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By Lisa Moore

“Moore combines the propulsive storytelling of a beach-book mystery with the expert use of language and penetrating insights of literary fiction. She pulls it off seamlessly, making a bright, compulsively readable tale.”—Penthouse

Shortlisted for the 2013 Rogers Writers' belief Fiction Prize and the Scotiabank Giller Prize, Caught is a “propulsive, adrenalin-drenched” (Globe and Mail) novel from 2013 Writers’ belief Engel/Findley Award winner Lisa Moore, which brilliantly captures a second within the overdue Nineteen Seventies prior to the virtually folkloric glamour surrounding pot smuggling grew to become violent. Moore’s protagonist, David Slaney, is a contemporary Billy the child, a swaggering folk-hero-in-the making who busts out of criminal to embark on one final nice heist and win again the girl he loves. As Slaney makes his fugitive trip throughout Canada—tailed heavily through a detective hell-bent on making an arrest—Slaney reignites passions together with his past love; tracks down his former drug smuggling accomplice; and adopts a variety of guises to outpace professionals: hitchhiker, houseguest, scholar, and lover. Thrumming with strength and suspense, Caught is a thrillingly charged escapade from considered one of Canada’s such a lot acclaimed writers.

“Outstanding . . . magnificent and fantastic . . . A literary experience tale . . . Gripping, particular, and completely convincing . . . A supremely human ebook . . . combining the complexity of the simplest literary fiction with the page-turning compulsive clarity of a thriller.”—National Post

“A new form of legend for a brand new Newfoundland.”—Reader's Digest

“Exhilarating… a memorably oddball and welcoming novel that’s at the same time breezy, taut, humorous, and insightful.” —The Vancouver Sun

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There have been younger ladies in tight plaid bomber jackets and denims, smoking cigarettes, and other people had parked their automobiles at the shoulder of the line and left them idling and there have been a few males unloading their catches, paying no realization. Slaney was once upon them earlier than he observed them as a result of fog. The outdated man was once lovely as a fox: the entire outdated testomony speak about being misplaced. the gang didn’t appear to be asserting a lot. They seemed various from the group on the town, shabbier and extra strong. They have been purpose, as they may were in church, and a few of them had crossed their hands over their chests, or they leaned in to speak to a neighbour, now not taking their eyes off Slaney. while they’d docked, the police officers swarmed the boat and Hearn got here up together with his fingers in the back of his head, elbows out. Slaney was once beautiful definite the police officers hadn’t acknowledged positioned your arms up yet Hearn already observed the tale in their seize as anything precious of telling and he desired to glance the half. there has been a stink of fish. the decision of a gull. All of this got here again whereas Slaney lay on his cot, arms at the back of his head, taking a look up on the bed urgent during the slats of the bunk above him. identify Slaney headed again to the educate station at sunrise the subsequent morning. The rain from the evening earlier than used to be steaming off the pavement. It was once only a evening; Hearn didn’t want to know approximately Ottawa. He walked prior the car parking zone of an deserted strip mall with graffiti scrawled around the sodden plywood masking the storefront home windows. A child’s tricycle sat in a puddle below a road lamp. Down an aspect road Slaney observed a guy who appeared like he used to be jogging right into a snowfall of snow. front of his outfits and sneakers and his face or even his eyelashes have been natural white and it made his eyeballs glance yellowish and blue-veined and watery and his lips rainy and pink, and his tooth have been nicotine-stained. the fellow used to be status at the back of a truck, smacking his palms opposed to his facets, sending up little puffs of white dirt. one other guy at the back of the truck have been tossing him sacks of flour and one had damaged whilst the man stuck it. The teach station used to be a fifteen-minute stroll from the room Slaney had rented. the fellow on the price ticket sales space requested for his id. Slaney slid his passport less than the glass and the fellow frowned on the photo and raised his droopy eyelids to examine Slaney and slid the passport again to him. Then he wrote out a price ticket to Vancouver and slid that via too. Slaney attempted to name Hearn and the telephone rang and rang. Hearn had most likely long gone to his sessions. Slaney sat all the way down to wait and received up instantaneously and wandered out at the platform and paced a piece and sat down on a bench with the suitcase among his knees. the warmth of the day used to be already construction and a few damaged beer bottles among the rails glittered and shone. He couldn't think about Jennifer. Her fingers tightening her ponytail, the washing machine surging and damn less than them. She had hung on tight to him, her legs crossed at the back of his again. they'd rarely even undressed. His denims round his knees, the switch from his pocket spinning and bouncing at the ground.

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