|Andre Dubus. the sky at their crowns rose and orange; above us, evening's violet |
spreads, and beneath it is the palest of blue, and we see stars. We want to be in
the house now, and Andre pushes me to the steps and squats in front of me.
|In these fourteen stories, Dubus depicts ordinary men and women confronting injury and loneliness, the lack of love and the terror of actually having it.|