Christopher, the only bookseller in the small farm town of Low Ferry, lives an uneventful life — until one day he encounters a shy newcomer named Lucas, and accidentally sells him the wrong book. What follows is a journey for both men, in vastly different ways, set against the strange, ritualistic, magic backdrop of a midwestern winter.
Nameless has a wordcount of roughly 100K words.
Excerpt:
There was a bed in the corner. Next to the bed stood a grandfather clock that had, like most of the furniture, come with the house. A desk sat under one of the windows, the only one that wasn’t covered with heavy drapes to keep the cold out. The sofa had been pushed back against a wall, and two wing-chairs as well. They’d been moved to make room for the tables – a long workbench on rickety sawhorses, several small round end-tables, probably brought in from all over the house, and two folding card tables draped with drop-cloths. None of this was what struck me silent, though.
Jumbled on the bookshelves, piled on one chair, scattered around on the tables and hanging from long ropes hooked over the ceiling beams were dozens of masks. Enormous beaked bird-faces, beaded half-masks on sticks, pale ovals covered with ribbons, garish children’s masks shaped like animals and monsters. Incomplete ones sat on molds on the workbenches or in puddles of dried paint on the smaller tables. Blocks of clay, piles of rag fabric, bags of plaster-powder and heaps of ribbon sat amid bottles of paint and glue.
The fire, flickering in the hearth, threw shadows on the walls and made the nearest masks look as if they were subtly alive.
Nameless is available for sale in paperback at Lulu Publishing, and can also be purchased as an ePub.