She, like all mothers, constantly casts out her thoughts, like fishing lines, towards her children, reminding herself of where they are, what they are doing, how they fare. From habit, while she sits there near the fireplace, some part of her mind is tabulating them and their whereabouts: Judith, upstairs. Susanna, next door. And Hamnet? […]

Grettalle talo on täynnä aaveita. Hän on varma, että jos hän katsoo nopeasti puutarhaan, hän näkee vanhan puisen kiipeilytelineen luurangon, josta Michael Francis putosi ja mursi etuhampaansa. Hän voisi mennä nyt alakertaan ja eteisen naulakko olisi täynnä koululaukkuja, jumppapusseja, Michael Francisin rugbyvarusteita. Hän voisi kääntyä kulman taakse ja nähdä poikansa makaamassa vatsallaan porrastasanteella lukien sarjakuvaa, […]

Anyway, the older, longer, sluggish Marithe had looked up at the stars and asked her mother, who was sitting in the chair opposite, whether it would come back, this sense of being inside your life, not outside it? Claudette had put down her book and thought for a moment. And then she had said something […]