Tulip Fever: A Novel [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Moggach, Deborah
  • Author:  Moggach, Deborah
  • ISBN-10:  0385334923
  • ISBN-10:  0385334923
  • ISBN-13:  9780385334921
  • ISBN-13:  9780385334921
  • Publisher:  Dial Press Trade Paperback
  • Publisher:  Dial Press Trade Paperback
  • Pages:  288
  • Pages:  288
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-May-2001
  • Pub Date:  01-May-2001
  • SKU:  0385334923-11-SPLV
  • SKU:  0385334923-11-SPLV
  • Item ID: 100139723
  • List Price: $18.00
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Deborah Moggachis the author of many successful novels, includingThe Best Exotic Marigold HotelandTulip Fever,and two collections of stories. Her screenplays includePride and Prejudice,which was nominated for a BAFTA. She lives in North London.Sophia

Trust not to appearances.
-- Jacob Cats,Moral Emblems, 1632

We are eating dinner, my husband and I. A shred of leek is caught in his beard. I watch it move up and down as he chews; it is like an insect caught in the grass. I watch it idly, for I am a young woman and live simply, in the present. I have not yet died and been reborn. I have not yet died a second time -- for in the eyes of the world this will be considered a second death. In my end is my beginning; the eel curls round and swallows its own tail. And in the beginning I am still alive, and young, though my husband is old. We lift our wine flutes and drink. Words are etched on my glass: Mankind's hopes are fragile glass and life is therefore also short, a scratched homily through the sinking liquid.

Cornelis tears off a piece of bread and dips it into his soup. He chews for a moment. "My dear, I have something to discuss." He wipes his lips with his napkin. "In this transitory life do we not all crave immortality?"

I freeze, knowing what is coming. I gaze at my roll, lying on the tablecloth. It has split, during baking, and parted like lips. For three years we have been married and I have not produced a child. This is not through lack of trying. My husband is still a vigorous man in this respect. At night he mounts me; he spreads my legs and I lie there like an upturned beetle pressed down by a shoe. With all his heart he longs for a son -- an heir to skip across these marble floors and give a future to this large, echoing house on the Herengracht.

So far I have failed him. I submit to his embraces, of course, for I am a dutiful wife and shall always be grlƒ]

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