappy little boy. Mo couldn't hear her; he was listening with headphones to a CD of a picture book about a runaway truck, the same CD he listened to often.

The two women regarded him for a few seconds, then Ash unbuckled her seat belt and reached over, pressing her face into his soft white neck. He twisted around to get away but saw he was trapped by the seat belt and soon stopped protesting. Jules knew, during the drive, that Mo would be given a diagnosis the next day, and it seemed clear finally what it might be. But until not long before Ash had made the appointment it hadn't occurred to them that Mo was "on the spectrum," as everyone casually put it lately, just the way people also casually said "chemo," all of it seen as part of the perils of the modern age.

Instead, before then, Mo had seemed mostly anxious and disconnected, shrieking and crying for reasons that he was unable to explain. An elderly, famous child psychiatrist had spent hours with him asking what he was afraid of when he lay in bed at night. At the end of the following day, during the trip home from New Haven, Ash cried on her cell phone in the car to Ethan. Jules sat there awkwardly, looking out the window and wishing she didn't have to hear them talk.

Ash said to Ethan, "No, I know you love me, that's not what I'm saying," and then, "I know you love him too. Your love is not in question, Ethan.

No, he's listening to a CD. He's got headphones on. He's completely oblivious. I wish I was too. You're in the middle of a whole thing together. Just talk to him.

The Interestings

Is that at all possible? I feel so bad I couldn't go with her, and I realize I'm asking for a lot, but I don't want her to have to be alone. I mean, I know the kids will be there, and Rose and Emanuel, but I would really love it if you were there too. Because you can" — here his voice broke a little — "you can remind her that, you know, we've always gotten through everything.

That's what we've always done, since the beginning, with her parents and Goodman. Remind her of this, will you, because she feels so down.

Maybe you can reassure her, like I was trying to do, that Mo will have a good life. There's no way he won't. We've got the resources, and it'll be okay. We'll make it be okay. Please tell her that. But say it later, when Mo's not around to possibly hear any of it, okay?

I know it will.

Things were always set right in Ash's life. He was on the autism spectrum, the doctors had explained, and now he could finally get some real help. Always, the Figman and Wolf family rallied; just as, long in the past, the Wolf family had rallied too.

Sometimes she discovered a single hair with an uncountable number of splits, and she would tug on the whole thing, listening to the crackle as the hair broke between her fingers like a branch, and experiencing a sensation that resembled a private sigh.

The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer

When she looked in the mirror one day, her hair appeared to her as bad as a pillaged nest. A haircut and a perm might help, her mother said.

Now, among these people who had been coming to this teenaged performing-arts and visual-arts summer camp in Belknap, Massachusetts, for two or three years, Julie, a dandeliony, poodly outsider, from an undistinguished town sixty miles east of New York City, was surprisingly compelling to them.

Just by being here in this teepee at the designated hour, they all seduced one another with greatness, or with the assumption of eventual greatness.

Jonah Bay dragged a cassette tape deck across the floor, as heavy as a nuclear suitcase. Just listen to this riff, it will amaze you. Jonah closed his eyes as the music played, and Julie watched him in his state of transfixion. The batteries were starting to die, and the music that emanated from the tape player seemed to come from a drowning musician. But Jonah, apparently a gifted guitarist, liked this, so Julie did too, and she nodded her head in an approximation of the beat of the music.

During that first hour, books were discussed, mostly ones written by spiky and disaffected European writers. A couple of them said that they had brought paperbacks with them to camp that they needed to read for school; their summer reading lists were all similar, featuring those sturdy, adolescent-friendly writers John Knowles and William Golding.

Parents got discussed too, though mostly with tolerant disdain. Though it would be nice if my father kept some food in the refrigerator once in a while.

He was so squat and homely, with eczema running along his forearms like a lit fuse. He spent free- swim period each day under the boiling tin roof of the animation shed with his teacher, Old Mo Templeton, who had apparently once worked in Hollywood with Walt Disney himself.

Ethan, she saw, was looking at her intently. Ethan turned back to the others, but in her precarious, high state she felt that Ethan had made himself her protector. They were all just countless cells that had joined together to make this group in particular— this group that Julie Jacobson, who had no currency whatsoever, suddenly decided she loved. That she was in love with , and would stay in love with for the rest of her life. The Wolf parents, glimpsed briefly by Julie on the first day of camp, were vigorous and youthful.

Gil was an investment banker at the new firm Drexel Burnham, and Betsy his artistically interested, pretty wife who cooked ambitious meals. In fact you suffer, I think. They were all quiet for a moment; it was perplexing to know what to do when atrocity suddenly came up against irony. Mostly, apparently, you were supposed to pause at that juncture.

You paused and you waited it out, and then you went on to something else, even though it was awful. Goodman Wolf is much worse. Julie, in her stoned state, had the idea that all this was banter , or the closest they could get to banter at their age.

The level of actual wit here was low, but the apparatus of wit had been activated, readying itself for later on. If they were performing a synchronized, sibling mindfuck, they had worked out a convincing routine. A medley of semens. Everyone laughed, and then without warning Goodman jumped down from the upper bunk, shuddering the teepee.

And you smell. God, what is that, Goodman, cologne? Into what? Into them. They were looking at her attentively, assessing her. You have to have a Jewish mother, or else they will basically throw you off a cliff. I was just goofing on her a little, right, Jacobson? It will be cut short by an accident involving. There it was, right there: In a new environment, it was possible to transform. She was Jules now, and would be Jules forever. Susannah Bay had taught acoustic guitar at this camp in the late s, before her son was born.

Every summer since then, even after she became famous, she appeared at some point for an impromptu concert, and apparently this summer would be no exception.

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She would just show up one day, though no one knew when, not even her son. Now, Jonah began a few prefatory strums, followed by some fancy picking. He barely seemed to be paying attention to what he was doing; he was one of those people whose musical ability seems effortless, careless, ingrained. She imagined that he would become famous in several years like his mother; Susannah Bay would draw Jonah into her world, call him up onto a stage; it was inevitable.

They had only a little over an hour together, and then one of the counselors on coed patrol, a blunt-haired weaving instructor and lifeguard from Iceland named Gudrun Sigurdsdottir, came into the teepee with a bulky, indestructible flashlight that looked as if it were meant to be used during night ice fishing. Please break this up now. And, all you girls, please go back through the pines at once. So the three girls left, heading away from the teepee in a slow, easy herd with their flashlights leading them.

Well, Jules? The other girls kept walking ahead without her. She let herself be led down the hill toward the animation shed. Ethan Figman opened the unlocked door; inside, the shed smelled plasticky, slightly scorched, and he threw on the fluorescent lights, which stuttered the room into its full majesty.

Drawings were tacked up everywhere, a testament to the work of this freakishly gifted fifteen-year-old boy, with some nominal attention given to the work of other animation students. Ethan threaded a projector, then shut off the lights. He lives with his parents, who are always fighting, who are basically horrible, and he hates his life. Oh, and did I say that the cartoon is funny? You get the idea, I think. You know, a sensibility.

And that maybe you might like this. Anyway, be honest. A cartoon sprang up on a sheeted wall. The characters on the planet Figland were alternately wormy, phallic, leering, and adorable, while in the excess light from the projector Ethan himself was touchingly ugly, with a raw sheath of arm skin etched with its own ugly dermatological cartoon.

On Figland, characters rode trolleys, played the accordion on street corners, and a few of them broke into the Figmangate Hotel. The dialogue was sharp and silly at the same time. Ethan had even created a Figland version of Spirit-inthe-Woods—Figment-in- the-Woods—with younger versions of these same cartoon characters at summer camp.

Jules watched as they built a bonfire, then paired off to make out and even, in one case, have sex. She was mortified by the humpy, jerking movements and the sweat that flew in the air, meant to signify exertion, but her mortification was immediately painted over by awe.

No wonder Ethan was beloved here at camp. He was a genius, she saw now. His cartoon was mesmerizing—very clever, and very funny. It came to an end and the film flip-flapped on its reel. He turned to her, his expression bright and uncomplicated. Incredibly, her opinion seemed to matter to him.

He was basically the Tenth Old Man. There were nine animators who worked with Walt Disney on the classics—movies like Snow White.

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Mo came in late, but he was apparently in the room a lot too. He just stood before her smiling, and she smiled too. Jules Jacobson loves it. They could join together, they could unite. People would accept them as a couple; it made both logical and aesthetic sense.

Her face was hot; certainly it must have been turning red in various places. For a second she thought he was going to turn away furiously and leave her here, and she would have to head back through the trees alone. I mean, people have been rejected by other people since the dawn of time. He stayed by her side as they trudged back up the hill together.

Your nervousness could be masking your real feelings. It was such a reasonable request. She could spend more time with Ethan Figman, experimenting with the idea of being part of a couple. Ethan was special, and she did like being singled out by him. He was a genius, and that counted for a great deal with her, she understood.

Jules went inside and stood getting ready for bed, pulling off her T-shirt and unhooking her bra. Across the teepee Ash Wolf was already in bed, encased in her sleeping bag that was red flannel lined, with a repeating pattern of cowboys swinging lariats. Jules intuited that at one point it had probably belonged to her brother. The reality is really different from the fantasy. The whole evening was taking on various exquisite meanings. A first kiss, Jules had thought, was supposed to magnetize you to the other person; the magnet and the metal were meant to fuse and melt on contact into a sizzling brew of silver and red.

But this kiss had done nothing like that. Jules would have liked to tell Ash all about it now. She recognized that that is how friendships begin: Their friendship did begin that night; they talked in this oblique way about themselves, and then Ash began struggling to scratch a mosquito bite on her shoulder blade, but she could hardly reach it, and she asked Jules if she could put some calamine lotion on it for her.

Ash yanked down the collar of her nightgown in back, and Jules dotted on some of the bright pink fluid, which had the most recognizable odor imaginable, appetizing and overbearing at the same time. And actual pineapple has basically fallen by the wayside. Except maybe in Hawaii.

Ever since I learned the word in fourth grade. You eat it with your hands. Ash just looked at her, and began to smile. Funny was the thing, other than calamine lotion, that she needed from Jules. Nearby, the other girls in the teepee were having their own involved conversation, but Jules barely heard anything they said. They were just background noise, and the central drama was here between herself and Ash Wolf.

Ash had awkwardly tried to make a joke, a pun. She saw all of them marching to their lockers at school, their corduroy jeans swishing, their hair fastened with barrettes or rubber bands or let loose in wild perms.

All of them together, unnoticed, invisible. It was as though she was saying good-bye to those other girls now, here in the teepee with Ash Wolf sitting on her bed. But the newly forming friendship was paused briefly by the presence of Cathy Kiplinger, who moved into the center of the teepee, taking off her own big, complicated bra and unharnessing her duo of woman-sized breasts, distracting Jules with the thought that these spheres inside this conical building were the equivalent of a square peg in a round hole.

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Read An Excerpt. Paperback —. download the Audiobook Download: Apple Audible downpour eMusic audiobooks. Add to Cart. Also by Meg Wolitzer.

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LitFlash The eBooks you want at the lowest prices. Read it Forward Read it first. Pass it on! Stay in Touch Sign up. We are experiencing technical difficulties.Over the year in which her father was dying, Julie had occupied herself by zealously splitting her split ends, and her hair had become frizzed and wild.

Book] Free Download The law of attraction: Elsewhere, in a hearth on a Colorado ranch, a fire glowed and gathered. The kind of creativity that is rewarded at age fifteen is not always enough to propel someone through life at age thirty; not everyone can sustain, in adulthood, what seemed so special in adolescence. Confident, but also probably conscious of his own ugliness, which would never go away over the whole of his life.

But you are the genuine article and we love you, so please forgive us as we once again foist a play-by-play of the previous twelve months upon you.

Is that all that was in your heart?