The buzzy novel hits shelves this August.
This year, Liz NugentsUnraveling Oliveris one of those books.
Below, EW can reveal an exclusive excerpt from the book in advance of its publication.
Credit: Gallery/Scout Press
Unraveling Oliverhits shelves Aug. 22, 2017, but isavailable for pre-order now.
She just lay on the floor, holding her jaw.
She didnt even seem to be surprised.
I hadnt planned to do it.
Though the lamb was a tad lukewarm by the time she presented it, I really couldnt fault it.
I had washed the meal down with two glasses of Sancerre while Alice prepared the raspberry roulade for serving.
I certainly wasnt drunk.
How had she fallen into that shape?
There must have been considerable force behind my closed fist.
Or would I have smashed it into her face?
Would it have shattered on contact and torn her pale skin?
Could I have scarred her for life?
Its very hard to know.
The words that come to mind are circumstances beyond our control.
Maybe I should have ignored it, but it might have been important.
These rhetorical questions irritate me.
How are things, indeed.
Sorry, Moya, Ive just punched Alice in the face, and shes lying on the floor.
And weve had a marvelous dinner.
Of course, I didnt say that.
I made some ham-fisted attempt at an excuse and bade her farewell.
I waited for the reciprocal adieu.
There was a moments silence and then:
Dont you want to know how I am?
I was short and to the point.
And then, whispered, Oh, right, okay, is Alice there?
Go away, you stupid, irritating woman.
I didnt say that either.
I told her that now was not a good time.
She tried to inveigle me into a conversation, prattling about her new life in France.
Even amid the turmoil, I could tell that she wanted me to be jealous.
I ended the conversation politely but firmly.
I thought that the decent thing for me to do was to leave the house immediately.
Not permanently, you understand.
I thought there was more chance of Alice getting up off the floor if I wasnt looming over her.
I went to get my coat from its peg in the hall.
It was a little difficult to fasten the buttons.
My hands suddenly seemed to be too large for my gloves.
Two hours later, I was on my third brandy in Nashs.
Nervously I buttoned and unbuttoned my shirt cuffs.
It is a habit from childhood, a thing I do when I am distressed.
Even John-Joe commented on my rattled demeanor when he served me.
Brandy would not have been my normal tipple.
But I had had a shock, you see.
Dont get me wrong, I knew it was serious.
A significant error of judgment had been made.
She should not have ended up on the floor.
I am aware that I am not the easiest of people.
Alice has told me so.
I have no friends, for example.
I used to, many years ago, but that really didnt work out.
We drifted apart and I let them govoluntarily, I suppose.
Friends are just people who remind you of your failings.
I have several acquaintances.
I have no family either to speak of.
Not in the sense that matters.
Over the years, Alice has never pried, has never been too curious.
In fact, I would describe her as habitually obedient with just an occasional rebellion.
I am not, have never been, violent.
I went to the bar and bought a packet of cigarettes.
I was worried that my hands were still unsteady.
Isnt brandy supposed to help at a time like this?
Or is that an old wives tale?
Barney Dwyer, a neighbor from the Villas, approached from the public bar.
Barney spent more time in the beer garden than inside the pub.
Barney prided himself on his forty-a-day habit.
When the smoking ban was introduced, most of us did our best to quit.
I am proud to say that I was the first to succeed.
I became known as the man with a will of iron.
Barney, on the other hand, made no such attempt.
If Barney had never smoked, he would have started the day the ban was introduced.
A contrary bugger if ever there was one.
Thin head, big ears.
Welcome back, he said.
Im just having the one.
Its been a bad day.
Jaysus, Oliver, its never just the one.
Youre back on the smokes.
I threw my almost-smoked cigarette on the ground.
Tossed the packet containing nineteen cigarettes at Barney.
Keep them, I said.
Go on, kill yourself.
My wife had finally brought out the worst in me.
It was most unexpected.
I had always been fond of her, in my way.
Also, she could be very athletic in bed, which was nice.
It is terribly sad to think of such things now, considering her current state.
We met at the launch of a book she had illustrated back in 1982.
My agent wanted me to meet her.
I resisted the idea of illustrations initially.
The drawings made my books far more marketable.
We were introduced and I like to think there was an immediate .
Spark is not the right word, but an acknowledgment of sorts.
Some people call that love at first sight.
I am not so naive.
Neither of us was in the first flush of youth.
Both in our late twenties, I think.
But she was lovely in a soft way.
I liked her quietness and she made little or no demands on me.
The wedding happened very quickly.
There was nothing to be gained by waiting around.
Her frail mother and half-witted brother stood behind us at the altar.
No family on my side, of course.
We didnt bother with the palaver of a hotel reception.
We had a rowdy meal in a city-center bistro owned by a former college friend, Michael.
Back then I quite liked him.
He was very emotional at the wedding, more than anybody else.
One couldnt blame him, I suppose.
We rented a spacious flat in Merrion Square for a few years.
I insisted on a big place because I needed privacy to write.
I can only write behind a locked door.
Those were good times.
We made a bit of money when nobody else did.
It made financial sense that we would collaborate on what was becoming quite a successful series.
During the day we would retreat to our separate corners to work.
Me, producing my books.
She, cleverly matching pictures to my words.
She was good at it too.
Her work flattered mine appropriately.
In those days, everyone was more discreet and low-key about their achievements, their successes.
Alice avoided all of that, which suited me really.
It had its rewards.
Truthfully, she couldnt have been a better partner.
Alices mother died suddenly in 1986, at the end of our fourth year of marriage.
Thanks be to God.
I cant stand old people.
Cant stand it even more now that I am getting to be one.
I used to make excuses to avoid visiting her and her doily-draped furniture.
Used to pretend to be too busy to eat with them when she came to visit us.
It was never pleasant to witness her struggling with her dentures, the half-wit dribbling by her side.
Her death was a mixed blessing.
We got the house.
But we also got Alices imbecilic brother.
The house is quite a pile on Pembroke Avenue.
The brother goes by the name of Eugene.
Alice begged me to let her keep him.
Until now, that was the biggest upset in our marriage.
Bad enough to have a child, but this was a twenty-seven-year-old, two-hundred-pound dolt we were talking about.
When we got engaged, I made it very clear that children were not on the agenda.
Well, I said I didnt want children, and she agreed.
I should have got that in writing.
Maybe she thought I would change my mind, because it seems that lots of men do.
I reminded her of our agreement.
I am nothing if not a man of my word.
I couldnt depend on her to protect herself, so I took control.
I made a ritual of bedtime cocoa with a little crushed pill as an added extra.
Alice thought that was so romantic.
I havent exactly been a saint within our marriage.
Women, by and large, are attracted to me, and I do not like to disappoint them.
Women you would never expect.
Even Moya, for Gods sake.
I eventually resent the ones who make a run at cling.
In later years, I had begun to satisfy myself with some tarts that operated near the canal.
I never objected to them, even before I became a client.
They were objects of curiosity.
I would order them into a shower before any congress was allowed and I always provided a new toothbrush.
Some of them took it for a gift.
They are usually too emaciated to be good-looking.
One would think that they might make an effort to make themselves attractive.
Alas, they were only selling their various orifices; the packaging was immaterial.
But still, they held a fascination for me.
After all, my mother was one, or so my father said.
I stepped into the dining room.
She wasnt on the floor, thank God.
She was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea.
Her hand rubbed at her face.
She looked at me without affection.
I noticed that her jaw was quite red on the right-hand side.
I looked at her.
she said, her voice breaking.
It was clear that she intended to ruin me.
The second time I hit Alice, I just couldnt stop.
I am very sorry about that indeed.
Needless to say, I am not allowed to visit her in the hospital.
It is silly really.
It is February 2012, so its been three months now.
In her condition, she wouldnt know if I was there or not.
It turns out that I am a violent man after all.
It comes as a shock to me.
I have been psychologically assessed.
I decided to tell them almost everything.
Apparently, I have been harboring bitterness, resentment, and frustration since my childhood.
Now, theres a surprise.
What will the neighbors think?
What will anybody think?
I really couldnt care less.
Copyright 2017 by Liz Nugent.
