Madeleine Is Sleeping

by Bynum, Sarah Shun-Lien

• ISBN13: 9780156032278
• ISBN10: 0156032279
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2005-11-01
• Publisher: Mariner Books

Summary

When a girl falls into a deep and impenetrable sleep, the borders between her provincial French village and the peculiar, beguiling realm of her dreams begin to disappear: A fat woman sprouts delicate wings and takes flight; a failed photographer stumbles into the role of pornographer; a beautiful young wife grows to resemble her husband's viol. And in their midst travels Madeleine, the dreamer, who is trying to make sense of her own metamorphosis as she leaves home, joins a gypsy circus, and falls into an unexpected triangle of desire and love. An extraordinary debut, Madeleine Is Sleeping received jubilant critical acclaim and was honored with a National Book Award nomination. Part fairy tale, part coming-of-age story, this "dream of a book" (Michael Cunningham) is an adventure in the discovery of art, sexuality, community, and the self.

Author Biography

SARAH SHUN-LIEN BYNUM's fiction has appeared in the Georgia Review and Alaska Quarterly Review. She lives in Los Angeles.

Excerpts

Hushhush, mother says. Madeleine is sleeping. She is so beautiful when she sleeps, I do not want to wake her. The small sisters and brothers creep about the bed, their gestures of silence becoming magni?ed and languorous, ?ngers ?oating to pursed lips, tip toes rising and descending as if weightless. Circling about her bed, their frantic activity slows; they are like tiny insects suspended in sap, kicking dreamily before they crystallize into amber. Together they inhale softly and the room ?lls with one endless exhalation of breath: Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Madeleine Dreamsa grotesquely fat woman lives in the farthest corner of the village. Her name is Matilde. When she walks to market, she must gather up her fat just as another woman gathers up her skirts, daintily pinching it between her ?ngers and hooking it over her wrists. Matilde's fat moves about her gracefully, sighing and rustling with her every gesture. She walks as if enveloped by a dense storm cloud, from which the real, sylph-like Matilde is waiting to emerge, blinding as a sunbeam. mme.cochonon market day, children linger in their doorways. They hide tight, bulging ?sts behind their backs and underneath their aprons. When Matilde sweeps by, trailing her luxurious rolls of fat behind her, the children shower her. They ?ing bits of lard, the buttery residue scraped from inside a mother's churn, the gristle from Sunday dinner's lamb. The small ?stfuls have grown warm and slippery from the children's kneading, and the air is rich with a comforting, slightly rancid smell. Mme. Cochon, are you hungry? they whisper as she glides by. Matilde thinks she hears curiosity in their voices. She smiles mildly as she continues on, dodging the dogs that have run out onto the street, snuf?ing at the scraps. It feels, somehow, like a parade. It feels like a celebration. surpriseonce, as matilde made her way through the falling fat, she was startled by a peculiar but not unpleasant throb, which originated in her left shoulder but soon travelled clockwise to the three other corners of her broad back. She wondered if the children were now hurling soup bones, and made an effort to move more swiftly, but suddenly the joyous barrage slowed to a halt. The children stood absolutely still, lips parted, yellow butter dripping onto their shoes. They stared at her with a curiosity Matilde did not recognize. Hearing a restless ?uttering behind her, she twisted about and glimpsed the frayed edges of an iridescent wing. With great caution, she ?exed her meaty shoulder blades and to her delight, the wing ?apped gaily in response. Matilde had, indeed, ?edged two pairs of ?imsy wings, the lower pair, folded sleekly about the base of her spine, serving as auxiliary to the grander ones above. flightleaping clumsily, all four wings ?apping, her fat, like sandbags, threatening to ground her, Matilde greets the air with arms spread wide open. A puff of wind lifts the hem of her skirts, seems to tickle her feet, a

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Excerpted from Madeleine Is Sleeping by Sarah Shun-lien Bynum
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