The haunted father of a washed-up stuntman. A disgraced surgeon and his son, a broken-down boxer. A father set on permanent self-destruct, and his daughter, a reluctant powerlifter. A fireworks-maker and his daughter. A very peculiar boy and his equally peculiar adopted family. Five houses. Five families. One block.
Ask yourself: How well do you know your neighbours? How well do you know your own family? Ultimately, how well do you know yourself? How deeply do the threads of your own life entwine with those around you? Do you ever really know how tightly those threads are knotted? Do you want to know? I know, and can show you. Please, let me show you.
Welcome to Sarah Court: make yourself at home. (From ChiZine)
From the book
Four hundred. Suicides, failed daredevils, boozesoaked ruins. Four hundred bodies I've dragged out that river.
They start two hundred yards higher, where it narrows between Goat Island and Table Rock. Craning their necks north they'd spy that huge green head fronting Frankenstein's House of Horrors up Clifton Hill — though back in the '70s when Knieval copycats tossed themselves over regular as clockwork, their eyes would be frawn to mist gathering at the head of the Falls while they floated in their giant lobster pot or other idiot contraption. Rapidly coming to grips with the foolhardiness of their endeavour.
From Sarah Court by Craig Davidson ©2010. Published by ChiZine.