The Lower River - Tapa dura

“Hypnotically compelling fiction . . . A gripping and vital novel that reads like Conrad or Greene—in short, a classic.”—Booklist, starred review

From The Lower River 

To make the moment last, Hock peeled one banana slowly with his fingertips and nibbled it, eyeing the distant crowd of children from the shade of his hut. He was impressed by the silence and concentration of the children, and fearful, too, that such a large number could be controlled by the single older boy.
            And in that running commentary in his head, his narrative of the misery he’d put himself into, he thought how the worst of it was not the dirt or the heat or the thirst—though they wore him down; and not the insects or the bad-tempered children; but the uncertainty, not knowing at the beginning of each day how that day would end.
            This thought was cut off by movement at the periphery of his vision, a sliding line at ground level that bunched and swelled and grew longer, crackling through the dead leaves . . . In the snake he saw a friend, a savior, a weapon, a creature that had come to protect him. He was not alone anymore.