Epub ISBN: 9781409094616
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A RANDOM HOUSE GROUP COMPANY
www.rbooks.co.uk
EMOTIONALLY WEIRD
A BLACK SWAN BOOK: 9780552997348
First published in Great Britain
in 2000 by Doubleday,
a division of Transworld Publishers
Black Swan edition published 2001
Copyright © Kate Atkinson 2000
What the critics wrote about
Emotionally Weird
‘The lustre, energy and panache of her writing are as striking as ever in this, her third novel . . . Funny, bold and memorable’
‘Lively . . . very funny’
‘Complex, multi-layered and beautifully written . . . brimming with quirky characters and original storytelling . . . Kate Atkinson has struck gold with this unique offering’
‘A truly comic novel — achingly funny in parts — challenging and executed with wit and mischief . . . an hilarious and magical trip’
‘Her novels are remarkable both in and of themselves, and as evidence of an important emerging body of work from a brilliant and profoundly original writer’
‘A challenging work of fiction . . . brilliantly original’
‘Atkinson’s strength as a writer lies in her talent for observational humour’
‘Sends jolts of pleasure off the page . . . capable of causing loud and involuntary cackling on public transport. Atkinson’s funniest foray yet . . . a novel for people who love novels . . . eccentric, unstoppably entertaining, it is a work of Dickensian or even Shakespearean plenty . . . will be enjoyed hugely by both literary and non-literary readers’
‘Atkinson is brilliantly, defiantly playful with the stuff of fiction’
‘Her descriptive powers are striking. She is also witty . . . thought-provoking and nonconformist’
‘A novel purely for fun . . . entirely to be recommended’
‘Really comic, really tragic, bracingly unsentimental’
‘Her enigmatic and comic flair rise to greater heights in this reductio ad absurdum’
‘Her inventive energy, unfettered by realism, make this roller coaster of a novel a highly entertaining read’
‘A sparkling comic meditation on how authors choose to tell their stories’
‘Atkinson writes with the most finely tuned literary instincts . . . funny, clever and strangely moving’
‘Fairly crackles with energy, wit and the pleasure of writing’
‘A full-bore, old-fashioned yarn — the kind that keeps you turning pages, hurrying toward the denouement long after you’ve told yourself you’re going to bed’
‘Subtle, evocative and wonderfully funny’
‘A brilliant and gripping piece of fiction that not only proves Atkinson’s adeptness as a storyteller but also firmly establishes her as one of the most remarkable writers of recent times’
‘Atkinson has found her best subject, thereby letting out the secret to writing a truly funny comic novel’
For Lesley Denby, née Allison, with love
With thanks to:
Helen Clyne, Lesley Denby, Helen How, the Howard Hotel (Edinburgh), Maureen Lenehan, Gareth McLean, David Mattock, Martin Myers, Ali Smith, Sarah Wood.
The University of Dundee portrayed in this book (and especially the departments of English and Philosophy) bear little resemblance to real life, past or present. Neither are any of the characters portrayed based on anyone real, either living or dead.
‘That’s a great deal to make one word mean,’ Alice said in a thoughtful tone.
‘When I make a word do a lot of work like that,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘I always pay it extra.’
‘Oh!’ said Alice. She was much too puzzled to make any other remark.
‘Ah, you should see ’em come round me of a Saturday night,’ Humpty Dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side: ‘for to get their wages, you know.’
EMOTIONALLY WEIRD A COMIC NOVEL Kate Atkinson
The Hand of Fate
(First Draft)
Inspector Jack Gannet drove into Saltsea-on-Sea along the coast road. Today’s sun (not that he believed it to be a new one every day) was already climbing merrily in the sky. It was a beautiful morning. Shame it was about to be spoilt by the Lucky Lady and her cargo — one very unlucky lady. One very dead lady. Jack Gannet sighed, this job didn’t get any easier. Jack Gannet had been in the force longer than he cared to remember. He was a straightforward, old-fashioned kind of detective. He had no strange tics or eccentricities — he didn’t do crosswords, he wasn’t Belgian, he certainly wasn’t a woman. He was a man suited to his profession. What he wasn’t, was happy. He didn’t want to be dealing with a dead body on a glorious morning like this. Especially not on an empty stomach.
Madame Astarti didn’t know about the dead body yet. She was having some trouble opening her eyes. They were glued shut by sleep and mascara and one too many gins in The Crab and Bucket last night with Sandra and Brian. Madame Astarti sighed and groped blindly around on her bedside table for her lighter and a packet of Player’s No.6 and inhaled deeply on a cigarette. She loved the smell of nicotine in the morning.
Seagulls were clog-dancing on the roof above her head, heralding a brand new day in Saltsea-on-Sea. Through a gap in the curtains she could see that the sun was the colour of egg-yolks. Sunrise, she thought to herself, a little daily miracle. It would be funny, wouldn’t it, if it didn’t happen one morning? Well, probably not very funny at all really because everything on earth would die. The really big sleep.
1972
Blood and Bone
MY MOTHER IS A VIRGIN. (TRUST ME.) MY MOTHER, NORA — A FIERY Caledonian beacon — says she is untouched by the hand of man and is as pure as Joan of Arc or the snow on the Grampians. If you were asked to pick out the maiden in a police line-up of women (an unlikely scenario, I know) you would never, ever, choose Nora.