Inhaltsangabe
Winner of Australia’s 2015 Stella Prize
For readers of Atonement, a hauntingly powerful story about the fierce friendship between three sisters and their friend as they grow up on the outskirts of their parents' wild and bohemian artistic lives.
On her first day at a new school, Lily befriends Eva and her sisters Beatrice and Heloise, daughters of the infamous avant-garde painter Evan Trentham. An only child from an unremarkable, working-class family, Lily has never experienced a household like the Trenthams'—a community of like-minded artists Evan and his wife have created, all living and working together to escape the stifling conservatism of 1930s Australia. And Lily has never met anyone like Eva, whose unabashed confidence and worldly knowledge immediately draw her in.
Infatuated by the creative chaos of the Trenthams and the artists who orbit them, Lily aches to fully belong in their world, craving something beyond her own ordinary life. She becomes a fixture in their home, where she and Eva spend their days lounging in the garden, filching cigarettes and wine, and skirting the fringes of the adults’ glamorous lives, who create scandalous art during the day and host lavish, debauched parties by night. But, as seductive as the artists’ utopian vision appears, behind it lies both darkness and dysfunction. The further the girls are pulled in, the greater the consequences.
With elegance and vibrancy, The Strays evokes the intense bonds of girlhood friendships, the volatile undercurrents of a damaged family, and the yearning felt by an outsider looking in.
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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor
EMILY BITTO has a master’s degree in literary studies and a PhD in creative writing from the University of Melbourne. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, where she also co-owns the Carlton wine bar, Heartattack and Vine.
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Jerome got up from the table. He had on loose, well-cut trousers and a white shirt, its top buttons undone, revealing a white singlet underneath. His skin was smooth and perfectly matte, as if he never perspired.
“I was going to ask,” he said, his eye settling briefly on Eva, “whether any or preferably all of you ladies would be willing to sit for me.”
To pose for Jerome Carroll, rising star. The sisters gave no thought to the request. Their father had made hundreds of sketches and paintings of them as they grew. I had dreamed that one day I might find my way into a painting, like Alice through the looking glass. I imagined it in the same way: a new land. Before being painted and after. Evan had made sketches sometimes of Eva and me as we played, but these were not even studies, merely a way to keep his hand moving. He had boxes of black-bound sketchbooks in the roof above the studio.
“Wear a strappy top if you have one,” Jerome instructed us. “I want shoulders, bone structure.”
He assembled us, seated on the Persian carpet in the studio. Patrick was in there too, shaping a wax model for a sculpture. We clustered together, jostled four sets of limbs until Jerome was happy. I recalled our outdoor baths together years before. The same shifting attempts to fit bony shoulders and ankles around one another. He began to make sketches. It was a warm afternoon. We were by a large window, dozy in the late afternoon sun. Dust somersaulted through the air.
“So, another question,” said Jerome. “Feel free to tell me I’m a pervert, but I would love it if any of you felt inclined to remove your upper garments…”
There was a pause.
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