Lady Lazarus

by Altschul, Andrew Foster

• ISBN13: 9780151014842
• ISBN10: 0151014841
• Edition: 1st
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2008-04-14
• Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Summary

**DEBUT FICTION**This spectacular, sprawling debut novel tells the story of Calliope Bird Morath, daughter of legendary punk-rock star Brandt Morath whose horrific suicide devastated the world and his notorious wife, Penelope.The novel is narrated by both Calliope and her obsessive biographer, who follows her from her silent childhood to her first tortured, manic public statements about her father; from her highly publicized publication of a book of poetry to her mysterious disappearance; from her reappearance as the mute leader of a cult like brigade known as The Muse to her spectacular showdown with the biographer.A disturbing and razor-sharp meditation on twenty-first-century celebrity culture, Lady Lazarus is also a funny and moving story about the age-old question of the nature of the self.

Author Biography

Andrew Foster Altschul is a Jones Lecturer and former Wallace Stegner Fellow at Stanford University.

Excerpts

1. EARLY INFLUENCESON CHRISTMAS MORNING OF 199_, Calliope Bird Morath, age seven, slid quietly out of bed, took her fathers yellow, rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses from the dresser, and, perching them on the crown of her head in the manner of the famous photo of him from the cover of Time, crept through the hallway and down the stairs, flipping on the giant-screen TV and depositing herself next to the Christmas tree. The enormous tree was still lit neither her mother nor her mothers current spiritual adviser had turned it off the night before and against the weakening, liquid darkness outside it burned magically with thousands of ornaments, crates-worth of blinkers and Santas, glowing guitars and mini-microphones, gingerbread men and reindeer, snowflakes and Silly String and psychedelic tinsel, some of which had been brought in by the boxload from the garage of the Rancho Santa Fe mansion, but much of which, as always, had been sent by devoted fans. Despite this surfeit of light and color, however, there was no star atop the tree. Such had been the case for three years, since the infamous "Funeral Interview," during which her mother, resplendent in Donna Karan black, had offered Barbara Walters that memorable trio of anapests: "There shall be no more stars in my sky." Given the Calliope with whom readers are undoubtedly acquainted, it will be difficult to imagine the taciturn creature who sat before the television that morning but indeed, this scion of one of Americas most storied families had not uttered a word since the day of her fathers death. Despite her mothers frantic ministrations, despite house calls from neurologists, psychiatrists, mediums, and exorcists, the child remained mute. She ate what was placed before her, she read whatever was at hand, but she expressed no will or opinion. She came when called, she displayed no signs of cognitive or sensory deficit, she simply had shrunk into the small shell of herself, as though refusing to touch the world around her, afraid she might break it. The widow had privately begun to despair, this second bereavement unbearable, as though the family had been targeted by jealous gods, laid waste for partaking, however briefly, of their fire. Twice abandoned, she wandered the halls of the mansion like a tourist in a cathedral, wondering at the huge and terrifying silence. The magnificent tree which stood before the living rooms picture windows was an anomaly, a last remaining concession to fame and adoration. After the funeral, Penelope Morath, nee Klein, aka Penny Power, had withdrawn utterly from the public eye, shutting all the curtains of the twelve-bedroom Tudor on Azalea Path, removing Calliope from the La Jolla Krishnamurti School where shed spent many a happy day since her second birthday, and employing a phalanx of tutors and cooks, music teachers and gardeners, nursemaids and accountants to keep the house running and her silent daughter occupied. For months the cul-de-sac was lined with de

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Excerpted from Lady Lazarus by Andrew Foster Altschul
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