She balanced on a point between rage and its relief. Amid the layers of conscious thought and the involuntary actions of her body, Gwen found herself in possession, coolly palmed in her thoughts like a dollar coin, of the idea that she was about to bring another abandoned son into the world, the son of an abandoned son. The heir to a history of disappointment and betrayal, violence and loss. Centuries of loss, empires of disappointment. All the anger that Gwen had been feeling, not just today or over the past nine months but all her life-feeding on it like a sun, using it to power her engines, to fund her stake in the American dream-struck her for the first time as a liability. As purely tragic. There was no way to partake of it without handing it on down the generations.
( Michael Chabon )
[ Telegraph Avenue ]
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