The Stranger Game. Peter GadolЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘An enigmatic novel … a metaphysical thriller’
‘Like the best of Highsmith and Hitchcock rolled into one’
‘Beautiful, thoughtful meditation on the invisible ties that bind us-even to strangers’
‘Engrossing…. Those with a taste for the offbeat will find this well worth reading’
‘A phenomenal mystery novel filled with action and a story line that makes you think about human interaction’
‘This is Patricia Highsmith-style suspense, edgy and a little dreamy, with a sense of uncertainty lurking everywhere’
‘A fun, moody, twisty thriller, with a sun-touched, West Coast vibe…as much Joan Didion as Patricia Highsmith’
‘“Following” gets a whole new meaning in Peter Gadol’s stylish psychological thriller’
PETER GADOL is the author of seven novels including The Stranger Game, Silver Lake, Light at Dusk, and The Long Rain. His work his been translated for foreign editions and appeared in literary journals, including StoryQuarterly, the Los Angeles Review of Books Quarterly Journal, and Tin House. Gadol lives in Los Angeles, where he is Chair and Professor of the MFA Writing program at Otis College of Art and Design.
The Mystery Roast
Closer to the Sun
The Long Rain
Light at Dusk
The Stranger Game
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Peter Gadol 2019
Peter Gadol asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 978-1-474-09297-5
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9781848457690
Somehow never strangers
THE FIRST TIME I FOLLOWED ANYONE WAS ON A SUNDAY afternoon in late November, the sky still gray with ash some weeks after a wildfire to the north. I had gone out on a hike, hoping to clear my mind by scrambling up the narrow path of a dry canyon, which worked until I walked the down trail back to my car. As I was driving out of the park, I passed a picnic area where there was a party underway, a birthday celebration with a hacked-at piñata twirling off a low branch, smoke rising from blackened grills, balloons tethered to the benches. At the periphery, I noticed a little boy, himself a balloon in a red, round jacket and red, round pants. He didn’t seem to be the center of attention, so I didn’t think he was the birthday boy. He must have been about three. He was tossing an inflated ball, also red, back and forth to his